| By Photo by Nick Michael (Private collection) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons |
On every visit, the salt cellar takes me back to our first
meeting.
When we flew from Washington, D.C. to London to meet my
boyfriend’s parents, I was nervous and intimidated. Their flat was in the upscale Mayfair area of
central London. Their neighbor was
‘Punch’ Sulzberger, former publisher of the NY Times. They belonged to dining clubs.
Their apartment overflowed with status, each museum-like
piece reminding me of my modest experience in life. Persian rugs. Original oil paintings. When we sat down for dinner, there was so
much sparkling crystal and silver, I felt the need to shade my eyes.
The intricately carved silver salt cellar (no, no, not just
a bowl – a cellar) sat on the table
mocking me. The salt rested there,
open-faced, fresh, clean white grains. I
LOVE salt. I needed salt. But…there was no spoon.