When I was six I fell in love with pirates. Not the “idea” of pirates or picture book pirates, but actual live pirates.
They took over a plane I was on. At first, we noticed just a few oddly dressed people in the airport on our way to the Cayman Islands. A fluffy shirt here, an eyepatch there. The closer and closer we got to our gate, the more oddly dressed people we saw until it became clear that these were pirates. Lots and lots of pirates. And they all seemed to be heading to our gate.
It was the greatest flight of my entire life. And that includes the few times I’ve gotten to sit in first class (instead of in the back by myself where I usually sat once I was old enough to fly by myself when my parents kept mysteriously getting upgraded to first class without me) and the time they even gave me special first class ice cream that I got to eat out of an actual glass bowl.
The pirates and I got along great — we exchanged drunken sailor tunes (these may have been my first pirates, but I’d spent some time with sailors) and they all signed my barf bag.
The corrousing may have gotten a bit out of control, especially when some wily pirates took over the intercom system, but I really don’t think that snatching it back and reprimanding them did anything useful at all and I was certainly shocked when one of the other flight attendants started crying hysterically. Come on, they’re pirates.
And none of the flight attendants seemed to appreciate the awesome pins that the pirates were giving out saying things like “Honorary Pirate” and “I’ve Been Kissed By a Pirate”.
I was pretty much covered in them. You can’t be kissed by too many pirates when you’re six.
Somehow the musical instruments mostly got stowed, some seat belts were fastened and we landed.
But that wasn’t the end.
Because they were there to take over THE ENTIRE ISLAND!
This was something that they did once a year. Which seems a very reasonable thing to do when you’re a pirate.
Which brings me to my current obsession.
That may seem like a comedown from the exciting life of pirates, but once you have been indicted into the ways of salt there is no going back. I don’t know if it was that salty sea air from my time on the island that got under my skin or some other more sinister pirate affliction but I. Love. Salt.
There are so many different kinds of salt and I have this weakness for catalog copy (the tea bags in my cupboard bear names like Precious Eyebrows and have descriptions like “tastes like a fresh mountain meadow in springtime”).
There is La Baleine Sea Salt that has been harvested since before Roman times, hand-raked Fleur De Sel de Camargue which takes on the aroma of violets as it dries, Bolivian Rose Salt from an ancient sea in the Andes Mountains, and Alaea Hawaiian Sea Salt used to bless canoes.
And they don’t just sound good, they taste fantastic. Try a tiny sprinkling of the powder soft Velvet De Guerande on Haagen Daaz Dulce de Leche carmel ice cream and you will know what I mean. Or the coarse grained Ittica d’Or Sicilian Sea Salt on roasted asparagus. Or finely grind some Himalayan Pink Salt and sprinkle it over buttery popcorn. Yum. Yum. Yum.
It would be worth pirating a salt barge. Not that I’m making any plans along those lines.
And I haven’t even gotten to the truly greatest use of salt — The Healing Salt Bath. I use a combination of Himalayan Pink Bath Salt, Borek Dead Sea Salt, and Epsom Salts. Swirl it into the tub and float. This is especially wonderful to do during the day when sunshine comes in and reflects off the water sending squiggly beams of light all over the room. There is something extra decadent about bathing during the day.
Also, I think I might be partly solar powered.
The salt bath is one of the best cures for any kind of unwellness that I’ve tried that works every single time.
Which is why my last shipment of salt looks
Thank goodness for free shipping!
Love to you all,