Salt: The Only Rock We Eat

Four years ago, my mom took me to Italy for my 40th birthday present. It was an incredible trip. We saw famous art up close and personal and ate pasta and pizza like I’d never experienced. We had gelato everyday (and sometimes twice a day when it was hot). The tour took us to Rome, Florence and Venice; each of which I’d gladly go back to and spend a month exploring. We also spent a day in Siena.

Siena is a city frozen in the Middle Ages. The center of the city, the Piazza del Campo, still hosts a horse race that has been run since medieval times.

The Campo

The Palazzo Pubblico, at the base of the shell-shaped plaza, has a tower that beckons tourists to climb it. Well, it beckoned this tourist. Mom and the rest of our tour group stayed below and had lunch while I climbed over 500 stairs to be rewarded with a heart-stopping view.

The Stairwell

The View

All of Tuscany was laid out before me. I wanted to stay for hours, but the climb up had made me hungry, and being on a tour meant I had to be back to the bus on time.
When I finally got down, there wasn’t much time to eat. We slipped into what I would call a deli but what the Italians probably call by a much sexier name. I’d noticed it on our way to the Campo because of the colorful cords hanging in the doorway. It was a very simple shop with a giant display case across the back wall. Two men stood behind the case; one fat, one tall and skinny, while an older man stood in the corner washing greens.

The men behind the counter were friendly and flirtatious. They listed off all the different kinds of cured meats and cheeses they had to offer. I was overwhelmed and just asked that they make me a sandwich with whatever they liked best.
Oh my god! It was the best sandwich I have ever eaten. I have no idea what was in it or what made it so amazing. To the naked eye, it looked like a salami and cheese sandwich on good crusty bread. In my mouth, it turned into a magnificent combination of flavors and textures that I’m afraid will never be repeated.
Since then, I’ve tried and failed to find cured meat of the caliber I had in Italy. I haven’t found cheese with the same intense flavor, and I haven’t found bread with the same crusty bite. But recently I realized there is one common ingredient in all of those sandwich components, which was probably in perfect proportion in each of them, to make the whole thing come together for that consummate experience. That ingredient is salt.
Yes, lowly salt.
We take salt for granted. Sure, you know it enhances the flavor of foods, but when was the last time you thought about the fact that without salt we would all die. Salt (sodium chloride) is essential to the human body. Without it, our muscles wouldn’t work and our cells would cease to get nutrients. Of course, in our culture of highly processed foods, which are loaded with salt to make them taste slightly better than cardboard, we’re not in much danger of dying from salt deprivation.
Because our bodies need salt, we’ve developed quite a taste for it. Salt is the only one of our five tastes that only comes from one source, so we tend to add it to most of our food to round out and intensify the flavor.
But salt does more than just make food taste better. In the case of my perfect sandwich, each ingredient wouldn’t exist without it.
Bread without salt isn’t really worth eating. Besides being flavorless (with the possible exception, ironically enough, of some traditional breads from Tuscany), bread without salt lacks strength. Salt tightens up the gluten or protein matrix that is the backbone of bread. Without it, bread does not hold its shape as well or rise as high.
And that Sienese sandwich bread was stout and flavorful.
Cheese needs salt for similar reasons. It’s a flavor enhancer and it firms up the protein structure. It also helps draw whey out of the curd and regulate the ripening process. Most importantly, it destroys or inhibits the growth of bacteria and other microbes that might spoil the cheese.
I can assure you the cheese on my sandwich was perfectly ripe and flavorful without a hint of spoilage.
When it comes to cured meats, like salami, most wouldn’t exist without salt. Salt regulates the fluid exchange in cells. A concentration of salt outside the cell wall draws water out of the cell and draws salt, and any flavors added to the salt, in. It dehydrates cells and flavors them at the same time.
Salt also changes the structure of the protein molecules, unbunching them and making them firm but tender. While it’s working on the muscle cells of the meat, it’s also dehydrating and disabling any spoilage microbes, thereby preserving the meat.
And dry-cured aged meat like my salami undergoes more changes as it ages. Because the salt preserves it for months, the protein in the meat has a chance to break down into flavor molecules and the fat cells get to break apart into volatile compounds, both of which greatly enhance the flavor.
And, boy, was my sandwich meat flavorful, tender, and well preserved.
Salt has made our civilization what it is. It allowed us to explore far-off places because we could keep food fresh longer. It has been used as currency (the word salary derives from the word salt) and caused revolutions. And it made my perfect sandwich possible. I just wish there was a way to use in to get back to Siena for another one.


Gravlax (Salt and Sugar Cured Salmon)
serves 10-12

2-3 lbs center-cut fresh wild salmon fillet of fairly uniform thickness, with skin on (preferably from our local Alaska fisherman, Chris White)
4 oz. sugar
6 oz. kosher salt
2 tbs. crushed black pepper
3 tbs. Aquavit
4 oz. fresh dill sprigs

Mix the sugar, salt and crushed pepper together. Sprinkle half of it onto the bottom of a non-reactive baking dish that’s just slightly larger than the filet. Place the salmon skin-side down on the salt-sugar mixture. Pour the Aquavit over the fish. Cover the fish with the remaining salt-sugar mixture. Cover all of it with sprigs of dill. Cover with plastic wrap.
Place a flat plate or pan on top of the fish and weight it down evenly with cans or a brick (about 4-8 lbs) to compress the salmon. Refrigerate for 1-3 days, until the thickest part of the fish is firm to the touch. If it feels raw and swishy, let it cure for another day. Redistribute the cure ingredients as needed halfway through the cure.
When the salmon is firm, remove it from the cure and wash it off well. Slice it paper thin and serve on salad, bagels, or toast points with crème fraiche.
The gravlox will keep for 3 weeks in the refrigerator, wrapped in parchment paper. Change the paper if it becomes wet.

I Like Meat, Meat is Good

My husband is a carnivore. There is no denying it. Meals without meat are not truly meals in his mind. And you can’t really blame him. Meat is delicious and we are biologically rigged to think so. Our sense of smell and taste has evolved to let us know what foods are good sources of energy and nutrition. Our taste buds can perceive essential elements in food that keep us alive. The taste of meat tells our brains that it’s got the salts, sugars and amino acids we need to fuel our bodies. And the smell of cooking meat, well, that just makes us salivate.
Meat fueled the development of our big brains. It was the concentrated energy source we needed to withstand long migrations and cold climates. Meat has made us who we are today and how can you blame Jon if it’s hard for him to overcome 100,000 years of evolution.
But meat today isn’t the same as what our ancestors were eating. The age and fat content of meat has changed quite a bit in the last hundred or so years. Meat animals used to be slaughtered at much older ages. Most animals had some primary purpose like providing labor, milk, eggs or wool and were only slaughtered after they were no longer useful for those tasks. The meat from these animals was tough but had much more flavor and character. This was due to greater muscle development (which leads to toughness but also more flavor) and to greater accumulation of flavor characteristics in the fat.
As the middle class rose in affluence and the demand for more meat increased, production began to specialize in animals raised only for meat. And there was a profit to be made from raising animals as quickly as possible and slaughtering them at a young age. This lead to tenderer, fattier and less flavorful cuts.
It also led to CAFOs (confined animal feeding operations) and the desire to squeeze an extra penny of profit out of each animal. Because of that, industrially produced meat is chock full of hormones and antibiotics. Animals are raised in inhumane and cramped conditions then forced to eat waste products from other animal productions, all of which breeds diseases like E.-coli, Salmonella, and mad cow disease. It’s not very appetizing no matter how good it smells on the grill.
And while my husband loves his meat, he (and I) can’t stomach all the yucky stuff that’s in industrial meat. We buy our meat from local farmers who raise their animals humanely and feed them only grass.
Grass-fed meat varies in a number of ways from what you find in the grocer store. It’s lower in fat and the fat it does have is better for you. It’s more flavorful and may take some getting used to if all you eat is bland supermarket fare. It’s also from older animals (if you pump an animal full of growth hormones and feed it on grain, it reaches market weight a lot sooner than if you just let it graze on pasture).
These distinctions mean you have to cook grass fed meat differently. It only took one experience of overcooking a steak into a tough, unappetizing disaster, before I knew it was time to learn more about what was happening when meat cooked. After all, when you pay a premium for good, clean meat, you want to make sure you cook it right every time.
I turned to the bible of cooking information, “On Food and Cooking” by Harold McGee, opened to the chapter on meat, and read all 50 pages like it was a spy novel (it really is that fascinating). I learned that the muscle of different animals tastes pretty much the same and it’s the fat that gives each animal it’s characteristic taste and smell (and that there is a molecule in pork that also gives coconut it’s characteristic taste, no wonder I find bacon irresistible).
I learned that the amount of use and the type of use each muscle (and therefore each cut of meat) withstood over an animal’s lifetime determined its tenderness or toughness.
And I learned that juiciness in meat occurs for two different reasons. The first is when tender meat is cooked to the perfect temperature where it just starts to release the water stored between its muscle fibers, as in a steak cooked rare. The second is when meat is slowly raised in temperature past the point when the collagen between the bundles of muscle fibers breaks down into gelatin creating a soft, chewable, and succulent structure, as in falling-off-the-bone lamb shanks.
But most importantly, I learned how to use my newfound knowledge to perfectly cook grass-fed meat.
I was most interested in perfecting the cooking of tender cuts of meat on the grill. These are Jon’s favorites and include chops, breasts, sirloin, t-bone and tenderloin. According to McGee, the key is to aim for an internal temperature of no more than 140F when the meat is served, without completely overcooking the outside (140F is the temperature where the muscle fibers give up all their moisture, resulting in that dreaded dried out $20 steak).
This is easier said than done. You want to brown the meat with high heat to produce a plethora of aromatic compounds that only happen when the meat is browned, but you don’t want to heat it so much that the internal temperature gets too high and squeezes out all the moisture. You also need to remember that meat will continue to cook after it’s removed from the heat. How much it continues to cook depends on the thickness, the fat content, the starting temperature and the surface treatment.
There are several ways to wrangle all of these variables into the perfectly cooked steak. Starting with a piece of meat that is at least at room temperature minimizes the length of time it takes the interior to reach 140F and minimized the chance of overcooking the outside.
Another trick is to cook the meat at two different temperatures. Place the meat on hot coals to start but make sure there is a section of your grill that is cooler. Flip the meat after a minute or so, just to brown it well on both sides, then move it to the cooler location. Continue to flip it regularly and check for doneness by touch. Brushing the meat with a water based marinade can also help keep the outside cool through evaporation.
A rare piece of meat, when poked with your finger, feels like the muscle between your thumb and forefinger when your fingers are slightly stretched apart (now you know if you are ever at our house and Jon directs me to go poke the meat it’s not some sexually deviant behavior). To me, this is meat at its most perfect, but if you like your meat medium rare, your poke should feel like that thumb muscle when your thumb and finger are squeezed together. When your poke feels right, by all means, take it off the grill immediately. Meat can go from perfect to well-done in a blink of an eye. And if you are in doubt, it will not ruin the meat to cut in and take a look inside.
Dealing with tougher cuts of meat requires a whole different approach. To create moist, tender meat from the cuts that saw the most exercise in their animal form requires slow cooking past 160F. This is the temperature when the collagen begins to convert to gelatin and the muscle fibers begin to separate. It’s also past the point where the muscles give up their moisture making it much more likely that it will be dry if not cooked right.
The slower the meat is brought up to temperature the more tender it will be. Adding moisture to replace the moisture lost from the muscle itself keeps the meat juicy. Several cooking methods help to achieve these two goals. Traditional barbeque, where the meat is cooked all day with indirect heat that never gets above 250F and is slathered in sauce the whole time is a perfect example. Roasts that are cooked in a 250F or lower oven for hours come out quite tasty especially if they are basted occasionally. Cooking the meat slowly in some type of liquid by such methods as braising, poaching or stewing infused the meat not only with moisture but with the flavor of the cooking liquid. All of these slow cooking methods benefit from a quick browning before they start their slow journey to tenderness, not because it seals in the juices as we’ve all been led to believe at one time or another, but to bring out those browning aromas that only occur at high temperatures. Letting the meat “rest” and come down to 120F will actually increase the moistness of the meat and improve the texture. This can take up to an hour and is not optional if you want to serve up perfection.
We’ve been applying all this new knowledge to grilling but haven’t yet tried it out with slow cooking. I’ve got a brisket thawing for this weekend to see if I can make my mom’s brisket recipe as good as she does. I’ll keep you posted.


Mom’s Brisket
serves 4 with lots of leftovers

2 tbls oil
1 brisket (4-5lb)
1 onion, sliced
3 carrots, cut into 1 inch pieces
1+ cup Ketchup (I like to use enough to cover the meat)
1 cup Red Wine (or more if needed)
Salt and Pepper to taste

Rinse off the brisket and pat dry. In a large pot with a lid, heat the oil over high heat. Quickly brown the meat on all sides. Remove the pot from the heat and add the remaining ingredients. Place the pot over very low heat and cover. Cook for at least two hours or until the internal temperature reaches 120F, turning occasionally. Raise the temperature to medium low, so that the liquids are barely simmering and continue cooking and turning for another hour. If the moisture evaporates, add more wine or water. After the additional hour, start checking for doneness every half hour. The meat is done when a fork pierces it easily. Remove from heat and allow it to cool to 120F. Remove the meat, slice it across the grain, and return it to the pot. Serve immediately.