There’s a quiet rebellion that happens in my kitchen.
It doesn’t come in the form of protest signs or grand declarations. It comes in the form of a healthy pinch of salt.
I have a British friend who’s a photographer. Brilliant eye for photographs has a keen eye for detail, excellent in building things with his hands, but cooking food is not his strength. He made chili recently—I stopped over his place, he was proud—and asked if I wanted to taste it. Of course I did. I took a bite, nodded, and he just sighed:
“Yeah, yeah. You’re going to say it needs salt.”
He’s not wrong. It lacked depth.
He had added canned tomatoes that weren’t in the recipe, so the acidity threw it off. I reached for his Himalayan pink salt, added a reasonable amount (less than I’d use if it were mine), and had him try it again. He paused. “Oh. That’s good.”
Salt doesn’t mask flaws.
Salt reveals what’s already there.
It draws things out. Balances acidity. Adds contrast. Heightens sweetness. Without it, most food is just… muted. And honestly? I’m not here for bland.
Years ago, in culinary school, one of my chef professors said, “You don’t want anyone to reach for the salt. You want them to taste the dish and think it’s perfect.”
Unless they’re like my friend Jim—who adds salt without even tasting. (Yes, Jim. You do that. I’ve seen it.)
Salt preferences are like opinions-
everyone has one. But after years in professional kitchens and feeding thousands of people, I’d like to think I’ve developed a decent sense of balance. People are scared of salt the way they’re scared of fat or carbs—without realizing how critical it is to making food actually taste good.
I remember working at a French restaurant during school. I didn’t quite grasp proper seasoning yet, but I was eager. One day the chef offered me a spoonful of soup and asked what I thought. I said it tasted good.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I haven’t seasoned it yet.”
He added salt, stirred, and handed me another spoon.
The soup hadn’t just changed. It transformed. It went from black and white to color. That was the moment. I never forgot it.
So yes, I salt more than people think I should.
And no, I’ve never had anyone send a dish back because it was too salty. (At least not to my face.) But if they did, I’d be kind. Then I’d wait for a chance to taste their food—and if it was bland? Case closed.
People like to talk about food as art. But art is subjective. Salt? Salt is craft. It’s the part of cooking that takes what you think you know and makes it true.
So no, I don’t measure with a scale or a tiny ceramic bowl. I pour into my hand, toss it in the pot, and taste. It’s how I say:
I care.
I’m paying attention.
I still believe food should taste good.
Some people resist the world with poetry or silence.
Me? I add salt.
