Salt is almost a religion in my family, my mother’s side were sea-faring folk, coming mostly from fishing villages on the South West coast of Estonia, and it was all about fish and salt down there. My great-grandfather lived to be well over 90, and one of his friends, of a similar age and standing ramrod-straight, mentioned at his funeral that it had to do with vodka, tobacco and salt, and who am I to argue. Not much of a fan of the first two, I try to be extra reverent towards the third.
This large handbuilt salt cellar is a sort of holy well, the centre of your kitchen, dispensing spoonfuls of the divine to elevate every soup and stew and Sunday roast. I aimed for a shape that would feel timeless, and that, as luck would have it, left lots of space for decoration. So – a small orchard in the time-honoured style of blue and white pottery. There is something so hopeful about the abundance and variety of apple trees, the knobbly twisted branches so familiar and elegant, the leaves gentle and uncomplicated, the fruit so beguilingly round and fragrant and the very best of colours. There are several fruit trees depicted on the salt cellar, and a lovely bench for a rest after curlicuing around all this perfection. And there are, of course, generous mugs of tea for the two gazing into the distance.
It’ll easily fit a kilo of salt and stand proud in a kitchen that nobody leaves hungry.
Dishwasher safe
