Over the years I have done some awful things for work: got up at dawn for a month; done a juice fast; eaten disgusting TikTok foods. But when I find myself contemplating going a single day without salt, my whole being mutinies – I just don’t want to. There’s a French expression, “Long like a day without bread”, and my equivalent is a day without salt: interminable, grey and tasteless.
I know, because I’ve done it before, and not just for a day. Aged 20, I was prescribed high-dose steroids for an auto-immune condition and instructed to cut out salt. I tried – I stopped salting my food and avoided everything obviously salty – and found it a joyless, despair-inducing slog. Since then, I’ve made up for lost sodium. I liberally salt food before tasting, crave olives and capers and have enthusiastically bought into the vogue for salted chocolate (literally, I buy M&S vegan hazelnut sea salt bars in bulk). My favourite drink is a dirty martini – mmm, brine – and I eat crisps every day. Since I cut out dairy, they’re my go-to treat. I gave blood yesterday and surveying the snack table afterwards, happily selected and ate a packet of Seabrook Ready Salted. At 10am.
