Then I bought the salt pig. DH had mentioned that whenever I am out and about, maybe I can pick him up a salt pig. I stumbled upon one at Le Creuset, on clearance. Victory was mine. Or so I thought.

Salt Pig

I brought the salt pig home and proudly handed it to DH. It is beautiful, French blue, hand crafted. He said, “What’s that?”

You’re kidding right? I told him it’s the salt pig he asked for and he said, “The what?”

I said, “You know, you put salt in it. You’ve been talking about getting one for weeks.”

He examined it, like he was seeing a strange insect and asked, “A what? A peg?”

“A pig! A salt pig!”

DH eyed it again and said, “Are you sure this is for salt? I don’t think my hand can fit in there. I was going to get the one like Alton Brown.”

Alton Brown’s salt pig, that is shaped like a bowl? Oh, the blasphemy! I tell him, “It’s from Le Creuset. The Jacques and Julia collection. You know, your hero Jacques Pepin uses one. I can’t believe you haven’t seen one. Usually they are white.”

DH eyed me skeptically. He said, “You’re sure Jacques has one of these? Not a bowl with a lid?”

No self respecting Frenchman is going to have a bowl with a lid for his salt pig. Why would you do that? You would need both hands. The salt would get condensation and stick together.

The furniture and Muzzy and Provencal fabric and Napoleon have not turned him to the dark side – the Frog side. In spite of the fact that he has learned a good bit of cooking French and only pretends not to know what we’re saying. Alton Brown?

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