Mother constantly toyed with the idea of managing her own shop of convenience after retirement. Be it a somewhat strange vision of quotidian life, I started warming to the idea, and before long, started to build our inventory. What must every household have? Good neighbours, and salt.
As is usually the case with life, and plans, my mother passed away before our shop of convenience welcomed its first guest. And as is usually the case in death, life inevitably goes on. This place then - a house of culinary salts, culminating from travels to far flung places, meeting communities at the edges of this side of the universe, badgering over salts with broken codes and hand gestures and subsequently breaking bread and collecting their stories - is a love letter to my mother.
In turn, should you like what we represent, wouldn't it be neat if this could be your love letter to someone else?