Salt of the earth

It is indeed unfortunate, but I cannot tolerate too much salt in my diet. In almost the next instant after eating a too-salty morsel, my ankles swell alarmingly, as do my eyelids and my fingers and various parts of me unmentionable in print. And that leaves me feeling intensely uncomfortable, as if I am walking on wet sponge and sounding vaguely squelchy with each excruciating step. And then, after much water of various temperatures and an occasional cheat-dose of caffeine – which is know is terribly unhealthy for me and my salt content – I rush hither and yon to and from the loo and finally get back to my normal and fairly balanced self.

But this intolerance is a great pity, since so much that I love to eat is denied me. French fries from a fast food restaurant, for instance. While the servers will stretch themselves for a sweet smile and a polite ‘thank you’ and give me fresh fries hot out of the oil before they are salted, occasionally they cannot oblige and I munch my way through the salty snack practically feeling my response to it as I down each bite. After a visit to one of these places, and a delicious and most soothing lunch of burger, fries and soda-pop, I stagger out tummy leading to spend the rest of the day water retentive and miserable.

But I found myself a wonderful way to satisfy my craving for fries and still keep my feet happy. Apart from salt substitutes - which are chemical and therefore avoidable in my book – I do the trick with a little whipped sour dahi, or a touch of lemon mayonnaise – which, if it is home-made, is tangy but not as salty as the store-bought kind. Also try homemade salsa, fresh garlic aioli or sour cream and they work great as dips for chips. But even better is fries made from sweet potatoes; these need just a light sprinkle of black pepper powder for that dose of deliciousness that the mouth and the tummy and, most of all, the soul craves.

For years now we have used less salt in home cooking. Even pickles – Indian style, with chilli powder, crackled mustard and oil – have that low-salt ethos that makes them easier to eat, depletes the bottles sooner and makes us gustatorily very happy. If more salt is needed, it is added individually at table, but more often than not a squeeze of lemon is all that it takes for the flavours to be ramped up to requisite levels. As a result, food in other people’s homes or even at restaurants tends to seem over-salted and vaguely much of a muchness in taste and aftertaste, too.

But a salt problem is a matter of much deprivation as well. I look longingly at the colourful rows of snack packets in supermarkets and sigh sadly when I walk past, knowing full well that any of that would be a no-no for me. I do a quick trot along the pavement outside the fast food outlet in the mall, trying hard not to succumb to the temptation of the waves of aroma emanating from within that tells the story of hot oil, trans-fats (though not any longer, I am assured) and lots of salt, all forbidden joys. And I wave my hands and shake my head violently and make loudly protesting noises at the sandwich counter when they reach for the salt shaker to sprinkle its contents over my otherwise healthy, high-fibre lunch.

It may be a healthy way to live, but for me it is a necessity. Sometimes I wish I was strong enough to let go, give in and indulge. Never mind that I will walk through the rest of my life with gently squishing, squelching noises in my wake.