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2 (8 by 8 by 2-inch) blocks Himalayan pink salt

2 duck breasts (about 1 pound each), skin on

2 yellow potatoes, such as Yukon gold

2 tablespoons Dijon mustard (optional)

Heat the salt block on a stove, as described in Heating.

While the blocks are heating, wash and thoroughly dry the duck breasts and the potatoes. Trim any excess fat from the duck breasts, leaving a good layer of fat under the skin covering the meat. Slice the potatoes into ¼ inch-thick rounds.

Put a duck breast, fat side down, on each of the hot salt blocks and cook until the fat starts to render off the duck in a small pool, 2 to 3 minutes. If a flare-up occurs (I’ve never had this happen), turn off the burner, wipe off any dripping fat, and relight. Rub the rounds of potatoes in the fat and arrange them close together around the edges of the salt blocks. When the fat on the duck breast has shrunk to a golden square, 8 to 10 minutes total, turn the breasts flesh side down using a metal spatula, being careful to scrape the surface of the block to remove any adhering fat. Turn the potato rounds as well. Cook duck and potatoes together for another 4 to 5 minutes, until the bottom side of the duck is lightly browned.

Remove the duck and let it rest for 5 minutes. Continue to fry the potatoes until golden, another 4 to 5 minutes. Remove to paper towels to absorb excess fat from the surface.

Slice the duck breasts across the grain into ¼-inch strips, arrange on plates with the potatoes, and serve with a dollop of Dijon mustard to accompany the potatoes, if desired.

Make sure the salt block is off the heat, and let it cool to room temperature before cleaning and storing.

SAUCING

The critic has to educate the public; the artist has to educate the critic —Oscar Wilde

Sauces are liquid by definition, but it wasn’t always the liquid in the sauce that people were looking for. It was the salt. Sauce comes from the Latin salsus, which came from saliere, the verb “to salt,” which came from the Latin sal or salis. Sauces are at the heart of culinary traditions that have given us everything from the regal filet mignon a l’espagnole to a simple biscuits and gravy.

We normally think of a sauce as a concentrated liquid that is salted enough that the sauce seasons the entire dish. But a sauce can also be deconstructed, expanding a dish’s flavor across liquid and crystalline realms. Crusty meats and steamy vegetables under silken folds of sauce studded with salt crystals are moistened and enriched by the liquid and at the same time defined and accentuated by the salt. Sauces are an open invitation to explore the dramatic tension of salt resisting and eventually succumbing to the moisture of food.

Some sauces include a few sautéed cubes of pancetta or other salted meat, which provides the extra kick of salt that makes further salting unnecessary (though blanching these ingredients will reduce their salt content considerably). Mussels and clams cooked in their own juices create their own intense, briny sauces without help from any added salt.

At the extreme end of the saucy continuum, you can take out the liquid altogether. Combine salt and a handful of herbs and spices and pat it over the food. This is called a rub. The salt achieves two essential functions here: it captures aromatics from the herbs and spices, giving those volatile organic materials a more enduring crystalline body to live in; and it draws out juices from the food it is rubbed on. These juices then combine with the herbs and spices in the rub to make a sauce right on the surface of the food.

OEUF MAYONNAISE

SERVES 4

Eggs barely hard-cooked, dolloped with housemade mayo: without this simple, affordable bistro food, I would surely have perished under a bridge on the banks of the glittering Seine. A few bucks buys you a seat at a rickety table on a busy street for as long as you wish, leaving you free to jot remembrances and ideas as you soak up the sights, sounds, and smells of Paris. A crust of baguette dipped in the heavenly silkiness