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Japanese Nazuna

ALTERNATE NAME: nazuna MAKER(S): n/a TYPE: traditional CRYSTAL: adhesion of protopyra-mids, cubes, polyhedrons, plates COLOR: shocked ice FLAVOR: balanced; clear MOISTURE: high ORIGIN: Japan SUBSTITUTE(S): Halen Môn; grigio di Cervia BEST WITH: raw beef; salmon; butter

An almost sweet mildness ripples gently outward across the tongue, not gathering steam but not diminishing either. Then, finding the odd places at the edges of your mouth, the salt takes on a resonance—it gains a brassy note, ringing out with the random tones of a self-taught trumpet player in a subway tunnel. The crystal structure seems to be composed of salt crystals of every imaginable variety that are stuck together to form the beginnings of flakes. An abundance of moisture gives even the most fragile of these crystals the resilience to bring their faint individual voices to the flavors of a dish. The combined effect is powerful, yet restrained.

Nazuna is from Kyushu, the third-largest island of Japan. The salt is made by evaporating seawater sheltered from the rain in pyramid-shaped greenhouses. Crystallization takes place in pans made of Japanese cypress (hinoki).

Jewel of the Ocean

ALTERNATE NAME: Uni no Houseki MAKER(S): n/a TYPE: traditional CRYSTAL: origami cardboard boxes COLOR: partially melted paraffin FLAVOR: balanced; clear MOISTURE: medium-low ORIGIN: Japan SUBSTITUTE(S): Vietnamese pearl BEST WITH: would make beautiful rock candy necklaces

Absurdly huge crystals the shape and size of engine bolts are reason enough for any sane person to avoid eating this salt. It would be fun to use as construction materials for a scale model of Athenian walls and other fortifications around your food, in defense against attack by hordes of bloodthirsty Spartans. But it is not for eating. Yes, it is very nicely balanced, with the classic rich-yet-clear profile of good Japanese salts. Yes, it has luscious color that makes me think of candlelit dancers behind rice paper screens. And, yes, it even has the requisite moisture to lend each unearthly crystal a yielding quality that makes you think about it for many minutes after its shimmering Scovillian zing has trailed off to nothingness.

Tension abounds in this salt. It is in its structure, and in the very mineral sources it comes from. The salt is made by combining deep seawater with more seawater from the surface of the ocean, joining the subtle magnesium-rich depths with the planktonic vitality of the shallower waters. Ocean currents convect minerals surprisingly little, so as far as salt harvesting is concerned, each oceanic layer can be considered its own sea; it is the waters of these two seas that make up this salt. The brine is solar evaporated first, and then moved into handmade ceramic vessels inside solar greenhouses for crystallization.

To grind Jewel of the Ocean with a mortar and pestle (it is too coarse for any salt mill) is to throw away its entire raison d’etre. There is no way to combine this stuff with food without sacrificing its chief allures: bigness, and an ingenious structure evocative of architecture used millennia before history was written and possibly originating from outer space.

On the other hand, the impossibility of this salt may be reason enough to seek it out. The crystals do not occur as a solid block like a rock salt. Rather, a loose piece of salt is constructed as a thick-walled but hollow box, with spans of fibrous-seeming salt crystals stretched from one edge to the other, as if forming a taut, woven drum. Then, very fine crystals of geometric shapes are flung into this drum, where they stick. The interior walls of this salt box are thus filled with struts and smaller crystals of every imaginable shape, producing a kaleidoscopic effect in salt-silver monochrome. Under the spell of this play of light and lighter, the adventurous eater might feel obligated to seek out some showy use for the salt’s natural glamour, much as a beachcomber tries to find just the right spot on the crowded mantel