Fleur de sel is the lightest, most fragile salt there is: a crust of crystals lifted by hand from the surface of a salt marsh on a still afternoon, dried in the sun and packed without refining. It stays slightly damp, carries the minerals of the seawater it came from, and shatters on the tongue rather than dissolving flatly. That crunch is the whole point, which is why it is added last, at the table, where it can still be felt.
Cook with an honest sea salt. We keep a bag of coarse Camargue salt beside the stove for pasta water, brines and roasting. Then finish with fleur de sel: over sliced tomatoes and a green olive oil, on soft eggs, across grilled fish, on radishes and sweet butter, and in the smallest pinch over dark chocolate or caramel.
Provenance changes the character more than most people expect. Sal de Ibiza is bright and clean and the place to begin. Sicilian fior di sale blended with lemon belongs with fish and green vegetables. A smoked fleur de sel from Greece was made for anything that came off a fire. For the cook who would like to taste the difference, the Guérande and Île de Ré duo sits side by side in two ceramic jars, and is the best salt gift we know.
