Salt is as much superstition as it is seasoning. It is tradition, preservation, and heritage. It finds its way into nearly every part of our lives.

It sits in our cabinets and on our counters, in takeout packets and old family recipes. We toss it over our shoulders to ward off bad luck. It gathers in the sweat on our brows and the tears on our cheeks. Most of all, it finds its way to the table, where we eat, tell stories, argue, laugh, and pass things down.

In Italian tradition, salt is a gift of stability. Nothing is meant to cross the threshold of a new home before oil, bread, and salt. Salt isn’t meant to be passed around the table, either; it is passed down through generations.

My mom taught me this through a loved one’s table. When my nana died, she kept the salt from her table— preserving a piece of the person who anchored the home; the person who anchored the table.

Years later, when I moved out on my own, my mom handed me salt from hers.

The things we inherit aren’t always the things that fit neatly into a box or bear someone’s name. Sometimes they’re recipes, rituals, stories, a particular way of setting a table. Sometimes they’re as simple as a little salt saved from the kitchen.