The day before I started my low-sodium diet, I bought a bagel loaded with salt, and later split a strip steak at a restaurant. My total sodium intake was a complete mystery.
So I did some sleuthing: The restaurant owner guessed his 16-ounce strip includes about 500 milligrams of sodium from the salt his cooks sprinkle on top and an additional 250 in the accompanying brandy mushroom cream sauce. But those numbers don’t include the sodium naturally occurring in the muscle. Omaha Steaks, for example, says its eight-ounce strip alone contains 115 milligrams of sodium.
The bagel proved even trickier to calculate. The best I could do was hazard a guess based on one offered at a local bagel shop that boasts a whopping 620 milligrams of sodium. Between the bagel and half of that strip steak, my sodium intake was around 1,000 milligrams. And that doesn’t include the morning coffee, the cubicle snacks, the cafeteria sandwich, the wine and countless other salt-delivery systems I indulged in during this single day.
Managing sodium intake requires the sort of endless vigilance that few of us have the stomach for. The average American age 2 and older gobbles down more than 3,400 milligrams of sodium a day. The government would like millions of us to shave almost 2,000 milligrams off that number. The new 2010 Dietary Guidelines for Americans call for nearly half of U.S. residents, those at risk for hypertension and other health problems, to drop their sodium intake to 1,500 milligrams, maximum, a day. That’s about two-thirds of a teaspoon of salt.
Is that even doable in the sodium-rich playground called America? Is it palatable? I gave the 1,500-milligram diet a test run for a week, sampling foods at home and from grocery stores, restaurants and vending machines. I ran into obstacles everywhere. I also encountered some nice surprises.
Day 1: Trust no one
If advocates of sodium reduction want you to understand anything, it’s this: Food processors and chefs don’t care if you choke down enough salt to cure a pig right in its tracks. They’re out to make a buck. Whether that is true, I don’t know, but I will say this: Chefs can be cavalier about salt sensitivities.
Case in point: At one restaurant, the waiter assured me that the chef uses little salt in her cooking. I felt as if I were being played for a sucker. So I explained how precious few milligrams of sodium I had left in my diet that day: about 400, less than a quarter-teaspoon of salt. At the chef’s urging, I settled for a wan bowl of mustard spaetzle with savoy cabbage, without its usual teaspoon of salt. If not for the small, selective bursts of mustard and the cabbage-y sweetness of the savoy, the spaetzle surely would have evaporated from sheer blandness.
Only later, while talking to the chef on the phone, did I learn that a single portion of her dish typically contains at least a quarter-teaspoon of salt, not counting the finishing salt or the sodium found in the Dijon mustard. “Wow,” she said after hearing how little sodium I could consume that evening. “That’s a very, very small amount.” That disconnect between low-sodium diner and sodium-packing chef had cost me: I had blown my limit on Day 1.
Day 2: Equilibrium of sins
The main pleasure of my trip to the restaurant was the cabernet: Each sip felt like a small, self-congratulatory pat on the back for undertaking this masochistic experiment. I was further rewarded when I learned that cabernet sauvignon contains no sodium.
Granted, I didn’t dig too deep to try to disprove that factoid. In depriving myself of salt, I felt poor – in flavor, and also perhaps in spirit. As Mark Kurlansky writes in his book “Salt: A World History” (Penguin Books, 2002), the now-ubiquitous seasoning was once a prized commodity over which countless wars were waged to control its production and distribution, and has even been a currency.
I drank more wine during this week of deprivation than I have in years. After Day 2’s lackluster meals, I poured a glass of cabernet to pair with a bowl of imported tagliatelle (a surprisingly zero-sodium product that I boiled in, ugh, salt-less water) topped with a miserly half-cup of Toigo Orchards’ heirloom tomato sauce. The pasta was poverty eating, with no room for even a scrap of meat. The wine was compensation, as if to remind myself I’m still worthy of life’s riches.
Day 3: Flavor substitute
Ask any 10 chefs how to boost flavor when salt is scarce and each will name one or all of the following: spices, citrus juices, fresh herbs, reduced unsalted stocks or rubs. Those ingredients are already used to add depth and complexity, but the presumption is that, with less salt, they will shoulder a larger burden in any particular dish.
At one restaurant I had an appetizer of yellowfin tuna carpaccio with segments of blood orange, crunchy spears of fennel, strips of pickled lemon zest and artfully sprinkled fronds of dill – without the salt usually sprinkled on top. When I rolled up a length of the thinly sliced tuna, concealing the toppings like a burrito, I was impressed with the bursts of acid and sweetness that punctuated the fresh, clean fattiness of the fish.
And I had one unshakable thought: This would taste a lot better with salt.
Day: 4: Home cooking
The solution to the Himalayan mountain of salt we face in restaurants and grocery stores is to cook at home. Success, of course, is contingent on at least two factors: One, that you follow a low-sodium recipe; two, that you treat your salt shaker as if it were a bear in the woods and leave it undisturbed. That is not my way.
But I dutifully followed a recipe for Indian Wok Seared Chicken and Vegetables in “EatingWell: 500 Calorie Dinners,” by Jessie Price, Nicci Micco and the Eating Well Test Kitchen (Countryman Press, 2010). Scaled down to serve two, the dish would include less than a half-teaspoon of salt. I usually spill more than that on the floor. But the recipe’s genius is its technique of rolling the cut chicken in a cornstarch-and-spice blend, so that those precious few crystals are evenly distributed on the surface of the meat. The dish, I must confess, was delicious.
Day 5: The standoff
Nutritional ignorance is all too common. Many chefs have no clue, nor do employees at places where they should know. I walked out of a Potbelly Sandwich Shop when a manager informed me that nutritional information could be found only online. Chop’t Creative Salad Co. had to fetch a manual to show me the figures, an awkward review in the middle of a crowded shop. And don’t even bother with most vendors at the farmers market. You might as well ask them to map the human genome.
Day 6: The experiment
Whatever you think of sugar substitutes, they at least provide a sweetness that mimics the original ingredient. Salt substitutes and salt-free seasonings are different beasts altogether. I tried a small, highly biased experiment with three cheap strip steaks and one seasoning for each: No Salt, Mrs. Dash Table Blend and Trapani sea salt. I seared the steaks in a pan, popped them in the oven to finish and sampled the results.
The NoSalt steak tasted like bitter metal; the Mrs. Dash tasted like stale herbs. And the Trapani? Well, it turned even that overcooked piece of low-grade meat into something savory and semi-satisfying.
Steak and salt. There is no substitute.
Day 7: Sodium showdown
All food manufacturers are not alike. That fact is routinely noted by nutritionists who point to the wide variation in sodium among, say, tomato sauces. Newman’s Own Cabernet Marinara has 590 milligrams of sodium per serving; Classico’s Cabernet Marinara cuts that nearly in half at 330 milligrams.
There can be even wider variation in the freezer case, where the sodium content ranges from the salt lick of P.F. Chang’s Home Menu Ginger Chicken and Broccoli (1,030 milligrams) to the merely salty Healthy Choice Cafe Steamers General Tso’s Spicy Chicken (500 milligrams). The healthful choice is obvious, and not just by name, but the flavorful choice is equally clear: The General Tso’s tastes as though some scientist decided consumers would be happy to sacrifice salt for sugar. The Ginger Chicken and Broccoli tastes like decent Chinese takeout. If I had to choose between the two for dinner, I’d pick the P.F. Chang’s meal every time. Of course, you might say that’s just the salt talking.
Many say it takes six weeks for your palate to adjust to lower sodium levels. I must admit that even after a week’s worth of reduction, I developed a serious appreciation for the small pockets of salt I did encounter, as if my palate were hard-wired to seek out the mineral’s many pleasures to ensure my survival (which is sort of the case). But I was also acutely aware that I was eating less overall, just to stay under the 1,500-milligram limit. I felt hungry many days. In retrospect, I realize I could have filled that void with low-sodium fruits and vegetables, which is exactly what the government wants me to do anyway.