Of late I’ve been getting asked about the salt and pepper collection almost every day when I’m out at the Roadhouse. One of the most frequently asked questions, “How long have you been collecting them?” The answer is that I started out in the late ‘90s back when we had our little produce market in Kerrytown. It seemed like a fun thing to do to buy up produce oriented shakers and put them on display above the fruits and vegetables. I probably had about fifty pairs back then. While the produce market ultimately didn’t last the shakers did—they stayed in boxes in our offices until a few years ago when it dawned on me that they’d be a fun addition out at the Roadhouse. And that’s when the collecting really got going. So the literal answer is probably ten years ago, but in truth, most of them have been gathered up in the last couple years. It’s been a lot of fun actually, both finding them, sharing stories about them, learning their history, watching people of all ages check them out and marvel at their diversity. Many have great stories behind them, both historically in terms of design, or personally, in terms of the people from whom I got them.

A Little Salt and Pepper History

Aside from the fact that I like the way they look, there’s actually interesting culinary context for them. See, the thing is that if you go back into history both salt and pepper were, up until modern times, generally very costly ingredients that only rich people could afford to use regularly. As you may already know, back in the days when there was no refrigeration, salt and smoke were the two most common methods of food preservation. If you didn’t live in an area where salt was easily found—i.e, away from a sea coast with a hot climate) or living above a known underground salt deposit—you weren’t likely to get too much of it. In general saltcellars (the dishes in which salt was served at the table) were considered a sign of wealth and status. The grandest saltcellar was always placed on the table in fairly close proximity to the host. Those seated on the host’s side of the saltcellar were honored; if you were seated “below the salt cellar” you were one of the common folk. As recently as the Civil War salt shortages were a big problem right here in North America; the Union Army intentionally cut off the South’s supply of salt, causing considerable spoilage of meats and other foods. In the Dictionary of American Food and Drink, John Mariani reports that Southerners resorted to scraping the floors of smokehouses to gather drippings of salt-cured meats in an attempt to preserve foods during the shortage. In his classic, “Cold Mountain,” Charles Frazier reaffirms this: “The most valuable trade, though, was the five-pound sack of salt they had gotten, it having become so scarce and dear that some people now dug up their smokehouse floors and boiled and strained the dirt and then boiled it down and strained it again.”

Similarly, for most of Western history pepper, has been a super hard to get commodity. The Romans loved it and went to incredibly great lengths to get it. Over time it often became a medium of exchange as well as itself an item of trade; much like cacao beans in Central America, people actually paid in peppercorns instead of coins. After the fall of the Empire pepper consumption dropped drastically and stayed down for many centuries. During the Renaissance, Venice grew to become the major pepper port of Europe, and from the 12th to the 16th centuries, the pepper trade helped to build the city-state into an international power. While these days buying a diamond may set you back a couple months salary, medieval pepper purchasers were in much the same boat. The more pepper that was popped on a guest’s plates the more prestigious the presenter.

The power of pepper peaked in roughly the 15th century. Demand had risen so high—and supply had become so short—that pepper prices were off the charts. Some adventurous souls sought out new sources to help meet unfulfilled demand. In this sense, the lust for pepper became the driving force of European expansion. You know the names of those who went after it—Columbus, Magellan, Vasco de Gama. Although the Americas proved to be pepperless—other than the misnamed chile peppers which weren’t pepper at all—it was actually the Portuguese who finally arrived in India by sea in 1498. Their success established new trade routes, and more plentiful supplies. Slowly but surely, pepper prices fell; by the end of the 17th century spices lost their supremacy in world trade. Gradually pepper became more affordable, and hence more readily available to the middle classes.

(For a more in depth bit of info on both salt and pepper see the chapters in “Zingerman’s Guide to Good Eating.”)

Salt and Pepper Shakers Today

So it’s with all those centuries of context in mind that I think about the significance of the American popularization of salt-and-pepper shakers. Because it’s actually quite an interesting symbol of social import as well as being rather fun that anyone in America could have salt and pepper being really something that was mostly for rich people. That, of course, fits really well with our whole approach here at Zingerman’s that says that good food is for everyone who’s interested, not just for some chosen gourmet few. And that, combined with the fact that they’re fun (and our vision says we’ve got 13 years to increase our fun by 380%—for entertainment check out the lawn mower, the washing machines and the grill in the new case en route to the bathrooms), and that, as you know, once I decide I’m going to do something I really hate doing it just half way, accounts for the fact that there are now 583 sets of salt and peppers on display at the Roadhouse.

I should add too that, in the context of community building, one really nice, unexpected outcome of having the salt and peppers on display that I hadn’t ever even considered, is that I’m starting to get sets of old shakers from regular customers. (Thanks in particular to salt and pepper supporter Sue Mitrovich.) Usually they’re folks whose parents or grandparents collected them. And they’re happy to give them to us where others will get to appreciate what their loved ones did for a long time—it’s a nice thing to be entrusted with small but emotionally significant family heirlooms.

If you head back through the hallway past the entrance to what we’ve come to call the “fireplace room” you’ll be looking straight at an entire case of shakers that came courtesy of Jim Metzler of Elkhart, Indiana. I met Jim and his family in one of those “six degrees of connection” stories that I love so much. A friend of his granddaughter’s had come up to Ann Arbor to visit and somehow had ended up at the Roadhouse for dinner. She loved her meal and went back home where she told her friend (Jim’s granddaughter) Jen Havlish about her experience. She also shared with Jen that we had all these old salt and pepper shakers on display—she knew that Jen’s grandfather was getting ready to move out of his house and was preparing to sell off a of his old stuff including his collection of shakers. Jen took the initiative to email me and invite me to come see if I was interested in buying some of them. For any number of reasons (like, I like a good adventure and I like salt and pepper shakers, especially those with a bit of history behind them) I said I’d be happy to check them out and offered to drive down to visit.

The only thing was that at the time I made the offer I was assuming that Jen and her grandfather lived in the Ann Arbor area. As the conversation progressed I discovered the rather large geographic error of my assumption—they were actually 2 ½ hours away in Elkhart, Indiana. For someone like me who closely guards every minute of time I have every day of the week, that’s a long lot of driving time. But . . . having offered to come and see the shakers I felt sort of obligated, and given that the family was about to sell all Jen’s grandfather’s stuff off in a matter of weeks, I just decided to go for it and headed out to Elkhart early one Sunday morning. Figured I could get there and back in time to work lunch. As you’d intuit from the fact that the shakers are now on display in the Roadhouse, the whole thing worked out really well. The Metzler family are great people, it’s great set of old salt and peppers, and now, there’s a really nice connection between us and the entire family.

Jim grew up in the town of Wakarusa, Indiana and lived most of his adult life in nearby Elkhart. His parents started buying shakers in the late 30s and a lot of the older ones in the collection are dated on the bottom from the late 1930s and early 1940s. Jim continued to buy them and built up quite a collection over the years. As someone who saves things and notices the little details of life, I can relate to the passion he had for this small sidebar of a thing he did for probably five decades. I’m probably just projecting, but if it were me it would be very hard to part with them (I know, I know, they’re just “objects”). Here he was selling the house he’d lived in most all of his adult life, and with it so many of the things (like these) that he’d collected, and that can’t be an easy thing to do.

For what it’s worth, there are 110 sets in the case. 109 came from Jim. His favorites, if I remember correctly, include the Little Miss Muffet and her tuffet and the topless Hawaiian hula dancers (positioned on the top shelf for the protection of young viewers.) I like the red and blue 1940s bombs. The 110th pair I added because a month or so after I’d been down to meet Jim, Jen and the family in person, I came across a little red plastic “advertising” set from “Weathermaster,” a company that happened to be based in Elkhart! Not sure exactly when it was from but the phone number to call on the shakers is 2-3150 if that tells you anything! Given the Elkhart connection, they were too good to pass up so I’ve squeezed into the case along all the ones that we got from Jim.

As a history major, there’s something special to me in being able to take a family heirloom like Jim’s collection and put it out where other people can come and appreciate it. The entire Metzler family came up to Ann Arbor about six weeks after I’d been down in Elkhart to make their first visit to Zingerman’s. It closed the loop on that first set of interactions and hopefully was but the first of many visits they’ll make to see us and say “hi” to Jim’s collection. I hope you take a minute to check it out next time you’re out to eat.

A Few Favorites of the Moment

Next time you’re in I hope you get a minute or two to check out the ever growing collection. Although the list will, I’m sure change over time, here are the ones I’m most intrigued by at the moment.

- In the case by the entry to the “Fireplace Room” there’s a “Trylon and Perisphere” set that dates to the 1939 NY World’s Fair.

- A bit to the right, there’s a set of light brown, Bakelite, Washington Monuments—probably from the 1930s—that I think are really great.

- Up by the entryway to the Roadshow, on the right side, there’s a pair of gray rocket ships from 1946 that might be my favorites of all at the moment. They’re dated on the bottom and the style is totally of that era. They just don’t make rocket ships like that any more!

- To the right of the rockets is a set that’s ideally positioned next to the bar—a large aspirin and a martini glass—someone was thinking when they made those.

- Oh yeah, I don’t want to forget the TV set– the salt and peppers shaker parts pop up when you turn the TV dials.

- The little gas company Disney genies over to the left of the door to the Roadshow are particularly special. I got them as a gift from my friend and (award winning!) animator Brooke Keesling. She in turn bought them from a distant relative of Walt Disney. They’re apparently very rare were used to advertise the Montreal Gas Co. in Quebec, Canada, hence their headdresses look like flames.

- The Rosemeade horses opposite the wall map on the way to the bathroom. Made in North Dakota by a studio that was originally known as Wahpeton, the name was changed later Rosemeade, after the North Dakota township in which the studio’s founder, Laura Taylor was born. North Dakota clay has been known for its excellence in pottery making since the late 19th century, and Rosemeade designs became quite well known in the ‘40s and ‘50s. The ‘prairie rose” sticker on the side of the horse heads is the “signature” of the studio. On top of all that history, I just think that they’re very beautiful pieces.

I’m always happy to hear which ones are your favorites!

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