I had to circle Hamahiga Island twice before finding the narrow, earth road. An hour’s drive from Naha, a sign made from sliced bark pointed to Takaesu Seienjo, a salt factory hidden behind clumps of ficus, deigo and subtropical broadleaf trees.
According to records, commercial salt production in Okinawa began in a tidal wetland near Naha in 1694. In a 19th-century guidebook on diet therapy, a physician to the Ryukyuan royal court named Tokashiki Pechin Tsukan claimed that salt, known in Okinawan as “māsu,” “removes toxins, purifies qi energy, and expels lung diseases.”
Although some of Tsukan’s recommendations, such as the proscription to scrub teeth and rinse the eyes in saline solutions, can be taken with a large pinch of salt (pun intended), there is, nonetheless, something counter-intuitive in his aligning of salt with good health. We are told, after all, to view salt, along with saturated fats and sugar, as a major cause of hypertension and strokes.
Avoiding over-roasting, as this reduces some of the nutritional benefits, Okinawan artisans produce salt that is packed with minerals such as iron, copper, zinc and magnesium. Potassium, another mineral with a lower degree of sodium nitrate (a notorious artery-hardener), helps to reduce blood pressure.
Before making my way to the Takaesu plant, however, I tried to get into Nuchi Una, a factory run by the Nuchi Masu Co. in the city of Uruma on neighboring Henza Island that is open to tour groups. There, you can witness first hand the technique of atomizing saltwater and subjecting it to blasts of warm air, a process that results in a rapid vaporization and helps preserve all its saltwater mineral content.
I was told I would need to register for a tour if I wanted to get into the plant, so I had to settle for a peep through a porthole-like glass window that looked into the main operating room. It revealed a modern complex, operated by staff sealed from head to toe in spotless laboratory outfits.
This is what led me to Takaesu Seienjo, which delivers a more authentic, hand-crafted experience that also happens to be visitor-friendly and accessible. This is largely due to its owner, Masaru Takaesu, who laughed when I asked him if I needed to make an appointment to see him at work. Along with his wife, the Takaesus run an operation that manages to be both relaxed and professional.
As Takaesu showed me around, I noticed the way he was dressed was much different from the staff at Nuchi Una. Instead of biohazard chic, Takaesu was dressed in casual boots, loose black pantaloons, a T-shirt, a headscarf and the type of cotton wristbands tennis players wear to concentrate their energy and soak up sweat.
The salt at his plant is manufactured using what’s known as the “flowing salt fields” method. This involves pumping salt water from the nearby ocean, then dripping it over branches of inverted bamboo suspended on large frames. It helps to remove unwanted deposits of calcium. The water then flows through a brick foundation, where it is recirculated via a process that uses sun and wind, evaporating the water and leaving crystals of salt on the bamboo branches.
Collected in large pans, the salt particles are boiled, raked and then placed into large ceramic jars. Nigari, a brine concentrate collected during the boiling process, is added and the solution is then left to dry. The result is a mellow tasting arajio (rock salt) that, because it is naturally dried, conveys little of the bitterness normally associated with the product. Because of weather conditions, shifting seasons and tides, this process cannot be mass-produced.
Salt harvesting and production is tough work that requires muscle and dexterity. Takaesu invites me to return when he will be steaming, raking and purifying the salt he has been collecting. An hour later, I am stepping out of the soggy Okinawan air and back into his factory, little prepared for temperatures that will rise to 50 degrees Celsius. Salt water is death for cameras, the steamy air requires me to constantly wipe my lenses, then take rapid, pre-visualized images. As Takaesu winds up, we reach simultaneously for bottles of mineral water to replenish our lost fluids.
While gourmet salts such as Sicilian Trapani, Sel de Guerande and Maldon have long been necessary ingredients for chefs at premier restaurants, Okinawan salts are only now beginning to compete with those brands, jostling for international attention. Among the products for sale at the Takaesu salt factory are magnesium salt, a kokutō (muscovado) blend, a sparkling pink offering that looks similar to Himalayan salt, the enigmatic Full Moon Crystal Salt, and a yellow Hamahiga shikuwasa brand made with dried and pulverized Okinawan lime. There is also a line of relaxing bath salts.
It may be some time before Okinawan salt is recognized as an essential health food ingredient, but my visit to Takaesu Seienjo was an enlightening first step in revising a lot of negative assumptions about the life-withering effects of arguably everyone’s go-to condiment.
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