Since 2006, we’ve specialized in flowers, craft finishing salts, artisan-made chocolates, vermouths, cocktail bitters and, more recently, a growing collection of pantry goodies from all over the world. With over 120 finishing salts from around the world, our selection of unrefined, all-natural sea salts is as exciting as it is carefully curated. Salt surpasses even fire in its power to enhance the flavors of food, so we have brought together the finest, most beguiling, and most effective varieties— each with its own special mineral and crystal properties—to contribute new-found pleasure and beauty to our table.
got a job as a typesetter, bought a ‘68 VW Van to sleep in, saved up some money, sold the van, and moved to France, where I landed a job fixing up a chateau lost in the woodsy mountain range just north of the Pyrenees. When I wasn’t restoring eight-foot-tall oak shutters or building a stone wall, I’d shoot off on a motorcycle I’d picked up cheap to explore. One day, at a truck stop restaurant, I took a bite of the lunch special—steak and French fries—and that’s when everything changed for me.
The steak was studded with silvery chunks of coarse salt, with a minerally zing electrifying every bite. How can a steak be transcendent? I headed for the Atlantic coast where I met the salt maker, a humble but dashing man who gestured expansively over the wetlands where his salt farm lay and explained to me the simple facts of his trade: “This salt farm has been in continuous operation since Medieval monks established the system on the foundation of Roman salt works who built on Celtic salt works that go back to prehistory.” I was flabbergasted. A single crystal of salt had telescoped me through time and bound me in some intimate and unexpected ways to people and land and history itself.
But then again, I would never have predicted finding sushi at a county fair, or a veggie burger that bleeds, or a successful croissant-doughnut hybrid. I went back to college. I tried my hand at import/export in Paris. I sold wine. I built a database at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I CEO-ed a dot com company. I published news on superconductivity. A son was born, then a second. All the while, I travelled more often than is normal. One day my ex-wife and I decided to do the logical thing and open a flower shop. “And we can put all your salts in there too…. Get them out of the basement,” she said.
But there was a motive lurking deep down inside. All the years I’d travelled, all the joys and worries raising kids, all the sorrows and triumphs of an unsettled professional, had left me with a feeling that was only growing, taking on clarity, and quietly insisting on finding form. Bound up in this discovery of salt many years before was the realization that life is unspeakably beautiful, but you have to put yourself out there to see it. You have to give things a try, give people a try, risk yourself. What makes our lives meaningful and a joy are our connections to one another, to our history, and to our planet.
... but you have to put yourself out there to see it. You have to give things a try, give people a try, risk yourself. What makes our lives meaningful and a joy are our connections to one another, to our history, and to our planet.
The Meadow was founded to give life to these shared connections. Salt, chocolate, bitters, flowers. Craft made salt for the delight of cooking and sharing a meal. Artisan chocolate bars for fun and sensual pleasure. Cocktail bitters for the drinks that bring friends together. Fresh cut flowers for the beauty of nature brought home. It was perfect!
Worse, I actually shied away from selling things. I just wanted to welcome people into the shop and then, once I had them cornered, tell stories about the people, places, and history salt, chocolate, bitters, and flowers. Looking back, this was a weird way to be. Yet to this day the underlying sentiment of each of our team members remains the same. Every day is like an impromptu cocktail party, a welcoming place for creating and fostering connections.
I remember our first few summers. Things were often slow back then. Sometimes I would just close the door and put a sign out saying “I’m at the brewery across the street. Come get me or call me on my cell and I’ll be right over!” We try not to do that any more, but if we do, we hope you’ll come over and join us.
With love,
Mark Bitterman
Owner of The Meadow
