Salt of the Earth: Sarah Sproule and her Rooftop Salt Garden

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Words by Megan Smith
Photography by Jacklyn Greenberg

For a seemingly unending rainy streak in NYC, even the gloomy skies can’t keep Sarah Sproule from smiling ear to ear as she climbs into the booth of the crowded midtown Starbucks to meet me for an afternoon coffee and chat. She’s due to bartend around the corner in a couple of hours (job #1) and she’s just come from checking on her salt (job #2).

That’s right. Salt.

This wide-eyed beauty with her pixie haircut and girl-next-door charm makes salt. From Atlantic seawater. On a music school rooftop in Chelsea. Go figure.

This is not the umbrella girl on blue cylinder kind of salt your mom bought for a few cents in the spice aisle. Urban Sproule salt is the good stuff. The chunky, fancy salt that Food Network chef wanna-bes swoon over in Williams-Sonoma catalogs and try to justify purchase of in their Thanksgiving spending budget.

In an unregulated segment of the US food industry, Salt Monger Sarah is making the rules up as she goes. A chef by trade, she worked in the kitchen of famed Colicchio & Sons, later moving out West to manage an elite country club kitchen before settling back in NYC to teach cooking classes at Union Square Greenmarket and moonlight as a bartender.

The notion of salt-making came about rather experimentally, actually. With an idea, a plastic bucket and an outing to the nearby shoreline, Sarah wondered if a recent story she’d heard about Dead Sea salt was possible in her own backyard Atlantic. With childlike curiosity, she waded into the water, filled her bucket with the murky saline liquid and headed home. Days turned into weeks where the bucket of ocean water, left outside her tiny NYC apartment, sat.

And sat.

And sat.

Slowly evaporating until the water was gone. And when peering into the bottom of the bucket, Sarah found what she was hoping for: salt. “It really was just a bunch of commonsense,” she said matter-of-factly. This, coming from a 20-something-year-old who has created, quite possibly, the first rooftop salt garden in the world. Her excitement is contagious as she recounts the details of her discovery.

For Sarah, the journey hasn’t been so much about a sodium curiosity but rather a passion for locavorism. She preached and promoted local farmers and growers in the New York area during her cooking demonstrations and, as most chefs do, finished each dish with a sprinkling of salt. Salt from somewhere else.

Once the solo bucket salt experiment proved successful, Sarah’s gears started turning; wanting to make more. For herself and (was it possible?) enough to sell at her Greenmarket class each weekend. “I knew I needed sun and wind for evaporation and, more than anything, space.” Space in midtown Manhattan? A contradiction if there ever was one. As chance would have it (in one of those Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon sort of ways), Sarah found space to make her salt on the rooftop of a music school in Chelsea, and in the summer of 2012 began construction of an 8×12 greenhouse, hauling several hundred evaporation bins, water barrels, shelving and supplies up to her own Big Apple Shangri-La.

But beyond sun and wind and space, the most crucial element is seawater. Local fishermen Charlie and Glen have that covered. Each Saturday they bring 125 gallons from the purest waters 30 miles east of Montauk, NY to the Brooklyn Borough Hall farmers market where Sarah and her husband lug it back to Chelsea and up 13 floors to the greenhouse.

Clearly, Sarah Sproule is no slouch. This girl has got some gumption and drive. After building that greenhouse, she went on to source handmade glass jars with cork lids and design labels for her company, aptly named “Urban Sproule.” And in spite of her trailblazing ways, she desperately wanted the A-OK from someone….anyone before presenting her product to the public. “Because salt-making isn’t really regulated, no one really seemed to care what I was doing.” Weeks of phone calls and attempts to get a food related government agency’s seal of approval, failed. No one came. Undeterred, she went a little unorthodox (pardon the pun). “I figured, what could be better than being declared kosher? I called the Orthodox Union and asked if they would come. I think they thought I was crazy; they had never heard of, let alone approved, rooftop salt before. I was so nervous about that inspection. The OU is a world renowned and respected agency!”

Sarah passed inspection that day and received Kosher Certification from the Orthodox Union in April 2013.

Today, Urban Sproule boasts of eight salt flavors in its flight. With infusions like celery, Thai chili, grilled ramps and black squid ink, Sarah is bringing her impressive Atlantic amalgamates (of a Michelin starred restaurant quality) to the everyday cook.

There have been many lessons learned along the way, none more valuable than that of patience. Sarah’s business relies most heavily on something there is no control over: the weather. For this girl that never sits still, “making salt is definitely a test of my patience. Salt is telling me to chill the hell out.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hovding: The Invisible Bike Helmet

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Words by Robbie Clark
Photography by Jesse Fox

When the Swedish government passed a law in 2005 making it mandatory for children under the age of 15 to wear bicycle helmets, many were concerned that the law would be expanded to include adults. Worries about their civil liberties and big government’s encroachment into their private lives were troublesome, but what worried them the most was the thought of becoming a nation forever cursed with flat, lifeless “helmet hair.”

These fears were well-grounded, according to Anna Haupt, cofounder of Sweden-based Hövding helmets. She says bicycling culture is ingrained in Swedish culture, with nearly 80 percent of the Scandinavian country’s population using bicycles as a mode of transportation, be it commuting to work, riding to school or pedaling into town from the countryside.

“And we saw this law as a threat to us,” Haupt said in excellent English during an interview via Skype. “If the law was also going to include adults in the future, we hated the traditional helmets because they were geeky and destroyed the hair.”

Necessity may be the mother of invention, but vanity is a close cousin, and Haupt and her colleague, Terese Alstin, decided they were going to revolutionize the helmet industry and preserve Sweden’s fondness for bicycle dependence. And spare millions of people from potential bad hair days while they were at it.

As a response to the 2005 helmet law, Haupt and Alstin, while studying industrial design at Lund University in southern Sweden, developed a master’s thesis exploring the idea of an “airbag helmet” that would only deploy in the crucial split seconds following a collision, much like the airbag in an automobile.

“We needed to employ a lot of people during those years, of course, because we couldn’t do everything ourselves,” Haupt remembered. “We needed the best mathematicians, because everything that we needed was not invented yet. We needed a new algorithm that was far from the car industry algorithms. We needed an airbag that was three-dimensional, which in most cars the airbag isn’t. And it needed to hold and withstand multiple hits in one single accident, so it needed to withstand full pressure for several seconds, which normal airbags don’t have to do.”

Seven years and thousands of crash tests later, Hövding was created and certified as a safety product in Sweden, as well as in all of Europe. The company hopes to eventually have the helmet certified in the United States.

The company, which now employs 16 people with an arsenal of varying skills and expertise–engineers, marketers, finances, customer service–in Malmö, Sweden, has also found distributors and retailers in all of northern Europe, as well as Germany and Austria (and even Asia, with the helmet hitting the streets of Japan in October).

Initially, Hövding was a hard sell, as is any radical new contraption (let alone with a price tag of nearly 400 euros), and many distributors and retailers were hesitant to face the liability of putting an unfamiliar safety device on the heads of their customers.

“It took us actually a long time to find the retailers and the distributors, because they were more afraid than the actual customers of this completely new invention,” Haupt said. “Is it really going to work? How do I know that it’s going to inflate in an accident? Are people really prepared to pay for this kind of product? It took us a lot of time to convince the retailers that this was the future of helmets.”

“Hövding always raises a lot of questions about [its ability to work]. It’s much safer than traditional helmets in many aspects, and that’s something that is much harder, I think, for us to communicate, because when it comes to safety, it needs more words than just a sentence.”

So here it goes:

The Hövding helmet is actually worn around the rider’s neck like a thick collar or scarf. A snap button on the front zipper functions as an on/off switch. There’s a nylon fabric “airbag” tucked snuggly inside the collar, which looks like a big, white, puffy hood when inflated. There are also small electronic sensors which have been programmed with algorithms to recognize the motion a rider’s body makes when the bicycle is hit from behind by a car or slams into a telephone pole or encounters one of the hundreds of other perils cyclists face while cruising down the road. When the sensors are triggered, the airbag quickly inflates and engulfs the head, while not obstructing the user’s vision, for a few seconds before beginning to slowly deflate. The sensors can distinguish the jostling associated with normal cycling and other situations from actual accidents, so if you happen to be wearing an engaged Hövding while running up a flight stairs, the mechanism won’t deploy.

Haupt says the Hövding is safer than conventional bicycle helmets because it covers a much larger area of the head, and the airbag pillows the brain for gentler shock absorption.

And since Hövding was a creature of vanity, it is only natural that the outer layer of the collar can be accessorized with about a half dozen different interchangeable styles.

From its robust media reception to an impressive amount of design and entrepreneurial awards, this innovative helmet drew immediate international attention. And many venerable outlets called moments after the product launch with interest in the new invisible helmet.

“They started phoning from Canada, Japan, the Discovery Channel,” Haupt said. “They phoned us from all over the world in just a few hours. It was great.”

However, the greatest accolade the inventors have received has been the sight of cyclists on the road near their office wearing Hövding helmets barely a year and a half after it was released to the public.

“Seeing it in reality on the streets, of course, was worth all the struggle. It was a great feeling,” she said, not only because it is her creation, but because she feels like she’s helping to preserve her local cycling culture while making her fellow countrymen safer.

And Haupt really does feel like the riders are safer, especially after she put her own Hövding helmet to the test.

“I’ve tried it, yes,” she said. “It wasn’t meant to be tried, but I was in a bicycle accident, and it worked. Of course.”

And afterward, her hair still looked immaculate.