I finally understand why they call them seasons. It is because every winter we liberally sprinkle kosher salt the size of golf balls across our roads and highways, thereby prepping them for the spring pre-heat, summer sizzle, and fall cool-down. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we treat our streets as if they are rib roasts. The question I would like answered is, “Who was the first person to salt a thoroughfare?” and the inevitable follow-up, “How long before the locals accused them of Witchcraft?” Seriously, have you ever stopped to think about how bizarre this municipal practice is? I suspect that before those massive salting plows existed cities unleashed an army of workers with tiny salt shakers and headlamps. Of course, I understand that winter salting is a public safety necessity, but could we at least get some pepper out there as well? Think of all the poor woodland critters who have to munch on over-salted highway medium arugula. And you know those plow drivers aren’t seasoning to taste. They just yank a giant red lever in their climate controlled cabs and unleash tidal waves of Morton’s over hill and dale. Central arteries indeed. At this rate, we’re going to send our major roads and highways straight to the ICU with a massive salt attack. If only we could somehow work olive oil into the mix – it might dilute the salt’s potency. Just don’t forget to put those breadstick chains on your tires before you venture out. The driving conditions are absolutely delicious.