A soupçon of salt.

I was with a posh boyfriend (yes, that one), in an even posher
2 Michelin starred restaurant. Near St Malo.

It was stunning inside, lit by hundreds of candles and a wall of
antique gilt mirrors made it really atmospheric.
But it was poncey and so up it's own arse it was also incredibly intimidating.

We ordered food (he spoke fluent French, and was a
pretentious bastard). We both had oysters to start.
They came on beautiful vintage round pewter trays,
piled high with rock sea-salt. The oysters were embedded into it.
We started to eat them. They were really delicious.

Then, my posh, pretentious, fluent French speaking boyfriend did
something odd and picked up the soup spoon (le spoon de soup in my French)
scooped up a huge spoonful of sea salt and put it in his mouth!
I watched, mid-slurp, eyes screaming: 'What the fuck are you doing'?
The restaurant was silent, like a cathedral to gastronomy
and I was too embarrassed to talk.
He blurrrgghhed the mouthful of sea salt all over the table.
All the other diners and waiters looked over.
I started laughing. No. I started fucking guffawing.
And trying to get the words: 'Why the fuck did you try to eat that?' out.
I may have been on my knees holding onto the leg of a Louis XV
chair or a waiter at this point.
A glass of water was handed to my posh, pretentious boyfriend,
who was still spitting and blurrrgghhing all over the place.

Eventually he said: "Mxnedfr fef skeef dessicated coconut"

Pardon?
It turns out he thought the oysters were embedded into
dessicated coconut.
What? What?
Think oysters, think dessicated coconut, right?

It really endeared him to me. For the rest of the evening anyhow.