The Trencher was turned on a lathe by someone's hands — a small hardwood bowl from the sixties craft movement, thick rolled rim, deep scoop, little pedestal foot, mellowed to a honey-amber that only decades of kitchen life can produce. Bowls like her sat on tables as open salt cellars back when salt got pinched, not shaken.
Flaky salt by the stove, rings by the sink, or just the warmest five inches on the shelf.
