I've never had much of a taste for revenge, but once, after he ruined a beautiful batch of risotto by spitting a freaking cinnamon candy into it as it simmered, I made my little brother a batch of salt pancakes (please note that we were 9 and 12 years old). The gullible, risotto-destroying brat saw nothing amiss in the golden stack of flapjacks presented to him by his big sis, and so he took a huge buttery, syrup-drenched bite. Of course, the cup-and-a-half of Morton I had poured into the batter made his lips curl into a look of disgust before he spat out the half-chewed sodium bomb.

So, this morning, when I told him I was making salted chocolate chip cookies, he said "You would add salt to something delicious. Thank you for being transparent with your intentions this time."

I promise you this, dear reader: my days of intentionally ruining sweet dishes with copious amounts of salt have gone the way of slap bracelets. Full House and not getting along with my little brother. Now, I only add salt to foods to make them extra delicious. Trust me on this one.