I have lived in this valley long enough to remember when a jar of pickles was just a jar of pickles. You didn’t need to consult a map of the farm or a list of the soil’s mineral content to enjoy a crisp spear. Lately, however, I find myself standing in the aisles of our local specialty grocers, staring at rows of imported artisan dressings that seem to have completely forgotten the basic laws of chemistry.

Specifically, I am talking about the rise of the “low-sodium, wild-crafted, garden-pressed” vinaigrette. Last Tuesday, I picked up a bottle from the refrigerated section that cost as much as a gallon of high-octane diesel. The label promised a symphony of herbs plucked from a mountainside at sunrise. When I opened it at home to dress a simple head of lettuce, the result was heartbreakingly flat.

It was essentially flavored tap water. There was no backbone, no snap, and certainly no salt.

I asked my neighbor, Dave, who moved here from Seattle in 2012 and spends a great deal of time perfecting his sourdough starter, if he had noticed the trend. Dave took a long pause, adjusted his Patagonia vest, and told me that we are moving toward a “more nuanced palate” that honors the integrity of the individual vegetable. I told Dave that I didn’t move to Montana to have the integrity of my cucumber honored; I moved here to eat a salad that tastes like something other than a damp forest floor.

We seem to have reached a point where the community values the idea of a product more than the product itself. If you put a label on a bottle that mentions “foraged ramps” or “heirloom vinegar,” it doesn’t seem to matter if the contents are completely bland. We are buying the story, not the seasoning. We are paying fifteen dollars to feel like we are eating in a place where we belong, even if that place is currently devoid of sodium.

It is a curious thing to watch a town change. We want to be a place of grit, a place of hard work and wild winters, but we are increasingly surrounding ourselves with boutique products that are afraid to offend anyone’s taste buds.

If we can build four-story luxury apartments on lots that used to fit a single trailer, we can surely manage to put a half-teaspoon of sea salt in a bottle of dressing. I would like to think we are still a town that understands the value of a little extra flavor. Otherwise, we’re just eating expensive water.

Lorraine Hubcap is a longtime Bozeman resident and pickle enthusiast. She serves on no boards and holds no titles, which she believes qualifies her to speak freely on matters of public concern.