For the past two years I've been trying to take a page from writer Michael Pollam and eat around the edges of the supermarket to save my heart, avoid early dementia, but mostly to save money. But with the price of foodstuffs edging out the savings, I'm going to have to grow more of that stuff at home.

I collect old cookbooks, preferably used and well worn. I buy them inexpensively at flea markets, used book stores, and yard sales. When I open the fragile pages and find an old stained recipe, grocery list, or a birthday card, I feel like I am opening a time capsule. I love scrutinizing the old recipes, noting what ingredients were popular, and what particular dishes (usually long fallen out of favor) were considered fashionable at the time. I love making fun of the old jello molds, kodachrome pictures, and fatty meat roasts. And at times, I actually learn a little more food history, and feel like a low budget archeaologist.

The tomatoes I had picked over the weekend were taunting me. The half peck or so of them, sitting in the container on the counter, just begging me to do something with them.

I needed a distraction. Due to the hurricane, rain, and the onslaught of devastating flooding, it was a long and dreary week. At work, we hunkered down and ate bag lunches all week. Friday came, and the rain finally somewhat slowed down. Being restless, The Lunching Lawyers and I (two colleagues of mine that work in the same office building and who are also foodies) went to the Back Door Café in Carlisle.