So there I am, basically minding my own business and pretending to be just another tourist shopper in Fredericksburg, Texas-- shopping capital of the Texas Hill Country. We pop into an adorable house turned hospital turned store named Kuchenladen because, afterall, with a name like that, it's got to spell food. Fredericksburg celebrates its German heritage, so you need to do a little translating or sounding out with many store names. (Kuchen means cooking or kitchen.)
After the basic 'howdy, ya'll' and the explanation that the space is very deep and that each of the many, many rooms is devoted to a different type of cooking art, I moved away from the front desk and began to ooohhhh and aaahhh and then stagger backward at the top of the line prices on the top of the line merchandise.
Perhaps the prices were not any higher than normal, but then, I don't normally shop (seriously) at regular retail. The thought that I could have had a a new 401K instead of a stash of Le Crueset pots and pans was a frightening one. I never seem to get the investments right...or I did great when I got 'in' as early as I did, since I could never afford this stuff now.
What I am saying is, there was nothing in this store I could afford.
And then my eye was drawn to a series of farm-stand style bins in the corridor, each bin held what appeared to be a cheap plastic imitation fruit or veg-- tomato, onion, lemon, garlic bulb, etc. On further inspection, I went wild with delight to discover that each of these molded plastic items was a 'saver'.
Having just wrapped a portion of a precious Heirloom Tomato in a baggie and said a tomato prayer for it's survival, I was over the moon to plunk down $5.98 for a Tomato Saver. Other savers were priced at $4.98.
The savers are made by a company named Hutzler in Connecticut; I'd give you the web site but I can't read the tiny writing on the side of the tomato. They can be washed in the dishwasher and while, yes, they are made in China, probably the tomatoes are too.