As I'm walking into the store to get more onions and garlic (some hoard toilet paper; hey, we all have our own priorities) I think: While I'm here, I might as well pick up a couple bags of pota—.

I'm halfway into the thought before I realize my mistake.

Of course, there's nary a spud to be had. They've even removed the pallet where the bags of potatoes are usually piled.

Some love pasta, some love bread. I like both, but I'm a witch of the Tribe of Witches, and witches are potato-eaters from way back.

Why witches and potatoes? Well, they're survival food, as hordes of panicked potato-hoarding Americans can readily attest. Easy to store, easy to cook, they're nutritious, delicious, and excellent belly-fillers. But there's more to the story than that.

They say that back when they first brought potatoes into the village, they said: Hey, look at these goofy-ass tubers from the New World. They're called 'potatoes.' You can eat them, really you can: here, see?

The cowans all shrank back. Are you kidding? they said. Those are nightshades; nightshades'll kill you.

The witches, however, who knew their nightshades, came closer, intrigued.

You can eat these, you say? we said. Here, let me see that.

I grew up knowing that there are certain things that you always have to have in the house: bread, salt, onions, garlic, potatoes. Not to have at least a little of each is terrible bad luck.

Oh well. Last week's sack of potatoes should hold for a while. With ten pounds of brown basmati, three bags of whole wheat flour, and more beans than you could wave a wand at already in the pantry, I certainly won't lack for staples in the days to come.

Still, there's love and there's love. I fill up my bag with onions and garlic and get in line with the rest.