There's something appealing about big, ripe heirloom tomatoes. Their skins are smooth and silky as you hold them in your hands, their weight and firmness just hinting at the pleasures within. Streaks of color blossom and fade across their surface. Their stem ends are large and misshapen, sometimes carving brown lines deep into the flesh. In the heat of full summer there's nothing I like better than a few moments alone in a cool room with sunlight bouncing off the windows. In front of me a pinch of truffle salt and a scattering of herb salt sit alongside a fat, juicy tomato. In blissful solitude I lift it to my lips, pausing to savor it's delicate earthy aroma, before sinking my teeth into the tender flesh. Juices run down my chin and the rough salt tingles against my tongue as I savor one of summer's very fleeting indulgences.