Two weekends ago I took a train from the city to the south shore of Long Island lugging four pounds of lamb’s neck and a bottle of Pinot Noir in my bag. Navigating from the subway to the hub in Penn Station where the trains leave eastward bound is considerably more taxing with all that meat and booze tucked away. Still, I like to arrive at someone’s house prepared to cook.

The moment I got to the house I headed straight for the kitchen, where I found a stainless steel pot that was wide and shallow. I lay the pieces of neck evenly inside the pot and poured in the entire bottle of wine.

I love recipes that use whole bottles of wine. Poured with abandon, the bottle takes heaving, baritone gulps. The wine mingles with the bones; little streaks of red – the blood, the marrow – muddy the juice.

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I don’t visit New Mexico often, but when I do, I know I’m home. During the winter the landscape in Northern New Mexico is white and pure, like clotted cream undisturbed. Hardy shrubs peek out from under and dot the snowy canyons with bits of green. On a good day everything is set against the backdrop of profoundly blue skies. This is what azure looks like, I always think to myself.

The beauty is enough to make you pause and wonder if what you’re doing is worth the little time you have on earth. Long after you’ve lived the canyons will still be there and in the meantime, there are so many delicious things, edible and otherwise, to be taken in.
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