And so did you.
Worked our way through white truffles, the opening of presents, six walks with the dog, stubborn greetings from neighbors, a viewing of “The Interview” in bed and on a laptop, the first stories in a surprisingly mediocre collection called, “The Dog,” by Jack Livings, and lots of good cheer.
What lies ahead?
Quiet days, quiet nights. Lamb ragu with penne from what’s left of the Icelandic leg roasted yesterday in a dry rub of cumin, salt, pepper, cayenne, and ginger, smeared then with tomato paste. That truffle, nearly half of which is still here. Pots of black coffee.
