HALL OF FAME OF PORK (IV)

Those aren't big bats. This isn't a cave. And that's not my own raincoat. It's Spain and those are hundreds, thousands of legs of jamon iberico, the greatest ham in the world. This is where they hang the bellota to age. The disposable coat is for the visitor's protection: at room temperature, the fat drips down like sacred rain. Earlier in the day we'd run around with the very happy pigs, bloated and happy on acorns. Then of course we ate a lot of the stuff and it was of course really good. This is an old picture — wish I was there today but I'm in muggy NYC and who wants to see a picture of that?

SCOTLAND: "GIE HER A HAGGIS!"

Past weekend = a long, boozy one in SCOTLAND. Fly fished, danced in a kilt, drank priceless Scotch, had a look at Loch Ness, hiked a very little and slept less. Flew to Newark—where I spent my layover at a Scottish sounding place called McDonald's—and then on to Florida for my grandmother's 96th (!) birthday. Above: Glenlivet master distiller Jim Cryle tends to a reproduction of the kind of small old stills bootleggers would use to make moonshine whisky in the hills around here a long while ago. The stuff bubbling straight out of the thing was surprisingly mellow and good.

STUCK INSIDE, THINKING OF ELSEWHERE

My particular form of desobeissance is to day dream about recent travels and flip through old pictures while I am supposed to be working. It's a perfectly nice bright New York day outside my office window, but I'd rather be wandering around somewhere. These shots are from a short trip to Paris in March. I could go for a pression of Mützig at the Brasserie d'Ile St. Louis (middle picture above, with the pretzel-lifters) or better yet a Leffe Brun at the perfect horseshoe bar, Petit fer à Cheval on Vieille de Temple. Mostly though I just feel like wandering. OTHER THINGS I AM CURRENTLY OBSESSED WITH: granulated cactus honey powder; cauliflower; Duke Ellington's Money Jungle with Mingus and Max Roach. OK, BACK TO WORK…