WHAT'S LEFT BEHIND

Sunday. On a train to Newark, trying to not miss my flight to LIMA. The last time I was in Peru was a few years ago for a story for Food & Wine. We hiked the Ancascocha trail way up in the Andes. In five days of walking we passed maybe four or five people who lived in the hills (and no other hikers). One of them was a woman who owned some sheep. The chef I was traveling with bought one of the old woman's sheep for our dinner. He and the guides brought the poor thing down from the hill, slit its neck and, working swiftly, pulled the skin off like a sweater. A couple of local kids drained the blood (a vivid quickly coagulating red) into a bucket. We took the meat and left everything else for the locals who had uses for all parts of the animal—the skin for some kind of musical instrument I can't remember the name of.