"I may be some time," he said, easing on his fleece-lined boots. We laughed and clinked our empty glasses. "To more beer," we cheered, "to wine," as he hauled himself into his puffed winter coat; my Michelin man on a mission, hat strapped tight beneath his chin, harpoon at the ready. He kissed me goodbye on the doorstep, ice already clinging to the tips of his powdered moustache. Shivering, I watched him go, waving him into the whiteness, watching as the blank landscape swallowed him, slowly. Later, I found the second crate of wine, forgotten by the kitchen door and the waiting bottles of b