Now, here we are in the early sunrise of the final day of the year, perched in our respective comfy spots in a room about to turn 110 years old. Not the oldest place we’ve ever taken up, but a cozy location nonetheless. As for the other side of the windows, it’s a wintery freezing morning out there where the warming cup of coffee would quickly lose its potential, followed by turning cold, too.

Before any thoughts of finding the bravery to venture beyond our lazy comfort arise, the clinking and clatter of kitchen sounds clue us in that to head out for a walk at this time would be nothing short of rude as the symphony from that side of the hotel could only signal one thing: we were soon to find ourselves feasting.

Meanwhile, we, too, bask in the warm indoors to avoid the bitter cold that is ushering out the year that was. This guy is Crocket, the trust fund kitty I’ve mentioned before. Through the cosmetic surgery available in Photoshop, I tried cleaning up the worst of his lung condition, which is the reason why, in the early part of the day, he’s a snotty, mucusy mess of a cat. Yet aside from trying to bite me if I attempt to pet him, he seems nice enough.

This is beyond eating. Eating is too vulgar a word: all who pull up to a table this day will eat. Instead, we dine on a feast of flavors and textures that conspire to punctuate the end of 2023 with a duel in which this final breakfast takes up a sword and, with a challenge, says en garde! to the 364 morning meals that came before it.

This wicked concoction from the genius imagination of the artist in front of the stove can be described as a perfect mystery demanding that we forge a way to decipher where our taste buds are traveling. Flavors arrive from numerous points on the globe, maybe Oaxaca, a little bit of Persia, and the American Southwest, while the other locations must remain offshore in the chef’s repertoire of tools and brushes he used to craft this canvas.

Mystery must remain a part of this extraordinary beginning of the day because revealing precisely what went into our breakfast might chase away some of the enchantment. With my own imagination swirling around just what was on this plate, what Chef Don Carlos brought to our senses, and how it will flavor the experience of this last day of the year, I am allowed to savor what has been presented as though I were gazing into a culinary diorama.

With the proverbial one thing leading to another combined with the knowledge of proximity due to this weekend’s destination, Caroline had already coordinated a meeting with a friend we’d not seen in more than ten years on Sunday, that’s today. The couple we are visiting are Sandy and Tom, who now live in Silver City, New Mexico, following an extended stay in Sharjah, United Arab Emirates, where Tom was teaching engineering. Well, here we are, crossing the desert into New Mexico for the 75-mile drive to our destination, thus violating what I wrote earlier about trying to accomplish nothing on a lazy close of the year.

As isolated as they could find, up in the hills and quite similar to where they used to live in Prescott, Arizona, we found Tom and Sandy awaiting our arrival. While Caroline and Sandy have kept in touch over the years, this was the first time they were seeing each other face-to-face in the intervening years. Over coffee and about three hours of the afternoon, we chatted and chatted before making a date to visit again on April 6th, when we’d be passing through the area again on our way to the total solar eclipse on April 8th. This time spent with old friends added a nice punctuation to the last day of the year.

Leaving when we did offered us all the fireworks we’d need to usher in 2024 because the sunset delivered a performance that sang to our senses. As the sky brought a song, our dinner with Clayton and Deborah, owners of the Simpson Hotel, would be a symphony performed in the Philharmonic de Paris, only better.

Caroline and I have shared very few New Year’s celebrations with others and to be invited, unexpectedly, to the table of our hosts to note the arrival of the new year over a sumptuous meal and a bottle of sparkling Riesling wine from Wiesbaden, Germany, well, that surpassed everything we might have otherwise considered as a potential celebration of the change from one year to the next.

There are so many parts that lend themselves to what is experienced. It is not simply food or alcohol, not only the ambiance of this 110-year-old art hotel. Our remote location in a beautiful corner of the sparsely populated Southwest also factors in, but the real front of the orchestra is the chemistry between the quartet and a passion for the aesthetic found in the love of time and what these participants in life are able to bring to it.