Duck fat, you are my potato

There was a fabulous plan to do a hand-drawn post, at the center of which was pasted the cigar ring from the only cigar I've enjoyed the heck out of in the last year or two, and surrounding that ring a schematic of the events leading to and away from that cigar. It was a glorious conception. However, mistakes were made, and the post, she is no.

So let me say instead that shortly after the said cigar, there was a using of duck fat, still fresh and sweet smelling from this spring's confit, to fry up little hashy cubes of potato & shallot, and set beside some braised cabbage (honey, fresh nutmeg, currants, white wine) and a couple of lovely flat irons, all on the still warm back yard flagstones with a bottle of rosie wine. I'm just gonna eat me to death.