Revel, schmevel -- we want warmth

So, we'd just gotten back from the Yucatan when it was New Year's, and we watched the dachshund parade (no charity, no real organization, no purpose besides a good walk for a hundred or so weenies) over lunch at Willie T's, and then traveled the block to watch CNN whipping up the crowd for the drag-queen drop (I dare you to say "Sushi's shoe" fast three times).

Though I got jostled a lot -- what a surprise -- you can see her waving at the center of the picture if you squint.

But then we found out that we had to start dealing with what Malinda gave us at Christmas: really, really bad colds.

And then the really bad cold: It hit 45 degrees Wednesday night, with 35-m.p.h. gusts that took the wind chill down into the 30s. In other places in January, that's almost balmy, of course. But here, it's a record; and for those of us accustomed to 70s at the least, it calls for mufflers, sweaters, parkas and gloves.

(Robert had a brilliant insight five years ago, during the last bad snap, when we were in a drafty, unheated rental on Elizabeth Street: If you're at all aware of fashion history, you can tell when people got here -- or the cold-weather clothes they got at the thrift shop got here. Every hemline and silhouette has had its sell-by dates, but temperature trumps style in the islands.)

The shivers also call for hot, nourishing food, and since I didn't feel like chili I made a Cuban cousin, picadillo.

You can click on that link for a basic recipe -- and though every cook makes it differently, my version is a cumin-scented mix of ground beef, onion, peppers, capers, olives and raisins. It stands on its own or fills sandwiches or empanadas -- or, in our case, enchiladas.

It's just what the doctor ordered.