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” 95-year-old Patricia Amésquita asks me as I stumble into her patio before sunrise. October, the month of the village’s local saint, Santa Ursula, starts off early.

The rest of the family has been awake for almost an hour, setting off fireworks and dancing to the music coming from a small brass band in the village’s central square. 1 in Viraco, a small village in the Peruvian province of Arequipa.

Kelli, my new person, and I were both looking forward to going back to the Santa Barbara wine country; she had spent time there in her previous life and we were keen on making new memories. Tri-tip is the great mystery meat of Central California, a particular cut of sirloin that most non-Californians have never heard of. R Country Market, a tiny grocery store located on the edge of the town of Los Olivos.

The Santa Barbara wine country, meanwhile, had gone through . I’d been there on previous trips; my memories were of huge slabs of beef slowly roasting over a wood fire to still-bloody perfection, then sliced and served atop delicate French rolls.

It had been a few years since I’d gone wine-tasting in the hills above Santa Barbara.

My first clue that things had gone, well, sideways: the big grill outside of the R Country Market was unlit.

Walking past it, it looked like it hadn’t been fired up in a while. The meat inside was cooked to the greyish color favored by hospital kitchen cooks and the current President of the United States.

We ordered two tri-tip sandwiches at the counter at a piece, and they were handed to us, foil-wrapped, from beneath a warming light. It was served on what appeared to be slices of grocery store garlic bread.

“Maybe they were carved just before we got here,” I said to Kelli. The Zaca Mesa winery had a bit of a crowd as well, people who weren’t there to merely taste, but to drink—open bottles were at every occupied table. My fond memory had become production-line food, tourist grub. I sipped at it, trying to stretch those 15 dollars.