I needed a home-cooked meal and some comfort. But with nothing open, I found myself finding joy where I could. I was thrilled to find a simple-looking cookie — a very good one that — at a gas station somewhere in New Mexico. On its handmade packaging, it told me that it was the state cookie, a “biscochito.” For a woman who loves a gas station and cottage-industry products made by locals, this was the jackpot and, I decided, as close as I was going to get in my search for something made by an actual person’s hand, pandemic be damned.