January 24, 2017

My dearest,

Who knew that love was a slab of perfectly cooked Wagyu? Grade A5, hailing from the Nozaki Farm collective, specialising only in top-grade Kagoshima beef.

You don’t really eat that much beef but you ordered this for me. It was my birthday, you said. One bite and my eyes rolled back. “That good?” you asked. “Melt in your mouth,” I whimpered.

“Good, good,” is all you said.

Who knew love was a bowl of homemade hong dao sui (red bean dessert)? You made in the slow cooker overnight, with just the beans, water and pandan leaves. You sweetened it the next day with rock sugar to taste, and your care and gentleness.

You ladled two big bowls of the dessert and we sat down to eat. One sip and all I had was the biggest smile. “Not too sweet?” you asked. “Just perfect,” I replied, grinning.

“Good, good,” is all you said.

It doesn’t matter what we eat so long as we get to share it, and sup together. That’s a luxury. That’s good fortune. That’s love.

Yours, ever and always.