July 24, 2012

My dearest,

I broke my fast with a couple of buns and a caffè latte — takeaway from a bakery-café. Time taken: 15 minutes to drive out to my neighbourhood shops, find parking and back again. Time taken to consume: approximately 10 minutes while checking email at home.

My second meal of the day was a swiftly-served dish of fried rice and an iced yin-yong (milk tea/milk coffee mix) at a HK-style char chan teng. Time taken between my order and the food arriving: 12 minutes. Time taken to consume: less than 15 minutes while I proofread an article.

Dinner seemed in danger of the same pattern: a quick bite whilst doing some work. Or rather, it would have been if it weren’t for our daily ritual of sharing at least one meal together. I wait for you to finish work. We meet at the usual place as you saunter over from your office. We debate and argue over what to eat. (We finally decide on tonkatsu.)

We sit down, pour over the menu, discuss our options, what we’d like to share. After ordering, we take turns to tell each other about our day, the highlights and the dramas, the usual boring stuff will do on slow days. It’s all exciting somehow. When our food arrives, our chopsticks and spoons dart forward and backwards, sampling each other’s choices, sharing and supping and approving (or not).

Time taken… who cares?

We eat to live, some folks say, but when I get to eat with you, I eat for the thrill of it, for the thrill of eating with you. Oh how you thrill me still!

Yours, ever and always.