I left the restaurant later than usual. Before leaving, I rang up the Hongkongboy hoping he had made dinner and kept some for me. He told me to grab something home to share.
As inevitable as gravity to cook. The hungry aimless drive home took me to the supermarket (so glad it’s 24 hours) to find something quick and easy to put together for supper. Once in the vicinity of colourful vegetables, I thought about grand meals, I ditch the frozen meal section and piled up my basket with carrots, celery, tomatoes and hauled some fat lamb shanks as well. And of course the Hongkongboy s favourite ice-cream.
The Hongkongboy sprung up from the sofa to help me with the loot as I walked in. He asked if I’ve bought any food home? Steeping into the anger zone, I consoled myself thinking that maybe he needed a break from the books. But at the back of my head, I felt disappointment brewing up - why didn’t he made dinner. He was home early and I am sure he fed himself. Spitefully, I told him "I did bring food home. But it’s for tomorrow.”. I fish out the tub of ice-cream from the shopping bags hastily handed over to him expecting him to noticed my blackened face. He gleely retreated back into the sofa with a big spoon. I retreated back into the kitchen just to keep my mouth shut.
Just before bed, I told him about our little fête for Sunday night. His face beamed into a wide smile and I knew that’s all it requires. I could have fight him and still live happily with frozen dinners or convenience takeaways the next day. Those meals will be easily forgotten. He wouldn’t eagerly ask me for recipes to share with his family and friends. And most importantly we wouldn’t have these precious few hours sipping wine over a good meal connecting with each other. Many times in a relationship, we forget to compromise along the way. It’s the return to norm that matters most. A ritual that is delicious–both complex and comforting.