I have always been the foodie in the relationship. At a hawker centre, my other half is the type who doesn't see the point in queuing or waiting for food even if it's only a couple of minutes (let alone an entire half hour), regardless of yumminess and reputation. When he places an order, it would be in the most basic style, either by holding up an index finger (for one bowl of whatever it is) or use the shortest sentence possible. I, on the other hand, would wait up to an hour (with my trusty mobile phone as company) for a dish I like, make a beeline for any queue in front of a stall that looks promising and when it's my turn, launch a little spiel on specifics like to please add more chilli, hold the sweet sauce and pile on the pork lard. So no prizes for guessing who's the one who always does the ordering and who "chopes" the seats!
Not surprisingly, when we dine at fancier places, he leaves it entirely to me to decide. On a visit not too long ago to "L'atelier Joel de Robuchon", as usual, I was the one who perused the menu, chatted with the chef and waiters before selecting the dishes for us. And thus it was because of this that he got to be transported by the "La Roseval" ($39++), a dish of pig trotter, something he would usually not touch with a ten-foot pole. When it was served, he eyed it suspiciously before taking a tentative bite. Love struck in an instant. By the way his eyes lit up, it was obvious I now had to share his heart with this gloriously aromatic, fatty pork. That gratinated finish with aged Parmesan cheese only made the bits of cartilage even more irresistible, resulting in a savoury, sticky yumminess that had him (and myself) enamoured.
So yes, the adage "opposites attract" rings true for us. And I would like to think that because of my influence, his tastebuds have gone on many thrilling rides, with many more to come.
#EatBurpLove