Coriandered Red Wine - by H

If Boy is a self-confessed coriander whore, I guess that would make me the red wine… enthusiast. I can’t argue with that. Love the stuff. I drink it at home. I drink it out. I drink it with friends. I drink it alone. (Yes. It is normal. No. I don’t have a problem. I’m Mediterranean). 

Sometimes, though, I need my wine fix more than normal. Every now and then, I get bouts of weepiness, moodiness or fatigue. At times like that, some women need chocolate. I need my wine.

Since yesterday, I’ve been in one of those drained and unreasonable slumps, and I’m feeling guilty about that, because Boy is the one who only just got back from a week long business trip on Saturday evening. He should be the one dragging his feet around the house and spontaneously lying down each time he passes a soft, flat surface. Not me.

He’s no angel, my Boy. He’d toss himself out of a window before going to the theatre with me. He rolls his eyes when it’s my turn to pick the movie, and I pick a chick flick. He’s always leaving things lying around the house where they’re not supposed to be, and then complains when I “hide” (pack) them away.

But he really knows how to deal with me in times like this. He’s patient, rarely asks “tired from what?”, and says lovely things like “tonight, why don’t you relax with a nice glass of wine, and I’ll make you a Mystery Basket dinner!”

Our Mystery Basket nights were inspired by the TV show Master Chef. I pick out random ingredients, and then Boy creates a meal with them. He loves the challenge, and I love getting to throw random cravings of the moment together and getting a meal out of it.

While I’m wondering about what I will put in tonight’s Mystery Basket, and looking forward to the evening, I’m feeling pretty grateful, and maybe a little less slumpy. Excited, even? He’s a smart one, that Boy.

And I realise that just like red wine and coriander, Boy and I might not have too much in common on the surface- but we work pretty darn well together.

**(Case in point- Boy would never say “darn”).