He grinned while watching her slurp down one fresh oyster after the other, the salty brine splattering over their white tablecloth.
Then came the perfectly sautéed Dover sole. She closed her eyes and moaned in ecstasy as she savored every bite, the brown butter dripping down her forearm.
Leave it to this extraordinary woman to turn their ordinary lunch into a bacchanalian affair.
He leaned across the table and squeezed both her hands at once.
“Your passion for food, my love,” he whispered in his wife’s ear. “It should be your life.”
Little did he know how prophetic he was.
The Weekday One Hundred 