Reduced to tears by an aubergine.

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Last night I determined to cook a meal that would obliterate the memory of the previous night’s culinary misstep. Guided by my wife’s penchant for aubergines I put my hand to turning out an exquisite Imam Bayildi and succeeded. The aubergines were soft and full of flavour and delicately spiced, the tomatoes sweet but herby, and it lay on a bed of brown rice. The wine was red and from Georgia - the country, not the state. Tears were in evidence on my cheeks, such was my joy, a truly intimate moment. The vulgar thought to take a photo of the food came unbidden to my weakened mind but I resisted the temptation - it seemed somewhat voyeuristic to intrude at that level into such a tender expression of sated desire. So I got up and washed the dishes.