I used to scoff at the idea of date nights - one night in the week set aside for spending quality time with your partner, presumably gazing into one another's eyes, reconnecting and just feeling the luuurve.
A few years ago, when my friend asked me how the Supportive Spouse and I made sure we did not neglect one another while looking after our young son, my answer was blase.
We didn't need any couple time, I said, with the foolish confidence of the still-quite-newlywed. And it was true. Back then, we loved nothing more than sitting shoulder-to-shoulder after a hard day at work, watching our firstborn toddle around the house and being entertained by his antics.
Besides, I was fond of saying my marriage is like a non-profit organisation - both husband and wife provide unpaid labour for a cause we are devoted to (that is, the kids), which is reward enough in itself. In the name of organisational efficiency, date nights are highly unjustifiable.
These days, however, I am eating my words. And it is actually, literally, quite delicious.
Now that our two sons are older, at seven and three years, the SS and I leave them with our helper every Thursday night to go for a late, romantic dinner. After three dates, we have made some interesting discoveries, off the beaten path.
It didn't start out as date night, per se. A month ago, after editing rave reviews of yet another new, chic eatery in the exploding Singapore restaurant scene, I decided that I should check out one fresh joint a week.
I didn't tell the unsuspecting SS about my glutton's plan at first: I slyly made a reservation at Foodbar Dada (www.facebook.com/FoodBarDaDa), a hole-in-the-wall tapas bar in Robertson Quay that I'd been meaning to try, and then casually suggested that we sneak out for a late bite after the kids went to bed at 9pm.
"Where are we going?" he asked, after I'd dolled up in a pencil dress, pearls and a feathered fascinator, and grabbed my black clutch bag on the way out.
"Secret," I replied.
At Robertson Quay, we parked and then spent 10 minutes walking around the block, as the restaurant's entrance was shrouded in black metal and frosted glass, with only the words "DADA" in nondescript white letters above.
Once inside, however, the place was hopping. The music of our era (the 1980s) blared overhead, the lighting was so dim that we could imagine each other as we looked 10 years ago, and the food was fantastic.
We supped on watermelon gazpacho, grilled octopus and other Josper grill-cooked goodies - washed down with a lychee prosecco. Over the meal, we talked about stuff we didn't have time to talk about, despite the fact that we both work at home and see each other almost 24/7.
Uninterrupted by kids, he told me about a new passion-publishing project he had been mulling over for a while now, and I discovered things from my past that I hadn't told him about, after a decade of couple's conversation.
The next week, we checked out Kilo (kilokitchen.com), a non-air-conditioned yet cool eatery in the obscure former industrial Sam Tat Building.
There, we ate sliders with squid-ink buns, while marvelling at how the place didn't feel like Singapore. In fact, it reminded us of a hidden oasis called Club Waikiki that we drunkenly stumbled upon in Kuala Lumpur, on a wild trip we took with - and as - friends 13 years ago.
Last week, we ended up at Fordham & Grand (www.fng.com. sg), a late-opening, hard-to-find gem in the Duxton area, at 10pm for salmon tartare, tender duck breast and a killer Bloody Mary (virgin for me).
The SS remarked that the places I have taken him to, so far, have been very good. I, too, thoroughly loved channelling Prohibition-era dressing to check out these speakeasy-style places.
I beamed, and mentally resolved to continue this mysterious winning streak.
clarac@sph.com.sg
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