There comes a point in the evening when you stop keeping track of the time.

You’re not looking for dinner. You’re looking for something else: something to go with the silence, the glass of wine, the conversation that doesn’t need a subject. Something that’s simply there, asking nothing in return.

Acorn-fed Iberian ham, Manchego cheese, quince paste... chocolates for when there’s nowhere left to rush to. A Rioja or a few beers, enjoyed slowly because no one’s in any hurry for the night to end.

No cooking times. No rules.

Just the open box on the table, the soft light of the apartment, and the feeling that tonight, at least, has ended exactly the way it was meant to.