skip to Main Content

Me, myself and the happy hour: fava bean, salami and cheese muffins

Late spring, outdoor scene. Let’s go for a drink?

Six words that are usually uttered with cheerful light-heartedness by your girlfriends who want to share a chirpy and relaxing moment with you, by that cute guy who secretly hopes to be the centre of your universe for at least an hour within a cocktail and a plate of appetizers, by your colleagues who want to call it a day sipping a sparkling drink.

The social behaviour code requires a positive answer, pronounced with great enthusiasm, longing for that hour which is no more afternoon and not yet night and, for this reason, it is even more enjoyable for its indefinite nature.

If you move the frame from the faces of those who launched the idea for the happy hour to my face, though, you’ll see a look that doesn’t suit the moment at all: a growing anxiety, doubt, fear. Or at least, this was my reaction before leaving my 100% nonalcoholic asceticism.

Read More
Back To Top
×Close search