They met at a friend's housewarming in Footscray, one of those summer evenings where nobody quite remembers who invited whom. Elliot was explaining the finer points of cricket to someone who clearly didn't care. Yuna was in the kitchen, making banchan from whatever she could find in the fridge, which turned out to be mostly cheese and one sad spring onion.

Someone introduced them, probably. Neither remembers who. What Elliot remembers is that Yuna laughed at his terrible Korean pronunciation and then spent twenty minutes teaching him to say "thank you" properly. What Yuna remembers is that he actually tried.

Their first proper date was a long drive to the Otway Ranges that ended at a farm gate because Elliot's GPS had a creative interpretation of "road." They sat on the bonnet eating servo sandwiches and decided, without quite saying it, that this was going to be a thing.

Three years of Sunday mornings at Queen Victoria Market. Four trips to Seoul to meet Yuna's family, during which Elliot developed a genuine kimchi jjigae habit and learned that Korean grandmothers express love exclusively through food and gentle criticism of your posture.

He proposed on a Tuesday, because Yuna hates surprises and Tuesdays are the least suspicious day of the week. They were cooking dinner. He asked. She said yes. The pasta boiled over. It was perfect.

Seven years from that Footscray kitchen to this one — a restaurant in farmland where the vegetables are grown out back and the wine is made next door. It felt right. They'd like you to be there.