"Wow, 2010 pa pala last chat natin dito."
So began my chat with Krizzie.
To be fair, the point is not that we haven't talked in a while. We're not really in the same circles, so it wasn't really something that bothered me. What was surprising was that I was chatting with her - after thirteen years, a wedding and a kid - because I was going to give her an adobo recipe.
You see, she posted one of her adobo recipes a few weeks ago, and I thought I'd try it. With some tweaks, of course - I can't cook on an open flame in my flat. And it turned out so great I thought I rediscovered how to make adobo completely.
I'm not exaggerating. I've been cooking for myself (and... for other people) for years and adobo, while easy enough, was something I couldn't seem to get right. I knew the basics, but maybe it's the proportions, or maybe it's the fact that I have to use an induction cooker rather than a gas stove, which meant some unnoticeable changes to the cooking process. At some point, the solution - as suggested... by other people - was to add some sugar to balance things out, and while it did work, I honestly feel I couldn't quite get what I wanted to get to.
So you can imagine how doing Krizzie's recipe felt like for me. It was something I wanted to share with other people - but then, I live alone now.
And then I remembered that there's one adobo recipe I got right. What's more surprising for me is that I got it right the first time. I made adobo sa gata for the first time for some visitors from abroad (I'll let you connect the dots, maybe) and it was such a hit. That, honestly, was quite a confidence boost. I did it again on my own and I replicated it. It's that recipe that I gave to Krizzie... well, sort of, because I don't really have a recipe.
Lately I was pondering the idea of making a cookbook. Not that I have ambitions to sell it, or to show the world that I am a good cook. Okay, so "cookbook" isn't the right term. A list of recipes. Something to refer to when I want to do something again. Like, get a notebook, write things down, that sort of thing. I found myself asking my mother for how to cook things way too many times, because I forget, especially if it's a dish I don't have the muscle memory for yet.
I suppose the fact that I have such thoughts means I'm certainly embracing that domestic side of my life a little too much. Well, I have, before, as the guy that does the groceries and most of the cooking. But then, not everyone finds writing down your recipes in a notebook exciting. I suppose.
Deciphering my sometimes bad handwriting, however - that should be exciting.
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