More Food Adventures: December 2025

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Chicken Adobo

I promised you once,
If you join Secret Santa,
I’d cook you chicken adobo—
Tender, savory, with just a hint of sweetness,
Like the quiet moments we share,
Like the glances we never dare to hold too long.

I picture you at the table,
Watching me stir the sauce,
Smiling as steam curls between us,
Our laughter small, soft, restrained,
The air heavy with things unsaid,
The taste of longing lingering
On the tip of every word,
On the tip of every bite.

And though we are close,
Yet never truly there,
I wait for that moment—
When the secret is ours alone,
When the promise is kept,
When the adobo is warm,
And our hearts, finally,
Might taste a little of the same heat.

Chicken Adobo: A Whisper Between Us

I asked you today,
“Do you like soy sauce?”
Pretending it was for others too,
A careful dance of words,
Hiding how much I care.

You smiled, calm,
“Either way is fine,” you said,
And my heart caught in that quiet rhythm,
The ordinary moment made extraordinary
By the gentleness in your eyes,
By the way you make even a question about sauce
Feel like a secret shared only between us.

I imagine stirring the adobo,
The aroma filling the room,
You seated across me,
Laughing softly,
And somewhere in that small, tender exchange
My quiet affection lingers,
Patiently waiting
For the moment it can be seen,
Savored, and returned.

Adobo for Two (Not Me)

I stirred the sauce with hope,
Whisked in quiet wishes,
Folded in laughter we never shared aloud,
Seasoned with the warmth I imagined
Would curl between us at the table.

I carried it to you yesterday,
A gift folded from my heart into a pot,
And you smiled, unknowing
Of the small storm it carried inside me.

Then I watched it vanish,
Passed across plates not meant for me,
Shared with another,
And the taste I had imagined
Danced somewhere else.

And still —
I will remember how it smelled,
How the steam rose like whispered secrets,
How love, even when misplaced,
Can be tender, patient, and real,
Even when it is not mine to keep.