Tatay's Adobo Recipe

Artwork by Oyku Derin Ersoy

Children of immigrants are familiar with the silent ways our parents say I love you. A knock at your door followed by sliced fruit or a pot on the stove with your favorite meal. 

My dad is the stoic type. In my twenty-one years, I have known him to be a man of very few words. Once I turned eighteen, that changed. I became a person then. I was rarely ever told that my parents were proud of me until I got older, and they started having to face the reality of their own mortality - his beard grows greyer each time I see him. 

There are different ways to say I love you. 

Costco packs of my favorite snacks. Let Roevin choose where we eat, followed by a thirty-minute drive to my favorite restaurant because my dad knew I was a picky eater. Rare beef pho was my favorite dish when I was in middle school. My family and I would visit a Vietnamese restaurant almost every week despite my parents' pleas. We just don’t have the money to eat out anymore. 

One day, my dad went off about how tired he was of the food. How we got it too often. Despite this, our visits continued. 

In recent months, my dad’s adobo has become my favorite meal. Salty marinated pork or chicken served steaming over rice. The longer I am away from home, I begin to forget its taste. Its smell. How I knew what was on the stove just by the scent lingering up to my room.

Ingredients List: 

(Measure with your heart)

• Choice of Chicken or Pork

• Soy Sauce

• Black Vinegar 

• Garlic (lots of it) 

• Dried Bay Leaves 

• Pepper Corn 

• Potatoes 

• Carrots 

• Water

Cut your potatoes and carrots into cubes that are about an inch thick. In a shallow pot, add your vegetables, soy sauce, vinegar, and minced garlic. Add protein to the mixture. Allow it to cook for a few minutes. Dad sits on the bench by our dining table, a kitchen set we’ve had since I was an infant. He watches the History Channel as he waits for the meat to marinate and tells me about the men on Oak Island’s recent findings. Check every 5 minutes. 

Unsure about the measurements? Call your parents! Maybe you just wanted to hear their voice. Ask about their day. Forget that you’re cooking until the charred smell reminds you. 

Once your meat has browned, add a few dried bay leaves (my dad adds 2-3)  as well as peppercorns. I used to dread eating adobo when I was younger, because peppercorn would like to sneak between my teeth. A bite. The flavor of the pepper berry assaulted my palate, coating my throat. 

Incorporate a few cups of water, or as your body tells you to. Allow the pot to simmer for something close to 30 minutes. 

Turn off the heat once it begins to boil. Serve adobo over a bed of reheated rice. Jasmine or Brown. Enjoy <3 

It is delicious, but not as good as Dad’s.

Roevin-Marri Geronimo