"Our lives are made...in these small hours...these little wonders...these twists and turns of fate...Time falls away...but these small hours...these small hours...still remain..." - Rob Thomas, "Little Wonders"
I was helping my sister make a Filipino dish for a potluck lunch at her work. The dish was Chicken Adobo. It's probably one of the most delicious ways you can prepare chicken. It has a very distinct taste from the mix of garlic, pepper, onion, vinegar, oil and soy sauce. I remember my parents making it from time to time while I was growing up. The smell and taste of Chicken Adobo still bring me right back to my family's old kitchen. Watching either my mom or dad stir the pot. Then, being handed a hot plate of it when it was done.
Trying to recreate the same taste was a challenge. Would we need to add more garlic or perhaps it'd need more vinegar? By the time the adobo was finished, it tasted good, but not the same. I wanted so badly to have my mom and dad there. Not just to perfect the adobo, but for the familiarity of their presence. The familiarity that seems only certain people can bring back to you. In this case, those people were my parents. I must have missed a step in the preparation that they would have known.
Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like if they were still around like when I was younger. Not that things were always perfect, but I guess a part of my heart will always long for that sense of comfort I used to have knowing they were there. The longing for the taste of an unspoken, yet known love from mom and dad.
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