Chicken Adobo - When It All Works Out

For weeks I half-heartedly asked (almost without fail), "adobo?" when we nightly discussed our options. When imposing our desires on the afternoon or night's meal there is an unavoidable dread associated with the inherent responsibility. What if she says "yes"? What if she says "sure, whatever you want"? And then, through a series of events unstoppably put into motion by my innocent suggestion, what if the dish really does manifest in that night's reality? The torturous second-guessing: "was it a good idea"? "does she like it"? Alas, it is almost always preferable to leave the choice and the decision's weight to the other person, a completely selfish act painted as a noble relinquishing of personal autonomy to the whims of our beloved. 

However, on this day she did say "yes". And on this day she did not give in to my second-guessing ("are we sure? how about pork and taro congee (playing at her most constant desires)?". 

Anxiety riddled the rest of my day. I watched helplessly as the night arrived and with it any chance of changing course - the recipe was chosen, the chicken marinated, the apron on, and myself: locked into the command center. 

Looking more carefully at the recipe only further my fears. Such a simple list of ingredients: soy sauce, black peppercorns, ground black pepper, vinegar, garlic, and a seemingly irrelevant amount of coconut milk. "That's it?!", I thought. It has become a bit of a habit to seek out complicated recipes with lots of ingredients, perhaps wrongly expecting that these would have more "sophisticated" and validating flavors. 

However, on this night, the humble chicken adobo would surprise and tutor me. Immediately, and simultaneously with the explosion of one of those seemingly inconsequential black peppercorns in my mouth, alongside vinegary tender chicken, my anxieties diffused. On this night, I didn't even feel the usual need to ask Chef what she thought.  The quizzically simple ingredients had created something unequivocally divine: a spicy, tangy and savory slurried-sauce that would have even the most carbo-phobic Ketosian pleading for more rice! Never had I experienced such an immediate revolution from concernment to unimpeded pleasure. 

As the ecstasy continued but subsided enough to accommodate some perspective, I began to accept the lessons the adobo was so selflessly affording me: 

1. I would never judge a recipe or pre-conceive a dish based on it's ingredients (or lack thereof) again. Here was perhaps the simplest recipe we'd ever cooked generating an incredibly nuanced blending of basic flavors and textures. 

And 2. My apprehensions in making serious suggestions for dinner are foolish and unwarranted in the loving confines of Chef and I's relationship. I began to understand that, in the same way I find extra joy in trying dishes which begin as twinkles of desire in Chef's eyes, she too gets joy (beautifully) plating my dreams. With genuine love between us, and with genuine love's ability to connect one's pleasure center with that of its beloved, we should not be afraid to express our desires. For her desires are my desires and my desires are her. 

Thank you, Adobo. 

Recipe: Coconut Milk Chicken Adobo