By Benj Marlowe Cordero
Poetry

we begin with garlic And onion,
my wooden spoon on hand.
the oil sizzles; the palate excited
at the prospect of melding tastes,
familiar and new each time.
and Now the chicken,
red and raw, i sauté with the spices
then i season your thighs,
pepper them with kisses
your salty taste remains
on my tongue. next are liquids:
soy sauce and water to fill The pot,
enough to cover your meat;
i’ll bring you to a boil, bubbling hot.
to heighten your flavors,
a tablespoon of oyster sauce,
three of apple cider vinegar.
one star anise, the recipe’s secret,
and bay leaves. the air is thick
with your potent, penetrating
perfume. now the dish is nearly finished.
the last part is sugar, there’s magic
in finding your sweet spot; the Heavens
are within your grasp. so i stir you up,
letting my hand guide itself,
it knows how to get you there.
finally, i take you to my lips
and your taste explodes in my mouth—
like Opened floodgates showering
me with your sacred rain.
i take the Next bite and another,
you know how to keep me satisfied.
that’s why you’re my favorite,
and why adobo is a dish i love to make.