Straight To Chicken And Pork Adobo Recipe

Free E-zine   For BUSY Parents   SUBSCRIBE   Your info is kept private.   DM Exclusives   Read For Fun.   Read For Profit.   Downloadable Books.   Click Here Ad Disclaimer We Recommend

Our neighbors only ate two meals a day, the first at sunrise, and the last towards the evening. Both meals were the same, a small heap of vegetables, stewed lentils, and half-plate mound of white rice. My neighborhood was the village of Butwal, Nepal. There my husband and I served as missionaries who assisted development of this third world area.

As a Filipino American I grew up eating white rice. I enjoyed the Nepalese dal baht meals spiced with fresh curries, garlic, and onions. Yet God knew my taste buds hungered for more. One day divine blessings came lidded and sealed.

On the north edge of India’s Ganges plains Butwal abuts the foothills of the Himalayas, which peak at Mt. Everest. Just up our river valley our mission built a micro-hydroelectric dam. My kitchen had lights, an electric stove, and modest refrigerator. As for food supplies, I traipsed down to the weekly Haat (hot) or High Bazaar.

Under white canvassed shelters vendors sat cross-legged on the ground. Sing song pitches begged me to kneel and examine vegetables and fruits laid on cloths. Ground turmeric and peppers were eye candy in the tropical sun. Sacks bulged with beans, flour, raw sugars, and rice. Some castes ate meat so two vendors sold pig and buffalo meat by the kilo. I liked chicken, but Nepali chickens ran lean and stringy. We just cooked their eggs, delivered to our doorstep by the egg man. We got milk at our doorstep as well. The milkman poured buffalo milk into the saucepan we used to boil away germs.

Our third year in Nepal God blessed my womb. At the time my mom was a registered nurse working in the delivery room. She wanted to be there for the birth of her first grandchild. Flying halfway round the world from California, however, made it impractical for her to schedule flights to match a nebulous delivery date.

Her pump-cheeked grandson was a few weeks old when she arrived. Besides her suitcase my mom brought a massive box of Western goods. Opening the box, I treasured tiny bibs, rattles, and sleepers. Later I would treasure a package of pacifiers. And in a mound of disposable nappies I found the happiest gift for me: a stainless steel pot sealed with tape.

This was years before 9/11. Still, getting past inspectors was a nightmare. Sometimes folded rupees under the table got items through customs. My Filipina mom did not need to bribe anyone. She was and still is a prayer warrior with holy connections.

I moved the sealed pot to a table. As I pulled off the tape and lid, my eyes popped. My nose sniffed heaven. Inside sat unspoiled, cooked chicken pieces and pork swimming in a mix of homey spices and soy sauce. It was “Adobo,” the national dish of the Philippines.

“Cindy, its pickled meat,” she told me, beaming, “I put in extra vinegar so it would make the trip.”

She brought other food, like a three-pound tin of ham, which we along with fellow missionaries savored for two days. But I will never forget my happy meal-cooked a half a world away and then delivered to my door. So tasty!

My mom doesn’t use exact measurements, so here’s my variation of it, adding a crock-pot.

Chicken And Pork Adobo Recipe:

1-1/2 pounds lean Boston blade pork, cut in 1-2 cubes

8 chicken thighs

4 garlic cloves, pressed or minced

1/2 cup white vinegar

1/2 cup water

1/4 cup Kikkoman soy sauce

Bay leaf

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Dash of thyme

2 Tablespoons high heat peanut oil (or salad oil)

Fresh chopped parsley