A meal for two, please
When I was in my hopeless romantic tween years, I couldn’t help but wonder who would sit right in front of me as I eat my comfort meals and ramble through the complexities and mundanities of life in the future.
“Naisip mo na agad ‘yan?” said one of my classmates as we huddled talking about our crushes and school work of the day.
Receiving a humdrum support, I sighed and immediately popped that dreamy bubble.
For years, food has become an integral part of my relationships with other people.
Whenever my OFW father comes home for his annual vacation, his first question in the car will always be, “Saan tayo kakain?” Relatives, who I only see on special occasions like birthdays always have “salo-salo” as an excuse to catch up on my latest life events. Sudden invites for burger steaks or pancit chami from friends remind me that they have never forgotten about me despite our busy schedules. My college friends and I go on a sweet treat crawl around Dapitan to relieve stress when days get a little daunting and exhausting.
It has been a privilege to share hearty meals with my family and friends. For a fleeting moment, I get to see their plates that tell a fragment of their personality, be it pushing the vegetables to the sides, ordering heaps of rice because they’re stingy with the viand, or how they can’t have their whole meal without spicy condiments or a dash of salt.
At the end of every meal, not only our stomachs feel full, but also our hearts. Yet, for some reason, I can’t help but be disheartened by the thought of whether there will be another next time. With the shifting priorities and misaligned schedules, it’s a bit tricky to find time to bond over food. At the same time, I used to treat food as a currency of hard work. There were times when I starved myself only because I hadn’t finished a school assignment, hence, I only ate when I was deserving. Sometimes, I would eat dinner at two in the morning or lunch at five in the afternoon.
When I finally relieved myself from starvation and self-neglect, I started seeing my little achievements as a reason for celebration. I used not to buy coffee because I only drink one when I have to pull an all-nighter. Now, I get to indulge in the cold run of iced dark mocha on my throat for simply braving another day. When stress gets ahead of me, I go for a chicken katsu meal as a quick fix.
Dining alone has been a breath of fresh air. The umami smoke lures me to find simple joys from a plateful of my comfort meals—garlic parmesan wings and chicken katsu—without having to engage in awkward laughs and uncontrollable fidgeting of rice in mid-conversations. But at the back of my mind, I know that I crave someone’s presence to bond over my favorite meals.
Everyone has their taste and preferences. Yet, I never imagined to have found someone who shares the same palate as mine. We hunt different juicy burgers around malls or subdivisions because we both love a good burger that oozes with sauce and melty cheese. It has always been a great dining experience to share my favorite chicken katsu with him, competing on who gets the most bowls of rice. The start of my relationship with my beau was through food too—an invitation to have the most random conversation I ever had over a homemade adobo he cooked for the first time. And he did it for me.
He has a big appetite for anything—so do I. There’s no chance for him to take and indulge my leftovers. At the end of every meal, we just look at each other with so much gratitude. Behind the mere words “Thank you,” there’s always the hidden look of love. It took us so long to finally have a meal together, and now, we get to do it hopefully until the last food is served.
One thing that makes every dining experience with him is the comfort of his company. Every unconscious thing he does—wiping my utensils clean, pouring me a glass of water, or giving me the first bite of his food—makes me realize that this has been what I have been dreaming of since my high school years.
The funniest thing, he was around that room at that time, most likely laughing with his friends. So, even though I’m no expert at cooking, I’ll learn his favorite recipes for him. After all, at every table, there’s always a seat for him beside me and two plates for the both of us.
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Jewyz Ann A. Bunyi, 22, is a student journalist who embodies her life complexities through essays and commentaries. She loves to write (sometimes, yap) about anything that piques her interest—be it about love, girlhood, identity, or where’s the best chicken katsu.
