What you see above is Chicken-Pork Adobo, stewing away in its fragrant marinade of soy sauce, vinegar, fresh-milled black pepper, garlic cloves and bay leaves. As I write this, I can smell its familiar peppery-garlic-tanginess wafting from the kitchen. It fights for my nose’s affection alongside the comforting fragrance of jasmine white rice steaming in a pot. All I can say is that it smells like heaven in here right now. Or, even better, it smells like home.

This is tonight’s dinner. I’ve been sick for the past week and a half, and whenever I’m tired and not feeling well, my body craves for classic Filipino comfort food like this. And not just any adobo—but my Lola’s adobo. I know that there are a million and one ways to prepare this dish, but the way my grandma made it is the one that fits my food memories like a glove. She was a purist about her adobo. Nothing was fancy about it, but its simple preparation and flavors always made the dish sing. I can’t wait to eat!

The thing I realized about Lola’s adobo was that it doesn’t ask for much. It’s the kind of dish that takes care of itself. You literally dump everything in a pot and trust that the chemistry between the ingredients works. And it does, every time. I think, in this way, my Lola’s adobo is “comfort food” in every sense: nonsense kitchen prep that frees you to sit back, relax and even write a blog post, and flavors that wrap you in a warm cloud of your childhood. Every mouthful is a kiss and a hug from Lola.

I hope this post finds you warm and comfy and loved.