A “carinderia” (a small, affordable eatery or food stall) concealed by tall buildings and countless food establishments eateries caught my attention as we tried to find food to appease a rumbling of stomachs.
The familiar display of the noodle soup dish triggered a memory of how I missed being a child. We hastily entered the eatery and a familiar savory scent brought me back to my small town where life wasn’t complicated.
As we sat and waited, the feeling of anticipation to taste the thin, stripped noodles swimming in a savory broth that warmed and satisfied our hunger.
Living in a small town meant we would know which ‘pancitan’ served the abra miki, and the earlier we were able to get there would ensure us a better seat, and as the delectable dish was served, I was became a thrilled kid again.
The aroma alone was like a time machine, the steam curling upwards, bringing back warm, vivid memories. As I slurped the first spoonful, the taste exploded inside my mouth. It was exactly as I remembered—the salty broth, the chewy noodles, the crisp-fried garlic, everything was a burst of flavor. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and feel everything all at once.
The sound of our laughter rushed in, sitting with my friends, surrounding a worn wooden table while jostling for space, our spoons clanging against the bowls. It reminded me of the simple joys of being a kid; friendships were built from the comfort of this familiar flavor.
But each bite brought a bittersweet pang inside my heart, a reminder of what’s lost and that time marches on.
The people I once knew aren’t the same people anymore; we all got caught up chasing our dreams that most of us barely remember that we were once those carefree kids. The flavors were familiar but somehow distant, touched with the sadness of absence. I ate slowly, savoring everything as I tried to hold onto the remaining memories of my childhood. Although life was fleeting, it was my desperate attempt to recapture the warmth and love of what once was.
Maybe, just maybe, with each slurp, I can keep the memory of home alive, burning bright within me, fueled by the simple, comforting taste of Abra Miki. Ella Amor Ocaoi