When you arrive in a new country, everything feels unfamiliar, the streets, the language, even the air. But food? Food is memory. It’s comfort. It’s the taste of home when everything else feels far away.
When I first came to America, I tried to embrace the new, burgers, pizza, Chinese takeout. They were fine, but they didn’t speak to my soul the way a bowl of sinigang or a plate of adobo could. Back then, there were no Filipino restaurants in Phoenix.
Eventually, a few Filipino spots began to appear. Not many, but enough to feel like a small miracle. This photo was taken inside Max’s Restaurant in Las Vegas, a place that brought back memories. There are some Jollibee branches here too, which always bring a smile. But between the two? I still think Max’s fried chicken tastes closer to the kind of love I grew up with.
Funny how a single bite can take you back decades, across oceans, and straight into your mother’s kitchen.
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