I Can Cook Now. I Never Said It Was Good.

I lived independently in Davao for around 10 years and somehow managed to get through all of that without really learning how to cook. I mean, technically I cooked. If boiling instant noodles counts, then yes, chef ako. But anything that required actual ingredients, proper seasoning, or more than one pan? Absolutely not.

There was never really a reason to learn. Food in Davao was everywhere. I could walk outside the apartment and find something to eat, order through an app, go to a carinderia, grab something from a convenience store, or suddenly remember one of the many restaurants I kept going back to. Cooking felt like creating a problem I didn’t have.

Why buy ingredients, chop things, cook, clean everything after, and potentially end up with bad food when somebody a few meters away already knew what they were doing? That system worked for me for years.

Then I moved to Malaysia and suddenly discovered a flaw in my very efficient lifestyle.

There is absolutely no shortage of food here. In fact, there are probably too many choices. But there are days when the flavors just don’t work for me. Sometimes I’m staring at foodpanda for 20 minutes and nothing looks right because what I actually want is something very specific and very Filipino.

Sinigang. Tinola. Monggo. Adobo. Something that tastes familiar. So ang ending, I had to learn how to make them myself.

I started doing what every completely unqualified home cook does now: Google the recipe, watch someone make it on TikTok, open another recipe because the first one looks suspicious, watch another TikTok, then somehow end up with five different ways of cooking the exact same dish.

Filipino recipes are especially stressful because everybody has an opinion.

Someone says sauté this first. Someone else throws everything into the pot. One recipe has an ingredient that three other recipes don’t. Then you find a Filipino auntie in the comments saying, “Hindi ganyan.”

Okay, so paano nga? And please don’t tell me “tantya lang.” Wala akong ganun mheee. That skill was apparently not included in my Filipino starter pack.

Surprisingly, some dishes turned out okay. My sinigang is decent. Tinola, pwede na. Monggo also came out much better than I expected the first few times I tried making it. None of them are going to make someone call their mother and ask for my recipe, but I can eat them without questioning my decisions, so I consider that a win.

The standard is very reasonable in this household. Does it look like the dish I intended to cook? Does it taste close enough? Am I willing to eat it again tomorrow because I accidentally cooked enough for four people?

Congratulations. Successful.

Adobo, however, refuses to cooperate.

I don’t even know how many times I’ve tried making it already. Different recipes, different ratios, different cooking methods. Every time I think I finally understand what went wrong with the previous one, I make another batch and discover a completely new way to make it taste slightly off.

It’s always edible. That’s the annoying part. It’s never bad enough to throw away, but also never good enough for me to say, “Yes, eto yung gusto ko.” There is always something. Too much of this. Kulang ng something. Sauce doesn’t taste right. Meat is fine but the overall flavor isn’t giving adobo the way I know adobo should taste.

Meanwhile, apparently every Filipino household has its own completely different version anyway, so I’m beginning to suspect there is no correct answer and everyone has just collectively agreed to confuse me.

I’ve tried other random dishes too. Some turned out surprisingly good, some were just okay, and a few probably should never be discussed publicly again. That’s usually how cooking goes for me now.

I’ll suddenly crave something, search for a recipe, buy ingredients with unreasonable confidence, and spend the next hour going back and forth between the kitchen and my phone because I forgot what happens after step three.

The funniest part is that I still don’t enjoy cooking enough to call it a hobby.

I’m not one of those people who finds chopping onions therapeutic. I’m not meal-prepping on Sundays with matching containers. I don’t have a secret collection of recipes I’ve perfected through the years.

Most of the time, I’m cooking because I want to eat something and nobody nearby is selling the version I want.

Very practical. Very romantic.

But I will say there’s something funny about looking at what I eat now compared to the 10 years I spent in Davao. Back then, the kitchen was basically where the rice cooker and instant noodles lived.

Now there are bottles of soy sauce, vinegar, patis, spices, vegetables I actually bought intentionally, and random ingredients left over from recipes I swore I was going to make again.

I still Google almost everything. I still check TikTok. I still don’t understand people who can look at a pot and somehow know exactly what it needs. And my adobo is still under investigation.

But at least I can cook now.

I never said it was good.