It all started at Sundayâs backyard cookout, where the grill was smoking, the music was loud, and the air smelled like every Puerto Rican grandmotherâs kitchen. Plates of rice, beans, and juicy chicken were being passed around like treasures. Everyone was laughing, dancing, and shouting over the salsa music.
In the middle of it all sat Miguel, happily demolishing his third plate of food. Across from him was his girlfriend, Rosa, who had been teasing him all afternoon for eating like there was no tomorrow. âYouâre going to roll home if you keep this up,â she laughed, handing him a napkin.
Miguel just grinned, leaning back in his chair. âMami, I canât help it. This food tastes perfectâjust like you,â he said with a wink.
Rosa raised an eyebrow. âExcuse me? Did you just compare me to chicken and rice?â
Without missing a beat, Miguel declared loud enough for everyone to hear: âNo, baby. I said you taste like sofrito and adoboâseasoned, flavorful, and unforgettable!â
The entire table went silent for half a second, and then erupted into laughter. Even Rosa couldnât hold back her smile, shaking her head as she playfully smacked his arm. âYouâre ridiculous!â she said, but the blush on her cheeks gave her away.
From then on, it became the running joke of the night. Every time Rosa passed by, someone would sniff the air dramatically and go, âMmm⌠smells like sofrito!â Even Miguelâs TĂo Carlos joined in, telling him he better hold onto her before someone else steals the âmost flavorful girl in the neighborhood.â
By dessert, Rosa was laughing just as hard as everyone else. âFine,â she said, leaning in close to Miguel. âIf I taste like sofrito and adobo, that makes you the plantainsâsweet, a little fried, but impossible to resist.â
Miguel grinned from ear to ear. And with that, the cookout became less about the food and more about a new inside joke that no one would forget.
Because in that backyard, love wasnât just in the airâit was seasoned to perfection. đ
