A Dash of Revenge, A Handful of Love: An Unexpected Flavor

The aroma of slow-cooked beef and rich tomato sauce filled the air as I leaned over the plate, carefully arranging the final garnish. A small sprig of fresh parsley rested delicately atop the Caldereta, the vibrant green contrasting against the deep, velvety red sauce. The plating was immaculate—every detail meticulously thought out, from the perfect symmetry of the vegetables to the drizzle of sauce that framed the dish. This wasn’t just food; it was art. And in my restaurant, nothing less would do. I took a step back to admire my work, wiping my hands on a clean towel draped over my shoulder. Caldereta was one of my mom’s favorites, and as much as she tried to hide it, she had impossibly high standards when it came to food—especially mine. She wouldn’t outright criticize, of course. That wasn’t her style. Instead, she’d give me a polite smile and a quiet, “It’s good, hijo,” which I’d know meant: It’s fine, but not great. But today, I wasn’t aiming for fine. I was aiming for perfection. I grabbed the plate carefully, balancing it with precision. The kitchen buzzed with activity around me—chefs calling out orders, the sizzle of pans on high heat, the clatter of plates being prepped for service. It was chaotic, but this was my domain. Every sound, every movement was a part of the rhythm I had built. As I made my way to the VIP area, the atmosphere shifted. The din of the kitchen faded into the subdued hum of conversation, the faint clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of instrumental music playing in the background. The VIP section was exclusive, designed to exude warmth and luxury without feeling pretentious. Low, ambient lighting reflected off the polished wood tables and plush chairs, creating an inviting yet sophisticated atmosphere. My mom sat at her usual table by the window, the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the blinds framing her perfectly. She always looked effortlessly elegant, as if she’d stepped out of a lifestyle magazine. Her posture was straight, her blouse crisp and unwrinkled. Even now, as she sipped her red wine, she carried herself with an air of grace a lot of women could only envy. I approached the table, setting the plate down in front of her with a practiced smile. “Here you go, Ma.” Her eyes lit up as she looked at the dish, the corners of her mouth lifting into a warm smile. “Oh, thank you, hijo!” she said, her voice filled with genuine delight. “Come, sit with me. You can go back to the kitchen later. Let’s chat for a bit,” she said, gesturing to the seat across from her. I hesitated, glancing back toward the kitchen. As much as I hated stepping away from the line during service, I knew better than to argue with my mom. So, with a slight sigh, I pulled out the chair and sat down. Before I could settle in, one of my waitstaff passed by. I caught their attention with a quick nod. “Two glasses of water, please,” I said, keeping my tone light but firm. They nodded and hurried off. When I turned back, my mom was already dabbing her mouth with the napkin after taking her first bite. She chewed slowly, her movements deliberate, savoring every morsel. I watched her closely, waiting for the verdict. Her expression didn’t change, but there was a subtle softness in her eyes that told me she was pleased. “You’ve outdone yourself again, hijo,” she said finally, her tone casual but warm. “Thanks, Ma. I know how much you love Caldereta,” I replied, leaning back slightly in my chair. I heard her chuckle. “So,” I began, folding my arms on the table, “any news, Ma?” Not that I was expecting anything earth-shattering, but there was a certain spark in her eyes that told me she had something up her sleeve. She squinted her eyes as if figuring out I'd caught on. “Well, hijo, do you remember your Ninang Berna?” “Hmmm... yeah. What about her?” “She and her family have decided to move here to Laguna. Your Tito Eduardo is getting on in years, so they thought it was best to leave the chaos of Manila and settle somewhere quieter. They even bought the property right next to ours.” “O...kay? And?” “And, I know our neighborhood is technically in the city, but it’s nothing like Manila. Life here is slower—more trees, more greenery, fewer people. Isn’t that wonderful?” “Sure, I guess. You’ll have your friend close by, so you two can catch up anytime now,” I said, taking a sip of water. “Exactly! And you’ll finally get to spend time with your fiancé!” she exclaimed, her smile widening. I nearly choked on my water. “What?!” I asked, hoping I heard her wrong. “Did you forget? You and Axel have been engaged since you were kids!” she looked at me teasingly. “Axel? Who’s Axel?” “Alexis! She goes by Axel now. She’s Ninang Berna’s only daughter.” I tilted my head, trying to recall. “Oh, you mean the shy girl who always wore that white headband and carried around a panda stuffed toy? That girl?” “Yes, that’s her!” “Ma, that so-called engagement was just a joke. It was child’s play. And honestly, she’s not even my type. I get it—you want a daughter-in-law. Someone demure, proper, and polite, who ticks all your boxes. But—” “But, hijo—” I held her hand that was resting on the table. “Please, Ma. The restaurant is already more than enough for me to handle right now. Casual flings are all I can manage, I know you hate it but I don’t have the time or patience for a clingy girlfriend following me around, demanding my attention. So, no. I need you to put an end to this imaginary wedding and tell Ninang Berna I’m not interested. Okay?” “Hijo, listen.” this time, it was her hand holding mine. I frowned, bracing myself for her to insist on this marriage idea. “I’m sorry I brought up the fiancé thing. I was just teasing you,” I rolled my eyes. “I know you’ve said it a hundred times, and I hear you. I’m not pushing for anything. But you should know, Axel isn’t the same girl you remember. She’s changed. She’s not timid or shy anymore. You’ll see for yourself when you meet her. Just... don’t be so quick to judge, alright?" she raised the glass near her lips. "And besides, you don't have to be so defensive about it." she said and drank her water. I opened my mouth to protest again, but she held up her hand to stop me. “Anyway. So much for this conversation. And I am not here to argue with you, anak. Your Papa and I are hosting a welcoming dinner for your Ninang Berna's family tonight. All I’m asking is for you to come and join us. No weddings, no engagements, no strings attached. I promise.” “Just dinner?” I asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, hijo. Just a welcoming dinner.” I narrowed my eyes, suspicion flickering. My mother wasn’t one to make casual invitations; there was always an agenda. But her expression was calm, almost too calm. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Fine. But if this turns into some secret matchmaking mission, I’m walking out.” She laughed, her delicate chuckle filling the air. “Oh, hijo. I got it alright. Now, finish your water and get back to work. I know how much you love to micromanage your staff.” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. She knew me too well. “I don’t micromanage. I supervise,” I corrected. “Sure, hijo. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” As I stood to leave, I noticed the sparkle in her eyes again. Despite her assurances, I had a feeling this dinner would be more than just a casual welcome.