In my experience, plenty of restaurants brand Chorizo as a Philippine Specialty, and budget-friendly eateries often display it with an array of other affordable dishes. My eyes would always survey the foods lined neatly in the carinderia, and almost every time, I see those sly red things. I do not give in to temptation, cautious as I may. Perhaps it is too fatty, or simply not part of my daily cravings. It is annoying how I can still remember vividly the last time I ate one. Lingering, always, is the taste of it. It is always the first bite—the explosion—that releases an excessive amount of grease. The texture of tiny grinded pork fat between my molars. Its juices dance in my tongue as the rice easily rides along. This would drive my hand to jam more rice into my mouth because even small chunks would surprise me with big savory flavors of a combination of ingredients I’m too busy eating to care. As the consumption stops because my insides are already thronged with rice, the danger of choking comes. Then I would swiftly grab a glass of water and use it to push what I could not force my esophagus to take in. A relief would then strike, as I have avoided a near death. That belch carrying all the chorizo’s flavor would then follow, coating the back of my throat with the greasy savoriness. That satisfying belch as I sit back after a satisfying meal still sticks in my mind. 

I wonder why, though. I don’t always eat chorizo, but it remains in me, while the memory of flavor from other dishes easily vanishes from my memory.

Each of us has our own experiences with it. I just wanted to share mine as (perhaps overly, or sensually) detailed as possible because I do not believe that I am the only one who remembers chorizo that way, especially the belching part. But with all the experiences we have had with the dish, we can all agree that in setting a simple meal, you can never go wrong with those savory red balls of pork.