This past weekend, I saw the effects of the chicken wing shortage that was reported earlier this year.

I was all set to grill wings for a last-minute July 4th/Birthday gathering, but one look at the Trader Joe's meat department derailed my plans. Brooklyn Fare didn't have wings either. Or Associated Supermarket. Forget shrimp. Chicken wings may be this season's most sought-after commodity. 

What every store had, however, was plenty of chicken thighs. At ridiculously low prices. It'll set you back $1.99/lb for "natural, hormone-free" chicken, and just a bit more for the organic, free-range variety. Legs and thighs may be awkward to pass around while sipping a beer outdoors or pretending to care about the World Cup, but are perfect for a braising dish I like to make even in the summer. 

I posted a recipe last year for pork adobo. But it is the chicken version that I make again and again (and again and again.) I first learned to make this Filipino dish from an ex-roommate. Certain friends have gotten sick of it after the 20th time, so now I learn to space out my cooking of it. Instead of twice a week, I'll indulge in my craving twice a season.

I became addicted to adobo while living in Brooklyn. Albert, my roommate from Guam,  made chicken adobo one night and handed me a plate with some fat chicken thighs, a thick brown sauce with onions, and a clump of rice. Keep in mind that at this time, I was making dainty hors d'oeuvres everyday in culinary school and hadn't eaten good home-cooked braised meat in months. One bite and I was in heaven. 

"What's in this?" I asked.

"Soy sauce, vinegear, honey, pepper." 

"No, there's something else," I insisted.

He whipped out a small spice bottle. Mrs. Dash Original Blend. Just what his mom used to use.

Now, I know Filipino and South Pacific families each have their own ways to cook adobo, a way of stewing meat in soy sauce, vinegar, bay leaf, and black pepper. Albert's method was not the precise formula of cookbooks. He sautéed his chicken legs and wings until crispy and brown, then threw in a rice-measuring cup filled a third of the way with vinegar and two-thirds with soy sauce. He dumped in another rice cup full of water. After 15 minutes he took a bear-shaped bottle of Busy Bee honey and squeezed enough onto the chicken to make your teeth tingle just to watch. He threw Mrs. Dash into the skillet like he was scattering seeds. This haphazard cooking produced some of the most sublime chicken I had ever tasted.