I love food. More than just the way it tastes, I love exploring its texture, the way it feels in my mouth, the way its different consistencies come together. And while there’s a lot of pressure nowadays to eat food that’s rare, exotic and, for lack of a better word, sosyal, in restaurants that charge you an arm and a leg for breathing their air and using their million peso bathroom, and while I have nothing against establishments like these, as they do serve good food and more often that not, you do get what you pay for, I find that sometimes, the best food is the one you find in your own backyard. Or in this case, your own street.

I am a big fan of street food. Greasy, fattening, of dubious cleanliness, street food is the lifeblood of any nation. It’s the food of the masses, the food that people can eat anywhere, anytime, whenever hunger strikes them. There is a certain delight to be had from dunking a barbecue stick filled with skewered fishballs into a big bottle of sweet-spicy sauce and trying to eat the whole thing before all the sauce drips to the ground. At least, it’s fun until you see the big, funky-smelling mustachioed man with the oily hair and half-shirt beside you double-dunk his.

Street food often gets a bad rap for lack of hygiene but its great taste, convenience and low prices has often transcended class, educational and economic strata, as any colegiala who has made tusok-tusok the fishballs will tell you.
Why do I think Pinoys love street food so much? There are five factors:

It’s cheap – I think this needs no explanation
It’s convenient – You can find it anywhere, anytime. It’s a great way to keep your tummy from rumbling in between main meals.
It’s fresh (or supposed to be fresh) – most street food is cooked right in front of you (like isaw and fishballs), or served warm (like taho and balut).
It’s hot (or cold) – The temperature of the food make a nice contrast to how your day is going (bad day? Most comfort food consists of something warm and oily) or how the day’s temperature actually is (hot day? Eat something cool)
It’s tasty – again, this needs no explanantion

Many people ask, what’s a nice Chinese girl like me doing near a fishball stand at the corner of EDSA? Like I said, I love food, and I think it’s silly to be in a place without trying its street fare. I don’t understand how people who will buy pad thai at a roadside stand in Bangkok or pay for pulled tea from a street kiosk in India will turn their noses up at our own fishballs, taho (bean curd) and kwek kwek (boiled quail eggs coated in bright orange batter and deep fried). Mind you, there are some street food I won’t eat, such as name-this-gut-on-a-stick, and only because I don’t feel the need to try them yet. I’m sure that I will in the long run, but for now, I an still eating my fill of puto and kutsinta, turon, cheese-flavored corn and dirty ice cream (not really dirty, as freezing kills germs).
Of course, the cleanliness thing is no laughing matter. I know one person who got hepatitis from eating fishballs, but that didn’t stop her from having a go again after she got released from the hospital. To address this, a lot of street food vendors, especially in regulated areas like the UP Diliman campus, have been taking extra care to keep their food clean. Instead of dunking your food into a bottle of sauce and re-dunking it again when you run out, you are now given a paper plate to keep your sauce in. Now, he sauces are kept in plastic pourable containers so that you can have as much as you want, without endangering other people.
On some level, eating street food is about feeling the pulse of the people. On another, it’s about having a really good meal. Sometimes, it’s only the later that matters.

-Yvette Tan

Sometime late last year, I tagged along with Erwin to New Bilibid Prison in Muntinlupa. This was part of Rock Ed’s weekly visitation to the maximum security prison.

RockEd is a movement that aims to encourage reading and education through music. They have held several projects and produced several events. They also have a weekly radio show every Wednesday at 9pm on Jam 88.3, hosted by Gang Badoy, who founded Rock Ed, and Lourd de Veryra of the RadioActiveSago Project, with music by Terno Recordings.

We met up with Gang and two other volunteers, Leslie and Mike along the SLEX and together, we went to Bilibid.

You hear all sorts of things about folks in prison. It doesn’t help that movies paint prison as being a dark, soulless place where people are kept behind bars and given scarps of food to eat.

The security inside Bilibid is unbelievably tight (and rightly so). No cellphones or cameras allowed. We had to empty out the contents of our bags, surrender an ID and get frisked. The guys had to get stamped as proof that they don’t belong inside. After all that, we were finally in.

The inside of Bilibid is like a little barangay. There is a hospital, a basketball court, a canteen, numerous sari-sari stores. People walk around, some in their orange uniforms, others in casual attire. It looked like you were in a men-only commune and not one of the biggest prisons in the country. People called out to Gang as she passed, all of which she greeted with a cheerful ‘hello’ back. We could see groups of prisoners walking around — probably gang leaders and their ‘bodyguards.’ We passed some joggers who waved happily at us. The tiny road was smooth and well-paved, a far cry from some of the streets you see in Metro Manila.

Gang teaches a creative writing class in Bilibid every Wednesday. She sometimes brings in guests to talk about what they do. It’s one way of getting the inmates to meet new people, something they cannot do on their own because of their current situation. Examples of people she’s brought include writers, filmmakers and musicians. RockEd even organized a concert of the inmates recently of three of today’s most popular bands — The Itchyworms, Pedicab and Hale.

We were led deep inside the prison, into a small, well-lit activity room that also housed the prison library. This is where Gang’s students regularly gathered for class. I was asked to introduce myself. I told them that I was a horror writer, and that immediately got their attention. It seemed that everyone had a question to ask or a scary story to tell.

“Did you feel anything on your way here?” someone ask.

“Thank goodness I didn’t!” I replied.

I was told about haunted cells, haunted bathrooms, given tips on how to go about researching in the morgue. A guy told us about how he had encountered a talking goat when he was a child while another regaled us with a story of how he picked a fight with a ghost. They were all very smart. We discussed stuff like clairvoyance, near death experiences and Christian belief about the nature of spirits. I learned from them that fiction is kathang-isip in Tagalog.

They also asked about how I researched my stories, and whether I did it alone.

“Not if I can help it!” I answered.

Afterwards, Gang gave them a lesson on ownership and imagination. “Your story or poem belongs to you,” she said, “and only you have the right to dictate what happens in it. It can be based on events or it could be something purely from your imagination. You can exaggerate if you want, because it is yours. What is important is that you are happy with what you have written.”

Gang is a very good teacher. I found myself relearning things I had forgotten and discovering others that I didn’t realize about the writing process. Her class listened attentively, drinking in her every word. I realized that this was probably the most interested, well-behaved class I had ever seen. She then gave them an assignment. They were to each write a horror story that they were to let someone else read, one person per story. The only criteria for this exercise was that they scare their groupmate. They would then report on the stories they read.

Gang’s students wanted to see some of my work, so I’m supposed to give Gang photocopies of one of my stories.

Afterwards, we milled around for a bit. One of the prisoners showed me and Erwin the scars from where he was shot in the early 90’s. He described the sensation of being shot, and the pain of the wound healing. I asked to touch it and he let me. Now I know what a healed gunshot wound feels like. He also told me that he’s been starving for horror and suspense books, since most of what circulates within the prison walls are Tagalog romance novels. Imagine that!

We were joined by fashion designer Puey Quinones, who also holds once a week classes in Bilibid, but for painting and fashion design. Everyone sat down to a dinner of white rice, steamed crab, and probably the best tinolang manok I have ever tasted. We sat around some more then it was time to go home. what looked like the whole class escorted us to the prison gates, where we shook hands and said goodbye.

Later, I asked Gang when the class would be reporting on their groupmates’ stories. She said they could wait for me if I wanted. I really want to hear what horror stories her students come up with. I’ll let you know if anything stands out.

- Yvette Tan