Teacher Greg and Steffy stopped by a simple barbecue stand near the barangay hall. The place faced the sea, allowing the afternoon breeze to cool the young lady's furious head.
"Good afternoon, Sir Greg, and to the beautiful lady beside you!" the people greeted them politely as they passed by. They returned the greetings with a courteous nod from Teacher Greg and a scowling face from Steffy. Her stern expression truly amused the teacher.
"Here, sir, do you want Betamax? We also have your favorite chicken feet," said the woman in a dirty apron as they approached her stand. She was Mrs. Reyes, Teacher Greg's favorite barbecue vendor—his suki, as he called her.
"What the heck is Betamax?" Steffy muttered to herself, not intending for anyone to hear. The lady caught her words and replied, "This is Betamax, young lady."
Steffy cringed as the woman shoved something that looked like a small box-type video cassette in a stick.
"Although Betamax is made with blood, it doesn't have a foul smell or taste. It has a mellow to bitter flavor that calls for spicy vinegar on the side," Teacher Greg explained. He then reached for a platter and said, "Give me six of these, Mrs. Reyes."
"Wait! They make this with blood?" Steffy said, horror etched on her face.
"Yes, it's blood from a pig or chicken that is coagulated and shaped into squares, dear," the vendor replied.
"Do you see me as a vampire, Sir Greg?" Scoffing, Steffy attempted to walk away, but the teacher was quicker. "I'm out of here," she said indignantly, dragging herself away from the barbecue stand.
"You're not going anywhere. Save your comments until you're done eating, alright?" said the teacher as he gently pulled her hand back. Steffy felt even more irritated now, yet she still found herself following him.
"Will you stop dragging me around, Sir?"
"And will you stop complaining and just be thankful that you're having a date with me?" the teacher replied, teasing her further.
"Fuck you! You sound like a predator."
"Mind your language, young lady."
Rolling her eyes, Steffy decided to keep her mouth shut as he showed her the various street foods in front of them.
"This is isaw. This one here is called fish ball, and that one is kwek-kwek. I can't believe you don't know anything about this food, Steffy. The city is filled with vendors who sell street food."
"You should try these, young lady," the vendor interjected. "Everybody loves street food."
"I've heard about street food already," Steffy replied coldly, "but I haven't tasted any."
"That's a shame," the teacher said, standing behind her and rubbing her back. "To ease your confusion, allow me to describe them to you."
Steffy felt weird focusing on his lingering touch on the small of her back.
"Whatever," she bluntly replied, rolling her eyes as she moved away from him.
Clearing his throat, Teacher Greg prepared himself for an elaborate description of the food in front of them. "Isaw is one of the most popular Filipino street foods, especially here in the countryside, although many slum districts in the city where you came from also enjoy this food. It is pork or chicken intestines that are typically barbecued or deep-fried."
"Are they even clean?" Steffy asked, acting a bit more open-minded now.
"Of course, they are," Teacher Greg replied. "Don't worry, Steffy. Vendors purge the intestines before they're grilled. And to give you a brief history, the popularity of isaw dates back to the 1970s."
"Ugh! You and your history lessons," Steffy grumbled.
"Shhh, listen… according to an article I've read," the teacher continued, "when livestock supplies were abundant in the 1950s, street food vendors opted to sell more expensive cuts of meat. But when the economic crisis hit the country in the 1970s, the scrap parts of pork and chicken suddenly became valuable, and that's when they started selling isaw." He then placed six sticks of isaw on the platter. "Please give me a dozen of your fish balls, Mrs. Reyes," he inserted, gesturing to the vendor. "We refer to this as a fish ball because it consists of ground fish, typically from pollock or cuttlefish, and a significant amount of flour."
"Is that food coloring?" Steffy asked, noticing the orange color surrounding the eggs.
"These are quail eggs, and the brightly colored orange that covers them is batter. By now, most of its goodness relies on its sauce, and street food vendors have their own recipes."
"But for kwek-kwek, some vendors also use chicken eggs," added Mrs. Reyes.
"Thank you, suki. We'll just wait for the orders to be served," said Teacher Greg as Mrs. Reyes proceeded to cook their orders. He led her to a small round table just a few steps away from the stand.
"I don't think my stomach will accept those. They're disgusting."
"I told you, Miss Rivera, save your judgment for later," taunted the teacher, chuckling.
They sat in silence, waiting for their orders. Steffy looked around, desperately trying to evade Greg's deep stares.
She saw an old man with a child, asking for alms. They reached out their hands, dressed in dirty, shabby clothes. Their bodies displayed signs of scarcity, with the old man looking frail and the boy malnourished. To the right was a young lady, perhaps a few years younger than Steffy, whose pregnant belly was already evident despite her loose T-shirt.
"Teenage pregnancy is rampant in our country," explained Teacher Greg, breaking the awkward silence. "Poverty constantly knocks at their doors."
"They did that to themselves," replied Steffy with a nonchalant tone.
"Do you think so?" the teacher replied, challenging her opinion. "What if I say that people also contribute to our country's poverty?"
Raising her eyebrow, Steffy shot her teacher a sharp stare. "The rich become rich because they've worked hard for it."
"Point taken," the teacher said, "but most rich people take advantage of the less fortunate in society. If only they knew how to share what they have with the needy and perhaps invest time in educating them about the stock market, no one would be left behind."
"They wouldn't understand it. If they want to improve their lives, they have to work harder for it…"
"The poor always work harder, Steffy," the teacher said, stopping her from finishing her thought. "They often work their butts off to make ends meet, but it's just not enough! The poor don't have access to the same opportunities as rich people. They are forever stuck in the mud… and sadly, young people like you, who are born with a silver spoon in their mouth, will never understand that."
Clenching her fists, Steffy heaved a sigh and tried her best to control her emotions. "Why are you telling me these things?"
The teacher stared at her for a while, pressing his lips together, his eyes flickering with a different light. She sensed the sadness and contained anger in his expression, stirring her interest in the man's mysterious persona.
Just then, Mrs. Reyes finally approached them, bringing their orders. Almost instantly, the heated atmosphere dissolved as Teacher Greg's seriousness evaporated. "Hmm, finally! Come on, Miss Rivera, dig in. I am genuinely excited to hear your thoughts about the food."
Steffy could only blow a sigh. What a bipolar dipshit, she thought as she glared at her teacher.
"Try this one," Teacher Greg said, pushing a tray of isaw toward her.
"This better be delicious," she said, rolling her eyes in resignation.