In the Heart of Binondo: Treasure hunt for Toho Food Center

 Tuesday, 19 August 2014 

                “Liya, Basta, Hopia!” 

                I laughed as I closed the house door, my mother’s words seeing me out. She'd threatened to charge me for the gas I was spending to complete this school activity, unless I brought her back what she wanted. I figured the hopia was much less expensive than gasoline. I was headed to Binondo- a place I have always wanted to go to, but never found the perfect time or reason to. I’d been to President’s a couple of times before but every single time I was there, it was late night, and there was little to see and explore. I wanted to make sure today would be different. Heck, I was excited for the experience. I must sound absolutely petty.

I rode silently as we cruised Commonwealth at an unprecedented speed. I’m too terrified to tell my driver to slow down, so I reach into my backpack to fish out my iPod and earphones to replace 98.7’s drawl of songs like “Got to Believe in Magic”. I decided that my mood matched my outfit, and I hit shuffle on my “Wicked” playlist. I was dressed in my favorite “Defy Gravity” Tee, denim shorts and sneakers- a rarity for me because I hate it when they get untied. Somehow, I knew I was in for a long adventure when I was getting ready for today, and I wanted to get comfortable.

                I send a text message at 1:05 to the guy that first came into mind when I thought of Binondo. Kelbert was a full-blooded Chinese friend who I knew had grown up in the area. “Kelbert! I’m on my way!”, before I settle to watch other cars we zoomed past in the empty roads of Quezon City. It was a holiday after all. We were met surprisingly by very little traffic as we drove from to Quezon Avenue- only a short halt by the Araneta underpass because they were painting the structure’s insides white. There were so many of them working- 3 of them on top of underpass, a few more down below. There were also three more working on a different section of the underpass in hopes to expedite the process. We breezed through Quezon Ave until we neared the UST grounds. Our driver asks where we should stop and wait and I realize I hadn’t set a very definite meeting place with Kelbert. We parked right underneath the footbridge, and I sent another text Kelbert’s way to inform him of where we were. It was 1:25. It’s only then that I realize I hadn’t ever set foot on the UST campus, and the striking beauty of its structures from the outside catch my eye. I see that there are students, and I wonder first why they are around until I realize I’m not in Quezon City anymore. They shuffled at a pretty quick pace inside campus and it makes me wonder if we look the same way in UP when outsiders see us. I look at my phone to check the time. 1:30.

                I realize it’s the perfect opportunity to make use of my cellular data and check out some information about the Toho Food Center. I hit the Chrome app on my phone and search away. I find pretty interesting facts about Toho online, including the fact that one of their regular patrons was none other than Jose Rizal himself. The research finds me even more excited to get going, and a whole lot impatient that Kelbert isn’t there yet. But he had offered to show me around Binondo, and knowing how absolutely horrible I was with directions, I was thankful for the proffered company. It would be interesting too, I thought, to be shown around Binondo by someone who had grown up there.

                1:39, I receive a text message. “Malapit na. Sorry.” My excitement triples, if it was at all even possible. I’m tapping away on my cellphone without doing anything absolutely necessary- it was just my way of coping with my own impatience. It’s my driver who notices when Kelbert arrives and I practically leap up just to open the door.

                1:44. The pleasantries are over. We’re driving towards Binondo now, and Kelbert is giving my driver instructions about where to pass to avoid traffic. I realize what a Godsend he was- My driver had admitted that he wasn’t very familiar with Manila. There’s some traffic to be dealt with, and like Kelbert had previously warned, Jeepney Drivers in Manila are the worst. Like a welcome party, they prove to be so. Right as we turn a corner before that extremely Chinese archway, a jeepney cuts us, and then stops in the middle of the road to drop off a passenger. My driver honks the car horn and I clap my hands- a habit I got from my dad.

                The streets are Narrow, and the old buildings that always make me feel so adventurous in Manila are so close together they almost feel claustrophobic. The streets are the parking areas as well- there are cars parked on both sides of the road, as if it wasn’t already too narrow to begin with.

               

                We turn the corner of T. Pinpin- a different street name from what Kelbert had given me when I initially asked about Toho- and Kelbert immediately shows me the Toho signage. It isn’t anything grand- just one of those light-up signs that read The New Toho Food Center in Green. I realize soon after that there is a bigger orange sign above the establishment that wasn’t too visible from our previous vantage point. Both signs seem both beaten and worse for wear, but it was simply a sign of how old Toho truly was. For a second, Kelbert thinks there’s no electricity because it’s so dark. Kelbert warned me to lower my expectations because the place wasn’t so great when he was last there, though he admitted it had been quite a while since he had been there. I laughed, only because I’ve learned through experience that usually, the most worn down places have the best food.

                We ask to be dropped off right there, and I simply ask the driver to find a parking spot even if he’s incessantly complaining that it’s going to be difficult. I wasn’t going to let that damper my mood. Right then, I was focused on what I needed to do. Kelbert and I headed inside.

                There wasn’t a door to enter. Toho Food Center was just open and I took another look at the signage and saw that it had been open since 1888. I asked the waiter why it’s suddenly called “The New Toho Food Center” if it’s been around since 1888. Apparently, this wasn’t the original establishment- the old Toho Panciteria Antigua that Rizal had presumably eaten in had burned down in 1984 and had been rebuilt, when it had been renamed into the “New” Toho Food Center. It was painted purple, reminiscent of the color I’d requested to paint my bedroom. The paint, maybe from age and the fact that the food center was an open establishment, was weathered. It had large chunks of paint missing in certain sections near the high white ceiling. Kelbert had wanted to go up to the air-conditioned section of Toho but since we were the only customers, it wasn’t open.

                The same waiter I had asked about Toho sat us down, grabbed 2 menus and attempted to simply walk away. I saw his intent to leave, and quickly asked what he had to recommend. He seemed oddly surprised but quickly answered me with a million recommendations. I decided to get the first thing he had mentioned- the Pork Asado, and asked which Rice would go well with it. He recommended the Crab Fried Rice, and once Kelbert had made sure we both weren’t allergic to crab, we’d decided to get that too.

                While waiting for the food, Kelbert told me something extremely interesting. He’d told me that their family once owned a meat business and that before they shut down, they used to supply Toho. That was the reason he’d been very familiar with Toho in the first place. I asked him what he knew about Toho. He told me it was owned by the descendants of one of the founders of the place- the name had escaped him, but through further research, I hear his name was Tai Tang.

                The food arrived in 15 minutes. The Pork Asado was served first in what looked to me like a slightly smaller version of the usual Rodic’s Tapsilog fare, and was followed by a heaping serving of rice on a bowl that was around 5 inches in diameter. There was no grandiose presentation here, but I recall that it is quite rare to find Chinese restaurants that actually bother about presentation. Just a few days ago, our extended family had celebrated some special events in Spring Deer in Timog, and none of the servings were presented with much effort.

                The aroma, however, was incredibly mouthwatering. The aroma of the crab and the tangy sauce that came with the Pork Asado was enough to make Kelbert and I feel hungry, even if we’d admittedly had our fair share of lunch. The Pork Asado was so tender and thinly cut that it literally melted into your mouth and made you want to have more. And thank heavens, the Fried Rice was perfect- I’ve always loved Fried Rice, but hate it when the rice came out starchy and soft or too hard because it was overcooked. The rice was neither. The saltiness was a perfect contrast to the Asado’s sweetness, thanks to the tangy sauce that came with it. Kelbert and I, in the middle of conversations about school and about his growing up in Binondo, did not fail to pay our compliments towards Toho’s delicious food. Kelbert said he still loved eating food in Toho, even if his parents used to buy food from the place when he was younger. The taste, he said, never did change. It makes me wonder, considering that the restaurant is owned by descendants of one of the founders, if this is the food that Rizal, too, enjoyed. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised. So this was the good food that Binondo was famous for.

                There was a point that I was quite thankful that the air-conditioned area of Toho was closed. It allowed me to hear so many things, even beyond the conversations I had with Kelbert. I heard bicycles whiz by, and the familiar click-clack of the kalesas that passed the cement streets of Binondo. I love that sound- it is so distinctly Manila- I’d spent a good amount of time in Intramuros and it is the same sound on its cobbled streets that make the place seem like a page out of my history book. T. Pinpin, unlike much of Binondo that Kelbert and I agreed to traverse on foot after eating at Toho, was not a very busy street. Cars were parked in every square inch of that street, but there was barely any traffic.

                There came a point where both Kelbert and I only picked on our food- we were both extremely full, albeit satisfied with our meal. I’d relayed to him the second thing I needed to do that day- find my mother some good Hopia. Mom’s family knew the ins and outs of Binondo for some reason- my grandfather apparently loved to go there when they were children. Mom had specifically told me, before that hilarious reminder to buy her hopia before I left the house that she specifically wanted  hopia from Holand, Polland or Eng Bee Tin. I paid for our meal, and I’m surprised at the Php350 price tag on everything we had ordered. That much to feed two people and a take-home bag was definitely worth the money. I made a mental note to come back to Toho should I return to Binondo anytime in the future.

                Kelbert and I walked to the spot where our driver had parked. It was a short distance only from Toho, but it allowed Kelbert to notice the street sign. He was oddly surprised that it was now called T. Pinpin. He remembered that it used to be called Florentino Torres. I realized Toho would not be difficult to find in the street- it was the only restaurant in the row of furniture stores. The stores reminded me of what our current house contained when we had seen it before we moved in. The previous owner of our house had been Chinese, and well, she hadn’t been very sparing with the extremely ornate and intricate furniture. I always thought that all that furniture made a room glow orange, but I realized then that it was probably just because they seemed to have a liking for yellow light. Most of the Chinese furniture stores that we passed were lit that way.

                The skies had dimmed a huge amount by the time we got to the car again. We decided to go further into Binondo to find my mother’s hopia- Both Kelbert and I had decided we wanted to buy her Holand hopia, because the Eng Bee Tin was just too starchy and flaky. He’d made a comment that it was probably because Eng Bee Tin hopia was now being mass produced, so it tasted less fresh than the two other brands. I had to agree. I had always liked Holand hopia more.

                Both Kelbert and I stole a look at the car’s watch- it was 3:22 pm, and while we’d attempted to move much closer to Ongpin street, Binondo became much more difficult to navigate by car than it would have been on foot. There were endless one way street signs and we decided that we’d just find a parking spot and go around on foot. It sounds simple, but finding parking in Binondo was like finding a needle in the haystack. I wanted to go home and hug mom for allowing me to bring the driver with me. I wonder how much time we would have spent just looking for parking if I’d taken the drive alone. We take a look at the clock again- 3:28. And then we realize the oddest thing- the street lights are on at this hour? Our driver had made a comment how it was probably going to flood in Manila just looking at the storm clouds. The rain hadn’t poured just yet, but we knew it was imminent. For some odd reason, Kelbert and I didn’t feel like giving up on the hopia hunt despite the huge storm cloud that hung over us. It was so dark, if we hadn’t looked at the clock, I would actually think it was around 6 in the evening.

                The rain was starting to make its presence felt when we finally found a parking space. Kelbert and I, armed with our umbrellas would brave the storm that came. The rain pounded on the tin rooftops of the little shops we passed by, and the walk towards Ongpin which we had thought would be quite uneventful turned into an adventure in itself. We’d stopped for a while in one of the shops 2 blocks down from where we had come from when the rain started to become accompanied by a thunderstorm. I found it quite bizarre. It was clearly a tailoring shop- it had clothes and textiles on display, but it smelled quite odd- a little like the Efficascent oil that my gradeschool clinic would give me for a headache back in the day. Kelbert knew the owner- they used to have his school slacks made there, apparently. He also said that the tailoring shop, too, was a Chinese drugstore, hence the smell.

                We continued to walk through Binondo when the lightning and thunder stopped. The rain still kept pouring in dredges and Kelbert and I were both soaking wet. We passed a lot of different shops- hardware stores, food establishments, Chinese apothecaries and supermarkets. Every single shop had a different scent- one could smell of incense, and the next, of Chinese herbal medicine.  I remember wanting to stop at one place just because it was so warm and smelled of Chinese noodle soup which would be a huge comfort in the weather we were walking in, but I walked on.

                It became increasingly difficult for Kelbert and I to trek the streets of Binondo as wet as we were. The rain seemed to only get stronger, so once we hit Ongpin- the only street I was familiar with in Binondo- we stayed in one of the small supermarket type establishments to let the rain ease a bit. The place was warm and cozy, thankfully. Kelbert had told me that certain establishment sealed everything they had because they had a domesticated cat roaming inside. We met the adorable cat as we attempted to dry ourselves off. The shop smelled of the Chinese candies mom used to buy me when I was a child- the champoy, and the sweet and salty sampaloc, but it held so many odd ends. We saw cinnamon bark and Korean seaweed, even palm sugar, being sold at the store. I headed off to their little dark bathroom, spent some cuddle time with their domesticated cat, then soon after, braved the storm again. 

                The rain didn’t seem like it was going to let up anytime soon, and figuring we were dry enough to keep going, we took our umbrellas again and kept walking. We were near, Kelbert kept repeating, so we weren’t going to turn back now. Thankfully, the wind had significantly weakened and the heavens looked a lot brighter than it did earlier. We crossed the Filipino Chinese Friendship bridge which reeked of the polluted river but had a certain trace of the smell of fruit because of the assorted fruit stands in the area. Just one block down and we finally reached Holand. The store was nice and quaint and I hate that we probably dirtied their floors with our soaking wet shoes. We’d squeaked our way around the establishment as I purchased the hopia that mom had asked for. Kelbert had mentioned in the supermarket that many establishments were starting to sell mooncakes for the mooncake festival in September, so I decided to buy us one each. We ate it there while we rested for a bit before heading back.

                The store too, held many odd ends. Cans of fox’s candy that I was very fond of as a child were sold a shelf apart from some dietary coffee. The next shelf had tikoy, the next, empanada. I smiled. They just had to have it all.

                We trekked the same treacherous path we took earlier to return to the car. It seemed much calmer now. The rain had subsided a bit (it still wasn’t enough to warrant totally not using our umbrellas) and the puddles had receded. The little overhead roofs of the stores would keep us relatively dry from time to time. The paths smelled the same, except it reeked less of rain and moss. The rain was reduced to a pitter patter on the windshield when we returned to my car as we dried ourselves out. I look at the clock. 4:20. Rush hour. And Kelbert had some place to be.

                Recto was a nightmare to drive. I checked my phone and saw that it was apparently running at 0Kph. We’d turned at Morayta at 5:15. Almost an hour! Students crossed the streets with little caution, and I discovered why this street truly was U-belt. I’d never seen it so alive before. But then, I’d never really been to Morayta on a school day. Kelbert got off at the end of the street and we drove off to head home. Except we made a huge mistake. España after so much rain would always turn into a river. And well, we had nowhere to go. Thankful for a pretty high car, we made it through. I was exhausted at this point and wanted to nod off for a bit. It was the sight and sound of a bunch of students screaming as they crossed the flood waters of España, pulling up their skirts to cross the knee deep waters that was the last I remember before arriving home. It was 7:30.

                It’s funny how that treasure hunt worked so differently. Before we’d arrived at Toho and when Kelbert read through what I had to do, it seemed like such a simple task. But we’re controlled by uncontrollable circumstances. We just make the best out of them.