PUTO[!!] he yells as he's biking down the community streets with his merienda goods in the side buggy. I call out to him, he comes to the gate, I ask "how much", he tells me just how much and we all knod with a jovial "yes!"
"Plate na?"
he says. Running into the house the ten year old daughter comes out with a plate. He spoons two pieces. But he wants to sell more. Even though I don't look foreign, I sound and act foreign. That makes me the candidate for giving/selling me more in his oh so strategic way. He insists on putting two more pieces on my plate with the insentive of a bonus piece. I laugh as I mimick "bonus". After all, it's pretty clever just how he manipulates the situation. Heck, why not. With a knod of reluctant approval I watch him give me that bonus piece. He lavishly spoons on the shaved coconut which turns the plastic plateful of puto pieces into lip smacking eye candy.
For P10 these little rice flour steamed cakes do nothing to satisfy the appetite. Instead they tantalize and trick the body into believing it needs/wants more. Steamed with coconut milk into these fluffy delectables it seems as though home had never tasted any better than the day before. We stuff our maws like ravished vultures and in seconds the plate is empty. We look at each other as if to say, "where'd it all go??"
