It was a regular day, with me and my sister heading to the neighborhood salon and we spot a multicolored umbrella at one of the very few parking slots outside the parlor.
From the first time I saw him, I knew I wanted to patronize him. I didn't even know yet how the mami tasted, but I knew it must be good from the several tricycle drivers waiting to get a bowl. Seeing customers that are willing to wait is always a good sign.
He has a certain grace, a fluidity in his movements in crafting the low-key, street-side mami - dipping the noodles into the broth, sanitizing the bowl and spoon, loading the noodles, red sauce, the thinly-sliced meat, onion leeks, and garlic into the bowl pouring the steaming hot broth, and finally lifting it onto the makeshift counter to serve. The mami is simple, honest, and tasty; don't get me wrong. But I think it's the whole experience of seeing him at work, making the best out of what he has, and making a decent living, while serving good food that makes him and the mami memorable and worth going back to.
I don't know his name nor his story. What I know is that he is persevering and dedicated, just as all of us should be. read more