Green and Seaweed-Flavored...

I often need to visit the marketplace in Taytay in the early evenings to buy odds and ends, print and copy (provided there isn't a brown-out, which is the local variety of a power outage), load my internet stick...but really, most of this is to get small change to pay Z's husband, the trike driver.  I'm usually ravenous after a long day in the field, but I usually exercise self-control and don't buy any junk food snacks (can't spoil my appetite for a delicious Casa Rosa dinner, and I usually abhor super junky snacks).  Usually.

Taytay Marketplace, early evening

One night last week, I rushed to the market when I got back, hoping to beat the brown-outs that have been happening semi-regularly in the evenings so that I could print out draft research endorsement forms for one of the barangay captains to sign the next day.  This would be my third attempt.  Made it to the main market hall...up the stairs...oh good, my preferred printing shop (lowest prices AND the friendliest guy, Arnel) was open..."Magandang gabi, kumusta ka?  Pwede akong mag-print?"  "Mabuti, pwedeng-pwede."  I handed Arnel the jump drive and leaned back in the chair he always offered me, relaxed, and jauntily thought, "FINALLY, I'm going to get this printed!" He turned back to the computer and reached down to insert the jump drive, and....darkness.  Brown-out!  Startled cries and gasps followed a millisecond of silence, and quickly snowballed into a jumble of flashlight beams, footsteps running around, chattering, laughing, groans...including mine.  "Sorry, maam," said Arnel.  "Sayang!  OK, salamat," I said, resigned to yet another delay in my long journey to get official research endorsements.

I headed over to the New Rainbow Store (I suppose one would call it the "Costco" of Taytay, though it's tiny by supermarket standards) which has its own generator, which seemed even more bustling than usual.  Its claustrophobic, narrow aisles were filled with people who lingered and did not care about the clumsy Americana trying to gently pass by.  I wasn't sure what I wanted, but I needed change for the trike ride the next day.

Picked out some Energen packets for 5:30 am breakfasts (a discovery from this trip: instant hot cereal drinks also taste ok if you use cold water because you don't have your own stove to heat water up...).  

A 2-gallon bottle of water.  Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!

Ooooh, chocolate with 5 different features (crispy rice bits, milk chocolate coating, caramel, and I forget what the other 2 were)?  Hmmm...I haven't had a chocolate bar since San Diego...yes please!

And then I saw it...tucked away in a small shelf...a can of seaweed-flavored Pringles.  There were sparks.  I gazed upon it, and the Pringles man smiled back at me from a bright green background.  The chips pictured on the can were green - intriguing.  The picture of seaweed on the can gleamed.  I hadn't had seaweed-flavored chips since I was a field assistant in Thailand, way back in 2006.  Come to think of it, it had been a while since I'd eaten Pringles...years, maybe.  This was coming home with me.

As I walked back to Casa Rosa in the dark, struggling with the hefty water and my bags (I refuse to take a trike the 150m from the market to Casa Rosa on principle), I realized how hungry I was.  I put everything down and dove into the Pringles...wow.  Delicious. 

OK, Tara na.  I picked up my bag and purse and water bottle, juggling them awkwardly in such a way that I had ready access to the Pringles can.  Oh man, so delicious!  I just had to stop and put everything down again so I could shove mini-towers of Pringles into my mouth.  Perhaps I was more uninhibited than usual, since it was so dark on the street.  Surely, no one could see me as I hunched over the can by my pile of things, rapidly chomping away, spewing green flakes everywhere.

That's when I heard a jolly laugh behind me.  I turned around, mid-bite - an old man had just walked out of the door that I'd stopped by.  At least, I hope he'd just walked out - who knows, he might have been there the whole time.  "Sarap!" he said (delicious) with a huge smile, and raised his glass in a toast.  Oh man...I thought my current gluttony was my secret and mine alone.  But he didn't seem to be judging me.

"Masarap na masarap!" I merrily replied as I raised the Pringles can in response. After a moment's hesitation, I continued to pig out.

Just as I was mid-chomp on the "one last chip" before resuming my journey back to Casa Rosa, Jean, the girl who I usually get copies from, walked by - pretty, neat, dainty...quite a juxtaposition from me - grimy, wrinkled clothes, wild hair, chowing my way through a can of Pringles.  "Miss Tara...where are you going?"  "Um, sa Casa Rosa.  Gusto mong Pringles? (Would you like Pringles?)".  "Ah...no, thank you. Have a good evening! I am going home."

Soon after that, I finally managed to put the can away and walk home, past the basketball court (where there seems to be a game every evening) and up the steep stone steps (wow, the water bottle was starting to get heavy); picked up my key from the ever-friendly Casa Rosa staff ("Magandang gabi, kumusta ka? Pwede akong mahiram ang susi?"); opened the door to my little cottage home, startling the crew of geckos who share it with me .  After a shower, I went to the restaurant all clean, a delicate floral scent emanating from my just-laundered clothes and my nicely-brushed, freshly-washed hair, feeling fresh and cleansed and healthy.  I primly ordered a small veggie salad and green tea after exchanging pleasantries with the Casa Rosa staff.  Good Tara.  Such a lady.  I would throw away the rest of the Pringles before I put any more of that junk in my body, which is a temple.

But that can of Pringles was still 1/3 full, and it sat in my room, biding its time, knowing that it would tempt me to further excess until it was all gone...the Pringles always win. Especially the seaweed-flavored ones.

N.B. the chocolate was, in a word, disappointing.  Perhaps they should have focused on 1 feature and done it well instead of spreading themselves thin on 5.