“Palengke” in the old Parañaque
By Edwin de Leon
“PAMILIHANG BAYAN NG PALANYAG” was the prominent sign of the Parañaque public market of the post-war years, right into the 50s. Anybody who has travelled between Manila and Cavite has passed the front of this iconic building along Quirino Avenue, the only thoroughfare connecting Manila to the southwest.
It’s a rarity for a person of Filipino ancestry who has not been in a typical “Palengke” anywhere in the Philippines. There are over 42,000 Barangays in this country; from that figure, one can extrapolate the number of wet markets in the Philippines. At the very least, the nearly 2000 municipalities and cities would have at least one big market and several smaller “baraka.” Putting it all together, we are looking at perhaps 10,000 marketplaces of varying sizes in this part of the world.
This centre of social destination is not unique in the Philippines. This type of commerce mecca, as an Asian phenomenon, has ubiquity and variety in every part of the world. ( think of the Floating Market in Thailand or the Wuhan Live animal market in China and its reputation as the source of the original COVID-19 virus )To call it a “Shopping Centre” misses its uniqueness. Even a millennial would not mistake it as a “wet mall .” Still, each market hub has something particular ( the Tsukiji Fish Market for instance, in Tokyo or the Navotas Fish Port Complex ) that draws people in because of better quality and selection or might sell much more cheaply than anywhere else.
Do you remember the old-fashioned “pandesal?” You can search the municipality of Parañaque-Muntinlupa, and you will be empty-handed at the end of the day to find any. Either there is more demand for the sweeter bun or, more likely, there is less profit making the larger variety. The newer pandesal is smaller (as small as a Brussell Sprout if you squeeze it tight ) and sweeter, but the texture gives it a much different character if you are fond of dipping your pandesal in coffee.
When we go to Malarayat ( Lipa City ) to golf, we pre-order it from a small, non-descript bakery on the outskirts of the vast Lipa ( Batangas ) market. Pre-order because every run they have is sold out daily. It is the only place we know that still does the large pandesal. They refuse to expand and insist on a finite number each day. The retro ( Reno) liver spread complements the bun, as well as corned beef sauteed with tomatoes and onions.
WHY IS IT CALLED A WET MARKET? IS THERE A DRY ONE?
In my experience, a wet market is an informal assemblage of vendors situated in a giant warehouse-type building with open sides, with tarpaulin awnings surrounding the building, often spilling into the streets. The more permanent stalls sell meat, fish, chicken and other seafood. This part of the market is constantly wet as the concrete floors are sloshed down to keep the premises as clean as possible, and ice keeps the perishables from spoiling. The merchants on the outskirts sell vegetables, fruit, processed meat, dried fish, shellfish, eggs, rice, and live native chickens. On weekends, anything and everything is sold outside the main building. Hardware pushcarts and individual hucksters are hawking clothing items, potted plants, knives, belts, brooms and even birds.
Street foods are another feature of a wet market. BBQs, roast corn, “kwek-kwek,” “chicharron,” fish balls, “halo-halo,” “binatog,” as well as roving peddlers of “dirty ice cream,” ( sorbetes ) “ taho,” “puto,” a seemingly endless variety of snacks and sweets. Further down the street are the serious food vendors. These started as “merienda” fares like congee and “lumpia” ( fried bean sprouts or bamboo shoots rolls) and “puto bumbong.” ( Google translates it as : “ Puto Roof” ) Today, there is an array of warming trays, the kind you find in buffets and large pots of serious Filipino fares like adobo, dinuguan, kaldereta, sinigang, etc. There is a cadre of people who prefer the social atmosphere of street dining. ( even in the company of noisy tricycles and the air thick with pollutants and smoke from charcoal BBQ ). And they seem to be eating outside the usual lunch or dinner hours. I see them eating at any hour of the day.
The wet market of today is a tame version of the one I lived through when I was growing up. Our house was a short walking distance to the center of town. It’s the central hub that includes the vast wet market, surrounded by the municipal building, the two major parochial schools ( separately for boys and girls ), a public elementary school, the only theatre ( Sine Surot ), two huge Chinese dry goods stores, Appliance Centre and the Catholic church ( later to become the cathedral ). Fronting the church is the most prominent open space in town; the Plaza is the site of many political rallies and religious festivals. Sandwiched between the church and the market is the most conspicuous funeral parlour in town.
The “anything goes,” little or no regulation culture of the 50s was a veritable compendium of practices that never raised eyebrows. The proprietor of the funeral parlour was a multitasker of unrivalled skill. Besides being the embalmer/funeral director, he builds coffins and sculpts the gravestones on the premises. At Christmas, he does several moulded/sculpted Santas that he painstakingly paints and sells to the public. He is also an accomplished photographer and musician, playing in a marching band during funeral processions. I see all these because his funeral outfit that houses all his activities is fronting the main avenue. As the roadway is elevated, we often see a corpse on an embalming gurney on the other side of the low-hung curtains as we walk to and from school each day. The place exudes the look of a carpentry shop rather than a funeral salon.
I grew up in the front seat of the town’s central establishments. The population explosion in Parañaque has since necessitated a decentralization of services, including schools, hospitals and even the venerable wet market. The post-war market building has since been replaced with a dry section upstairs. Even with an escalator, the second floor never caught on, so the dry stalls returned to the ground level.
The one that disappeared ( actually relocated ) altogether was the market abattoir. The very public location of this slaughterhouse does not spare the nearby houses the constant wailing of squealing pigs. Cattle and pigs are processed and delivered to the vendors in their stalls. You can bring your purchase of live “native” chicken to be de-feathered and cleaned on the spot. Often, the slaughterer gets the part you don’t want, for herself, the spleen, the head or the gizzard. I don’t recall eating the feet and the intestines as they do today.
CARINDERIA: THE ORIGINAL “TURO-TURO“
One of the most consistent features of a wet market is the “carinderia.” I detailed my experiences (“The Games That We Played,” Part II ) as a young boy growing up in Parañaque and my regular encounter with this bastion of cheap, tasty local fares. In the 50s, there was no fast food as we know it today. It was “fast food” alright, not burgers or pizza, but the pre-cooked selection of local favourites laid out in a glass-panelled enclosure. You select from half a dozen choices, a couple of servings of steamed rice, and the meal is complete.
I remember fondly the Pancit Guisado that this Chinese cook prepares with such finesse that there was a constant high demand for his rendition of this traditional Filipino fare. Wrapped in banana leaves, it exudes an aroma unlike the competition’s. The other thing I remember about this eatery is its proximity to the public latrine. This outhouse-type privy is the only one that serves thousands on a given day. As I recall, this enclosure had a raised corrugated roof, allowing free air movement.
The odour of ammonia permeates the surrounding areas, including the nearby carinderia. I have no idea how we survived dysentery with flies snuggled up on every exposed wiring in the eatery. Between the houseflies in the daytime and mosquitos in the evening, you would think people would eat elsewhere, but this is the food wing of this market, and the food was good. No amount of “flying visitors” would drive us out.
THE EPITOME OF A DRY MARKET
The mere mention of Binondo-Divisoria in Manila is enough to conjure up what a Dry Market is all about. No other place in greater Manila can outcompete this place regarding size, selection and prices. People shop there to buy in bulk, either for resale or multiple items for “pasalubong.” It is the primary outlet for goods coming from Hong Kong and China. Locally manufactured clothing is also sold there. Footwear, hardware, school supplies, housewares, and every other odds and ends find a home in these dizzying “numbered” buildings. Organized chaos is an apt description of these emporia.
Binondo, Manila’s Chinatown ( reputedly the oldest in the world ), has all kinds of dried and smoked varieties of fish in all grades and sizes. This place is a street food mecca, serving the best Siopao, Hopia, Noodles and Dumplings. The first “Ma Mon Luk” restaurant opened in Binondo. It popularized the “mami-siopao” tandem, which is still a hit today.
What started as a Wednesday religious novena became one of Metro Manila’s most significant dry market showplaces. The Baclaran bazaar had morphed into a permanent marketplace. Stalls and buildings have been built around the church to meet regular demand. Wednesdays are still the peak day when sellers spill into the streets. Like Divisoria, they have everything to please the most discriminating counterfeit buyer.
The Paranaque market has all of these, except for the immensity and pricing of a Divisoria. The growth of Baclaran ( which happens to be part of Paranaque ) is making it challenging for the locals to be competitive.
TODAY’S HYBRID WET MARKET
Magnolia (chickens ) and Monterey ( Beef / Pork ) are subsidiaries of San Miguel Corp, responsible for the standardization of today’s supply. Poultry and meats come to the vendors inspected, cut and sometimes packaged. The only remnant of processing left is fish descaling and deboning, using surgical tweezers to remove fish bones. It is the wettest part of the market, as the seafood is constantly iced up to keep it fresh. The sight of a side of beef being hoisted to the market rafters after hours to be lowered down again at the start of the market day is a thing of the past. Nobody paid attention to the flies that covered every item in the market that was not underwater. The vendors’ most common tool after a knife is a fly disperser.
There is a conspicuous effort to improve sanitation generally, which takes little as the bar is typically low in a wet market. I see more ice in the seafood area and even freezers in the meat section. The mom-and-pop meat stalls are fewer. Big food companies supply the ones still in business. The carinderia that existed alongside the perishable goods are no longer inside the main building. They congregate along the perimeters of the market, offering similar fares to the market crowd. In a more developed market, like Divisoria, the carinderia has now been replaced by a mall-style Food Court.
The newest entry in the marketplace is the popular fast food chain. Although not necessarily under the umbrella of the market, they are within shouting distance and still within the market hub. The reasonable prices, discounts for seniors and a high degree of cleanliness are becoming the main draw for the younger crowd and those who are skittish about the safety of street foods. They offer all the conveniences of a drive-through, remote ordering and delivery. Despite the growth of fast food, street food serves a different clientele who are not soda and burger fans but are more into traditional cuisine.
Today, the fruit section features more imported varieties; besides the obvious ones that don’t grow locally, the packaging suggests foreign sourcing. This market section is also a window of what’s in season and instructive on how some fruits became an all-season variety. Mangoes have become an all-year fruit like bananas, a departure from their pre-hybrid origins. Because of their sheer size, it’s hard not to notice the hybrid version of common fruits, like guavas and sugar apples ( Atis ).
The one thing that struck me the most in this section of the market is the absence of those fruits that were a staple when I was growing up: Camachille, Mansanitas, Duhat, Sineguelas, Makopa, Aratilis and “Susong Kalabaw” ( literally, Carabao Nipple ) come to mind. No supermarkets carry them because young people don’t know what they are. Nostalgia is the only market for these now, which means the old folks still standing!
WHAT DOES THE FUTURE HOLD FOR THIS CULTURAL ANTIQUITY?
I wouldn’t bet on its demise, not for a long time. But there has been a sea change in the new wet market. And you can see how the old face of the market has since been diminished. There are empty stalls and fewer sellers. The market is markedly less than a full house as it once was. On an ordinary day, you can drive through the market’s perimeter, an impossible undertaking before. However, the more impoverished, rural regions will continue to have a vibrant open market of the post-war years.
The ultimate test of its influence in the cultural sphere of the neighbourhood are the patrons, the people who are avid “palengke” clientage. Fewer young people want to be associated with this cultural relic unless they work there. They will spend their equities, even as little as they generally are, not in a sit-in outdoor “lugaw-adobo” joint, but in a Mc-Do, a Greenwich Pizza or a KFC.
So yes, this once-almighty “palengke “ will be retrenched, owing to today’s choices. The old folks and those with a cultural attachment to this iconic symbol will always be there to patronize it.
Sadly, we are not going to be around forever!
edwingdeleon@gmail.com