Binatog.

     Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a taste of binatog (soft kernels of boiled corn seasoned with salt and grated coconut). Next to fresh taho, which was piously delivered every morning by a distinguished-looking lolo, binatog, hawked in the afternoons by kuyas on bikes popularly termed then as “racers,” was my next favorite merienda as a child. Wherever my playmates and I were in the house, whether busy at play or trying to fake a nap, once we heard the hearty call for “binaTOOOG!” (accent on the last syllable that was drawn out as long as possible. Street hawkers seem to have the most melodious, bell-like voices), our ears perked up trying to gauge how far off still the mama was so that we knew how fast we needed to scramble out the front door to call for his attention. 

     “Pabili nga ho ng dalawang baso at pakidagdagan ng niyog.” 

     The shy itinerant vendor would smile and oblige, putting the requested amount on banana leaves and giving the dagdag niyog AND binatog. My playments and I would eat our snack, savoring each tasty morsel, eating slowly to make the binatog last twice as long as usual (for we never knew when the mama would return to our neck of the woods again). Once finished, we’d pat our distended tummies where we’d imagine the corn kernels expanding to twice their size (that’s what carbohydrates do we were told), making our bellies heavy and making us sleepy.

     Oh! Don’t even get me started on other tasty treats—like dirty ice cream dipped in hot chocolate sauce that hardened when it came into contact with the cold treat—yum!

     Do kids nowadays still know binatog? Or dirty ice cream with the chocolate dip, or even palitaw?

     Sigh, a pity, what a great pity if they don’t then.