I have never felt pitiful and embarrassed over myself in a restaurant before, let alone a carinderia… until I ate at Jojo’s!
After looking at the menu, I decided to take the biggest that their Cabagan could get, so I said, “Ate, isang Supreme Overload.” (Miss, I’ll have one order of Supreme Overload.) Then the gorgeous lady-cashier astonishingly said, “Sir, baka [gusto niyo] ‘yung overload na lang, fifty pesos lang naman. Nakalagay sa malaking bowl ‘yung Supreme Overload, sir. Ilan po ba kayong kakain?” (Sir, you may want to try our “Overload” version instead; anyway, it’s just for fifty pesos. Our Supreme Overload is actually served in a large bowl. How many in your party, by the way?) I told myself that without a doubt, “ate-gurl” knows what she’s saying. That time, it’s as if my feet were glued on ice, and that my childhood mannerism of being embarrassed has been conjured that I answered her with half a smile while dim-wittedly circling my eyes around the menu posted below the counter trying hard to hide my innocence as if I were denying something that I was really guilty of doing.
“Mag-isa ko lang po. Supreme Overload, ate.” (I’ll have Supreme Overload. I’m just alone.) I said in an unsure and stupid tone. I am very sure that her bullsh*t-radar alarmed so loudly the she easily sensed my ignorance, and I can’t blame her for that. I actually salute her for trying one more time in giving me a hint to stop my foolishness, once and for all. That time, I could hear her in my head screaming: “MISSION ABORT! MISSION ABORT!” Put it this way: No one in their right senses would ignore the obvious verbal clue on the menu itself. The Overload P50 is the only one highlighted in red among the list of the Cabagan versions. So, where did my brain cells go?
When I felt that she was finally convinced that she was taking an order of an imbecile, she was even very cordial in suggesting that “pwede niyo naman pong i-take out kung hindi niyo maubos.” (Anyway, we could actually wrap your leftover for to-go) That was it. That was her finishing blow. That moment, I told myself, “there’s no going back. I’m gonna head to the dungeon and kill that dragon, and I don’t know how. -Deep swallow-“
I went to the corner like a curious juvenile trying to play with colored solvents, looking foolishly as I prepare my fix with the generous amount of diced onions that they promptly served as I sat. They had no calamansi but there was vinegar and chili oil. Who am I to complain? I didn’t even think of myself as an undercover food critique that time. I thought that this was the best embarrassment that I deserved for being so stubborn under the nose of a smart restaurateur.
I honestly didn’t want the Cabagan to be served anymore. I was actually hoping that the time would stretch longer and that they would eventually shout that the Cabagan has already run-out that early morning just to salvage my shame! But I had to be brave enough to face the embarrassment that I so created myself. While waiting for my neme-dish (I know a joke should never be explained, but it’s short for nemesis-dish: a dish that you detest), I deliberately looked at other tables that are served with attractively-one-man-proportionate Cabagans with a fluffy poached egg on top, and I told myself: “how could I live my life in stupidity?”
After a few-but-long minutes of oscillating my neck like a light tower across the restaurant, the MONSTROUS meal finally landed on my table. I instinctively said grace and took my school uniform off and placed in on top of my bag – I didn’t want my neatly pressed polo to be stained with the stupidity of its owner.
The second “ate-gurl” who served the stupendous bowl of Cabagan asked me how many are eating in my party; and like “ate-gurl” #1, she felt like she had to do something in order to pull me off the edge of the cliff, but she said nothing and was just obedient enough to get one plate for me.
After mixing a shy amount of my fix onto my Cabagan, I could see in my peripheral vision that some customers were actually staring at me, and that one or two of them are already saying to themselves, “ayo’ko na sa Earth!” (Get me out of this planet) Again, I can’t blame them. But it’s already too late. In the first place, does Earth want them back?
When I had my first spoonful, I swear that I wanted to swear. I wanted to shout: “Kastuy ah!” (This is how it’s done!) Every strand of the Cabagan miki is bringing me back to a childhood dining table where every forehead sweats on every morsel of the Cabagan that was cooked by a pancit wizard in a barrio fiesta.
I keep on reiterating that I don’t like veggies on my Cabagan. And Jojo’s version knows how to tease someone like me, who wants a veggie-free Cabagan. I was actually entertained by the minimal presence of the veggies that I cared less if there were veggies or not. I was swimming in a bowl of Cabagan with the mildly poached egg, Igado and lechong karahay as my floaters!
You’re maybe wondering if I was able to finish the entire bowl. Definitely not! Even my XL appetite was no match for the T-Rex-sized Supreme Overload Cabagan of Jojo’s, I had to succumb to the suggestion of “ate-gurl” #1 and took my leftover out. If this were “Man vs Food”, the winner is FOOD! So, if I were you, don’t be too boastful, and just get the “Overload” version for just P50, unless you are to share the whole bowl with someone.
Jojo’s equation is very simple. P80 Supreme Overload + pride of eating alone = food coma; P50 Overload + trusting your instincts = Barrio Fiesta.