His name is Balut, James Balut. That’s not his real surname, though. But he sold balut in front of the church near our village and so the “last name” stuck. I was a regular.
Like other small vendors, he was hit hard by the lockdown in 2020. He could not leave his house. His supplier in Pateros, having lost most of his clientele, closed shop. Many of James’s fellow vendors gave up after months of no business and went home to the provinces.
But James’s bedridden mother could not travel. So, James had to stick it out in Parañaque.
After not seeing him for months, I got a text message. (I had given him my number so that when he had newly delivered balut, I could get first dibs.) He again had balut for sale. I called him and he explained that, since there was no demand, he was able to get the duck eggs cheap from his old supplier. Better still, to ensure faster turnover, the eggs were cooked only 14 days after fertilization, instead of the usual 17. This resulted in a smaller chick. The best part was that instead of us having to go to him, he could come to us since he had gotten a pass from the city government to deliver food.
I was at first reluctant to try his innovation. But then he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse — he sent me a sample. It was delicious! I ordered a dozen to give away to my neighbors. And, as it turned out, my neighbors also loved the 14-day balut as it was tastier, with more sabaw, and the yolk was creamier. It was an instant hit.
Now, James has prospered to the point where he has 10 to 12 ambulant balut vendors under him plying Parañaque City, allowing others to partake of the yummy, innovative 14-day balut.
But I still don’t know his real last name.