Mang Edwin’s cart is a wok, a gas tank and three jars of sauce: sweet, spicy and vinegar. He buys his fishballs, squidballs and kikiam frozen from a supplier in Malabon and sells them three for ₱5 at the gate of a public high school.
On a good day he sells eight kilos. On a rainy day, less than half. The price of oil matters more to him than the price of fish.
The route
He starts at the school, moves to a jeepney terminal at nine and ends at a hospital at lunchtime. Each stop has regulars who know exactly where his cart will be.
“The sauce is the business. Anyone can fry. People come back for the sauce.”
What it costs
A kilo of fishballs costs him a little over ₱100 from the supplier. Cooking oil, gas and sauce ingredients take another third of his takings. On a good day he clears enough to pay for his daughter’s school fees and the week’s rice.
The cart itself was a loan from his brother-in-law, repaid over two years in daily instalments. Repairs are his biggest worry: a broken wheel means a day without income.
He knows his regulars by their order, not their name. “Spicy, extra vinegar” is a security guard. “Sweet, no onions” is a girl from Grade 9 who has bought from him since she was in Grade 4.
A changing street
Fishball carts have been part of Manila streets for decades, and Mang Edwin has noticed the competition change. Convenience stores now sell frozen street food heated in a microwave, and some schools have banned vendors from their gates.
He is not worried yet. “They can heat it,” he says, “but they cannot fry it in front of you.” His regulars agree. By eleven the wok is down to its last few fishballs, and the queue at the hospital gate is already forming.
He has thought about a stall with a roof. For now, the cart lets him follow the crowds.
