The fancy taste of Manila's taho

Nothing beats the original-glazed, naturally-sweetened arnibal (brown sugar sauce) of Manila's taho. Nothing. 

photo by ladyresha

There were days (and it took months and even years) that I didn't eat taho in my hometown in Las Piñas, for the plain reason of being used to the same ol' cheap soya dessert that I used to eat in the morning when I was four. Every morning I would hear that calling sound from Manong, shouting, "Tahooooo~!" hoping to catch the attention of lazy villagers, sleeping inside their dens in a hot, weekend day. 

That was not until I came to this simple town of Bacolod, somewhere in Central Visayas, for a visit to one of my good friends in Church, named Gwyneth (also known as Gheurch). A beautiful young mother of two kids, who invited me to live for a few days in her small green apartment, along with her Ilonggo husband in Talisay. Being a city girl a few years back, she boasts one of the best things to remember about Manila: taho.

"There's nothing sweeter than the taste of hot, steaming taho of Luzon--if not exclusively in Manila," she said.

She knew how everyone back there is crazy about this exotic street dessert. And this included me.

"What's wrong about the taho here in Bacolod?" I asked.

With a sarcastic laugh she smirked at me and stared, saying, "When I came here for the first time I excitedly tried to buy a cup and eagerly swallowed a big portion of taho and without a minute I spitted it out infront of the vendor, showing him how awful his recipe was. I thought it was just his taho, but it was the same taste from the entire Bacolod!"

"Nothing beats Manila's taho, Jenny. Nothing beats," she added.

With a curious look, I excitedly waited for our friend, Gershom, to call the taho vendor from outside his house. And swiftly, this Manong entered the gate and gave each of us a glass of hot, steaming taho---that looked just like the one in Manila. It seemed harmless.

Taho vendors we usually call, "Manong Taho"

Sago and arnibal, two of taho's main ingredients

"Don't be deceived, Jenny. It doesn't taste the way it looks," Gheurch warned me.

...and she was right.

I took a teaspoonful of taho and tasted it. Within seconds I wanted to puke. The arnibal tasted like burned sugar. And Hell, it wasn't sweet at all. It was bitter!!!

"WHERE THE HELL DID YOU, ILONGGOS GET THIS STUPID RECIPE!???"

The rest of my friends only glared back at me, wondering. "What's wrong? Was it that bad?" One of them innocently asked, and drank everything from his glass. He appeared so happy about it. 

"You guys are insane. Taho doesn't taste like this! Not even once!!!" I complained, telling it like in a ghost story. 

But Gheurch was right. Nothing beats Manila's taho.

When I came back to Manila, the next day, I waited for that yell. That yell I once ignored. That yell I often neglected because I considered it would come around, anyway. But when I was out of town, that was the time I realized how exceptional Manong's recipe was. It's a treat like no other.

"Tahoooooooo~!!!" and there, he went.

 Tahoooo!!!" Manong, Tahoooo!"  I shouted back, waving my arms as I ran towards the gate. He was a few meters away because I had to go downstairs from the second floor of the house before I reach the gate. 

There goes my taho.

I took a spoonful and dramatically ate the whole sweet thing. I missed it. I missed it a lot.

That was the best-tasting taho I've had in my life. Never shall I ignore it ever again.

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