He had to tap each fruit bush with his sinisikaran, a piece of wood wrapped with rubber on one end, for it to excrete more sap. Back in the day, the locals would simply kick them, but the act was thought to be harsh, thus he came up with a make-do and “less violent” instrument.
Marcelino had to knock on them religiously, for three consecutive weeks to be exact, before he could slice off the fruit and secure a catch bin right by the wounded stalk to collect the juice that comes out. He made sure not to rob the stalks dry of sap so it could recover and produce more juice after six months of recovery.
He gathered the murky liquid into earthen jars called tapayan and covered them with rubber tires to allow it to ferment for two weeks. When it started to release a slightly pungent scent then he knew it was ready for consumption. Marcelino then divided the sour mixture into empty five-gallon mineral water containers, which a middle man would then hoard and sell at the Plaridel market as sukang sasa for a considerably higher price than what Mang Eddie worked hard and bargained them for.
Making vinegar wasn’t the life he originally chose. He tried working in the corporate world but he felt that the stress and the expenses of city life fell short compared to farm living. And so after five years, he returned to his roots and continued what his father and grandfather started. Luckily, the job was more than enough to pay for the education of his five kids.
Mang Eddie passed away last year. Though he wanted his family’s tradition to carry on, none of his children wanted to get dirty, he candidly said.
