The locals ate their Inasal with their hands, breaking the chicken into bite-sized pieces, beautifully drenched in orange oil. The man on the grill looks like he's been doing this for most of his life. The chairs are nothing fancy and the menu has no nonsense. The place is open-air and old, and there's an air-con area for an additional 10% But who needs air-con when you get cold pale Pilsen for 37 bucks.
Chicken Bacolod has a subtle crispness and the meat is injected with a lovingly colorful flavor. The treatment doesn't feel rushed and processed. It puts the fast-food restaurants claiming the Inasal name, to shame. Out here, it's a sincere craft, as though they weren't just in it for the dough.
I've only been in Bacolod for less than two hours, arriving on a ferry from Iloilo. I was sick of work and hotels, missing my wife and child, so I jumped to the streets and launched the Around Me app for directions. I found myself here, made older and wiser by a few days travel, as if I was being consoled by fate.
