For someone born and raised in Bacolod City, and who has been exposed to its flavors as soon as she could chew, the Chicken Inasal is a rather unremarkable local food that I don’t mind eating everyday.
After all, I’ve experienced not having any access to it when I lived out of town, and I was fine for awhile, even telling myself I don’t miss it at all but then the thought of that sour, tangy, perfectly grilled and partly charred chicken made me salivate and ask my parents to send me some via air cargo, which they did, for my 19th birthday.
Back in Bacolod, I would still occasionally crave for such, yet still wonder what’s all the fuss with this very simple, lightly marinated chicken in lemongrass, soy sauce and calamansi which is cut up into either the leg part called Paa (which I always go for, as it is dark meat and more flavorful in my opinion), breast part called Pecho (supposed to be the choice of the affluent who prefer white meat), or breast with wing part called Pecho Pak (preference of those who want more meat) that can be had at almost every street corner around the city be it in the fanciest restaurants, oldest grilling complex (Manokan Country) or on the sidewalk.
I wonder and then stare, at a diner preparing his dipping sauce; a combination of soy sauce, vinegar, calamansi and chili pepper, in anticipation of his Inasal to arrive, at another diner using her hand to shove morsels of this scrumptious chicken into her mouth, and at other diners clapping their hands and singing happy birthday to a celebrant beaming somewhere in this bareboned barbecue place, and then it hits me, this simple and ubiquitous native dish is special not just for it’s distinct taste and savory flavors but for the meaningful ways it is enjoyed whether in solitude or in the company of family and friends, alongside a cup of garlic rice best slathered with chicken oil, that’s always able to satiate one’s hunger or drown one’s woes until what’s left on his plate are nothing but bones.
