A chicken ‘inasal’ story
Chicken inasal is life. My life. It is defined by the parts I have regularly consumed for years: pakpak, isol, pecho, and paa.
How I choose which piece to order has become a reflection of my character. I am not solely molded by my endeavors, challenges, achievements, or recognition, but also by a dish that has been part of almost my entire existence—grilled chicken.
My story began with the delight and discovery of how delicious pakpak was. Introduced to chicken inasal at a young age, my younger self quickly established pakpak as my forever go-to. I became the kid who loved wings so much that relatives would tease me about growing my own. Yet, that never stopped me from ordering them again and again.
I became so accustomed to its availability that while eating pakpak brought excitement and pleasure, its absence brought extreme disappointment. I vividly remember the tantrum I threw when a waitress told my parents that there were no wings left. For them, it was only a part of a chicken. For me, it was a source of comfort after a long, tiring day at school.
Pakpak was my first heartbreak. My parents knew that, while they wanted to make me happy, I also needed to understand that not everything would always go my way. It taught me that joy should not be anchored in the expectation that something will always be there. I had to learn to adjust, compromise, and, most importantly, move on.
That led me to explore other options, including one of my father’s favorites—isol, commonly known as the chicken butt.
Compared to the pakpak’s bony, firm texture, the isol offered immense juiciness and tenderness from its natural fat. Every bite was rich and bursting with flavor. I was so impressed that it quickly became my newfound favorite. Even knowing it was literally the “butt” of a chicken could not make me care less.
That changed when I found yellow remnants inside that looked like fecal matter. No matter how others tried to convince me otherwise, my mind was made up. I would not be ordering isol again anytime soon.
Isol became my turning point. What seemed almost perfect had something far less welcoming hidden within. The possibility had always been there, but my enjoyment had outweighed the thought of encountering something I might dislike. It reminded me that, at the end of the day, it was still a chicken’s butt.
So, just as I had found an alternative to pakpak through isol, I searched again for the part that might be right for me.
I considered the biggest, meatiest, most popular, and priciest piece—pecho. Ordering it had always intimidated me. It could either be extremely juicy or frustratingly tough. Although widely regarded as the best-seller, it never stood out to me. The prospect of consuming more meat, regardless of how dry it could be, was never appealing.
Nevertheless, I gave it a chance with an open mind. I was not wrong. Pecho simply confirmed what I already knew. What is pleasurable to many does not have to be the same for me. Certain things simply do not align with my preferences, and there is nothing wrong with that. I only have to accept that it is not my cup of tea—or not my part of the chicken.
In searching for what I liked best, I discovered something beyond my criteria for evaluating chicken. Perhaps it is not merely flavor or texture that determines what becomes my favorite. Maybe it is also the realization that comes with how I perceive and assess the world. With every choice I make and every reaction I have, I see how they become manifestations of my authentic individuality.
Like how the tantalizing pakpak was my eye-opener, grounding me in the reality that not everything can be within my reach or control.
Like how the tender isol was my actualization, helping me recognize the imperfections hidden within seemingly perfect things.
Like how the daunting pecho was my affirmation that I do not need to conform to society’s conventional idea of what is “good” or “worth it.”
Because, in the end, it was never up to others to decide.
It had always been mine.
Driven by my intrinsic desire to find the best part, I failed to fathom that perhaps…the right part had been right in front of me all along. It is not deeply flavorful or the meatiest, nor is it the most tender. Yet, it stands as the branding of almost every chicken inasal branch, recognized not for being extraordinary, but for being simple, familiar, and loved precisely as it is.
It is the classic chicken paa. With the cut including both the drumstick and thigh, it strikes the ideal balance of chewiness, succulence, and meatiness. Nothing lacking, nothing excessive—simply enough to bring a “yuhom” to my face, solidifying that I truly am from the City of Smiles.
Sometimes, being blinded by the ambition to reach what’s highest, extend to what’s furthest, or propel toward what’s “best” makes us forget about what truly matters. So, I let my chicken inasal story remind me that I don’t have to figure everything out all at once.
After all, it takes bites and many tries before truly realizing what makes us simply us.
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Christlyle Barrera Vingson, 17, is a youth empowerment advocate based in Bacolod City.
