SOMEONE once told me that the restaurant where my friend and I had dinner the other night was a local branch of one of the oldest restaurants in the country. But of course, that was old news.
I already knew this. Way back in the 70s, when I still played with a band in Manila, we used to frequent one of its branches near Malate and Roxas Boulevard, and ordered nothing but their most famous offering, fried chicken.
Truth be told, the distinct flavor of Savory’s had not changed a bit since I first tasted it. Because of this, our dinner slowly began to bring back memories of what I loved about Manila then, and looking at the framed pictures of that old city on the walls naturally segued into me realizing how much I have missed the old Davao too.
I remember my childhood as being wrapped around the taste of Mang Caloy Millete’s fried chicken down at Molave. It had the same peculiar flavor, look, and taste as Savory’s, but this was proudly our own, and the thought continually played in my mind during the course of our meal.
Tracing back further, Davao at that time wasn’t the busy metro it is today. You knew almost everybody then.
The places to frequent and have a meal or two with your parents and family were likewise well-visited and popular among true-blue Davaoeños of the time.
If you wanted Halo-halo, there was the Three Sisters at San Pedro. The best ice cream could be had at Merco’s near the junction of Claveria and Uyanguren (still called Acacia because a gigantic tree once stood near the road). For Chinese fare, the whole area near Uyanguren was the ideal place.
Also, within walking distance from Apo View was the immortal Dencia’s, where Filipino, American, and Chinese cuisine were always served hot.
Luz Kinilaw was already in its birth throes, and visitors had begun to take notice. Lastly, for fried chicken, you simply headed on without a second choice and proceeded to Molave down Claveria.
Nowadays, if one merely focuses on this BFF (best fried fowl), things surely take a turn from simple to complicated.
With the number of ways of preparing fried chicken, as done by the same equal number of food establishments operating in the city, one might as well daringly try them all and declare himself a fried chicken connoisseur non-compare.
Consider this: there’s spicy, greasy, crunchy, original (?), as well as medium-rare (with blood still in the bones). But of course, there’s also the super-dry and tasteless variety they peddle at the sidewalk and inside subdivision streets nowadays.
While some may say it’s just nature taking its “course”, the sad truth is, the meals of my youth, to my utter distaste, have slowly been overrun by the unsavory and impersonal fast-food-fast-life world of today. Much like life. And love. Whatever.
May I have the bill, please. Or Chit, as old-timers are won’t to say.
