Fried chicken on a Tuesday morning

After an early start last Tuesday, I had breakfast at the newly opened branch of fast food chain in the city called City Fry. It's right in front of the hospital. From the parking area, I had to cross the busy highway, mindful that I could be crushed by speeding vehicles. Pedestrians do not have rights in real life—only on paper. 

Sean told me that City Fry is a locally grown restaurant that had humble roots. The Marbel-based owners must have unlocked the secret taste to whet a huge craving for the fried chicken they cooked. New branches have been opened in the city. The first one I tried was in Arellano Street, during lunch time, where the place was packed with customers who were clearly enjoying their time despite the South Cotabato heat.

I ordered the "thigh part" and a cup of rice for Php 50. The restaurant served free water, which you can refill from the dispenser. There was no pretension. You go there to eat good chicken, not take selfies. The music playing was from a local radio station. Everything looked lean. There was no air-conditioning. The staff spoke loudly toward each other, in Hiligaynon. It felt very homey.

The chicken tasted wonderful. It had the perfect crispiness and juiciness. When paired with ketchup, it was divine. 

In an alternate world, I'd like to be a food critic. I love Hannah Goldfield's section in The New Yorker called Table for Two. I envy Julia Robert's job in the film, My Best Friend's Wedding. She writes food reviews. When she enters a restaurant, the chef and his staff are in a state of panic: what would she think of the food? 

When I entered City Fry, the cashier greeted me, asked for my orders, then said, "Amo lang ni, Sir?" to egg me, perhaps, to buy a bottle of soda.

I said, "Oo, amo lang ni anay, Te."