For a Southerner (like myself), rarely does one find the true flavour of lechon in Manila: crispy and crunchy skin, that sweet thin strip of fat before the sweeter and thicker layer of fat and, finally, the succulent flesh with the appetising aroma of herbs and spices. So good one doesn’t need the gravy sauce. Any self-respecting Bisaya knows the difference between the real lechon meticulously prepared and carefully roasted back home; and those mass-produced in Manila.
The second day was a lot easier, since it would lead to a very early morning the next day. After a quick, easy game of golf at the Onward Mangilao, with its holes peeking right next to a stunning view of the Pacific, we claimed yet another massive buffet lunch at Ninja, a newly-opened Japanese spot.