The Mystery of Timke "Do you know Timke?" I asked a stray dog. It didn't answer. Neither did Gaisano Mall.

NEW LEAD: Went back to City Hall and finally got somewhere. Asked a staff member about Timke — he heard "chicken" and asked if I wanted to buy one. Close enough. Told her "very old chicken," he asked for a store name I don't have. he pointed me to a place called Pabukid — reachable by Chappy — and when I admitted I didn't even know the store name, he wrote "Pabukid" on my notepad herself so I could show the driver. 50-100 pesos, wait under the stairs. New theory: the restaurant might just be called "Bukid" — not the mountain, the actual name. Now hunting for a Chappy driver under the stairs. Tried a new tactic in Carcar: ask the people at official-looking buildings. Walked up to staff near what looked like a public office. "Do you know Timke? You call it Chicken Perdiz in Carcar, right?" The lead: maybe Gaisano Mall's grocery section has it. So I went. "Very old chicken in Gaisano Mall?" I asked an employee, fully aware of how unhinged that sentence sounded out loud. Walked out empty-handed, muttering to the camera: "I don't think they have it. It's very old chicken." A supermarket was never going to stock a dish nobody can even agree exists. Wandered the streets after that, increasingly desperate — desperate enough to crouch down and ask a stray dog, completely straight-faced, "Do you know Timke?" (It did not. In my defense, its hit rate was about the same as everyone else's.) Eventually walked straight into City Hall itself, figuring if anyone keeps records of a dying local dish, it's the government. Still chasing. If you've ever eaten Timke, or you know someone in Carcar who has, the trail is yours to break.