Underneath, the flesh is juicy, with its own generous measure of salt and secret seasonings, if not quite as potent as the skin’s. Online recipe hacks typically deploy garlic and Chinese five-spice to approximate the skin’s fervor. Spicy Chickenjoy is even better, both marinade and breading infiltrated with some form of chile — flagrant but not searing, just enough to jack up the pulse.

Every order of Chickenjoy comes with gravy, whether you order a side of mashed potatoes or not. This makes sense given the elevated place of condiments in Filipino cuisine, although my mother, who grew up in Cotabato City in the southern Philippines, prefers to dunk a drumstick in ketchup or the Filipino enhancement of it, bolstered with banana — sadly not stocked here.

Mr. Tan Caktiong, the son of poor Chinese immigrants, is now a billionaire, and 150 Jollibees are set to open in the United States within five years. Like the Manhattan store, many will be outside immigrant enclaves, waylaying diners with limited knowledge of Filipino food.

These newcomers may be slightly baffled by the Jolly Spaghetti. It looks Italian, with its blanket of ragù, but under the ground beef are nubs of hot dog and ham, and the presiding note is sweet. It’s fairly mellow, as Filipino spaghetti goes, with more of an earthy counterpoint than other versions of the dish I’ve tried. (That includes an anemic McSpaghetti, the McDonald’s take, in Manila years ago.) But it may not bridge the cultural divide.