Filipino iconography: 5 cultural markers that are unmistakably ours

A 2023 study titled The Jeepney as a Microcosm of Philippine Society: The Commuters’ Perspectives reported that approximately 8.96 million individuals travel via public utility jeepneys (PUJs), compared to 1.87 million who board public utility buses (PUBs), cementing the jeepney's status as the dominant form of daily mobility for most Filipinos.

In 2017, the Public Utility Vehicle Modernization Program (PUVMP) was officially launched under the administration of former President Rodrigo Duterte. The initiative sought to address issues such as pollution, road safety and inefficiency within the public utility vehicle sector. However, this move was slammed by progressive human rights groups as it was anti-poor and forced small operators to secure loans to procure electro-powered or Euro IV vehicles. 

A Euro IV-compliant jeepney in the Philippines costs between PHP1,100,000 and PHP2,500,000, while the average daily income of a regular driver is only around PHP2,000. Although the Land Transportation Franchising and Regulatory Board (LTFRB) has pledged a subsidy of PHP160,000, this amounts to just 5.7 per cent of the vehicle’s minimum cost, leaving most drivers unable to afford the upgrade without incurring significant debt.

See also: Deep Dive: Tracing the rise of electric vehicles and the brands available in the Philippines

The first food you might serve a friend visiting the Philippines for the first time is adobo—a savoury, slow-cooked dish made with meat, typically chicken or pork, simmered in vinegar, soy sauce, garlic, bay leaves and black peppercorns.

The word “adobo” is derived from the Spanish word adobar, which translates to “to marinate” in English. Studies reveal that the existence of this side dish predates Spanish colonisation in the country.

Long before Magellan’s arrival in 1521, native Filipinos were already preserving and flavouring meat using vinegar and salt—an Indigenous method that was practical for storage in a tropical climate. This technique, often applied to seafood, meat or vegetables, formed the basis of what would later be recognised as adobo.

When the Spaniards learnt this native method of food preservation, they likened it to their vinegar-based marinades and began referring to the local dish as adobo. Yet, food historians like Raymond Sokolov argue that this was more a case of “linguistic appropriation” than culinary influence. 

Related: Chef JP Anglo cultivates effective leadership with family values and Filipino food

In his book titled Why We Eat What We Eat, Sokolov refers to this act as “lexical imperialism,” noting that the dish was originally Filipino, and only the label was Spanish. To this day, the original pre-colonial era name for adobo remains unknown. What is certain, however, is that it has evolved into one of the most beloved national dishes in the Philippines. 

Did you know? The House Bill no. 3926, or the National Symbols Act of 2014, drafted by former Bohol Representative Rene Relampagos proposed the declaration of adobo as the “Philippine National Dish”. 

The Philippines has no shortage of its own Celine Dions and Michael Boltons—and you don’t even have to look far. It’s not uncommon for an ordinary household, when hosting guests, to bring out a karaoke machine and a pair of microphones as a form of entertainment.

Juke-8, the world's first karaoke machine, was built by its Japanese inventor Daisuke Inoue in 1971. By the early 1970s, Inoue's band played background instruments for a member of the audience who wished to sing on stage. One night, a steel company president invited him to join a weekend company trip, but he was unable to accept the offer—this prompted him to record his music instead.

“I'm not an inventor,” he said in an interview with The Independent. “I simply put things that already exist together, which is completely different. I took a car stereo, a coin box and a small amp to make the karaoke.”

In 1975, Filipino inventor Roberto del Rosario patented the machine after he developed the Karaoke Sing-Along System. Since then, singing using karaoke has become an important part of Filipino pop culture, eventually mutating into videoke and the Bluetooth-enabled wireless microphones with built-in speakers we find today.

More from Tatler: Are we Filipinos Because We Love Music, or Do We Love Music Because We are Filipinos?

A perfect Filipino morning starts with hot coffee and pandesal bread fresh from the bakery. Food historian Doreen Fernandez describes this breakfast staple as “brown and plain... It is good, basic and strong—just the way we are, and what would like the nation to be.”

The roots of pandesal trace back to colonial influence. Prior to Portuguese contact, the native palate revolved largely around rice. It wasn’t until the Spanish set out to craft their own interpretation of the French baguette that the earliest incarnation of this beloved bread emerged.

Initially, it was fashioned from whole wheat and baked in traditional wood-fired ovens known as pan de suelo. But with the Philippines lacking domestic wheat production, bakers were compelled to use a more economical alternative. The result was the pillowy, slightly sweet roll familiar to Filipinos today.

Wheat-based fare only truly took off in the early 20th century, when American imports undercut rice in cost. The preferred grain, typically low in protein and hailing from the US Pacific Northwest, boasts a year-long shelf life—a practical choice for tropical storage conditions. 

Walk anywhere in the Philippines, and it is guaranteed that wherever you turn, there is always one shabby yet very reliable sari-sari store ready to supply in tingi or relatively smaller portions of your daily needs. The idea of tingi is not new, especially in a country where lower sectors of society combat the soaring prices of goods. It can be recalled that on April 24, 2024, a Social Weather Stations (SWS) survey revealed that at least 12.9 million families in the Philippines experience poverty. 

Sari-sari stores help Filipinos who cannot afford to purchase a large amount of what they need to consume by repacking goods in smaller quantities and selling them per piece.  

Today, the sari-sari store serves not only as a lifeline but also as a casual commune, a place where neighbours linger, share idle gossip and sip on whatever their coins can afford: from fizzy orange drinks to cheap gin in plastic bottles.

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