Street food is a cultural treasure — but our stupid LGUs are killing it

Street foods are one of the country’s strongest expressions of Filipino identity.

Walk through Bangkok after sunset and you’ll find entire streets transformed into vibrant open-air dining rooms. In Hanoi, tiny plastic stools spilling onto sidewalks are part of the city’s identity, while Taipei’s night markets attract millions of visitors every year. Across Asia, governments have realized that street food is not urban clutter—it is culture, commerce, tourism, and national identity rolled into one.

Back in Manila, however, the story has largely been the opposite.

For years, authorities have pursued aggressive clearing operations, enforced “No-Vending” zones, and removed vendors from major thoroughfares to improve traffic flow and pedestrian mobility. Under Executive Order No. 15, Manila declared 18 major roads—including Carriedo, Juan Luna, Soler, Blumentritt, and Plaza Miranda—as vendor-free zones. While sanitation and public order are legitimate concerns, the policy has also displaced thousands of micro-entrepreneurs who depend on selling fish balls, kwek-kwek, taho, balut, isaw, and barbecue for their daily income.

The contrast raises an uncomfortable question: Why do other Asian capitals proudly showcase their street food while we continue to treat ours as something to remove?

More than just cheap food

Street food is often dismissed as a quick bite for hungry commuters.

In reality, it is one of the world’s most important food systems. The UN Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) recognizes street food as a critical source of affordable, ready-to-eat meals and livelihoods for millions of urban residents. Globally, an estimated 2.5 billion people eat street food every day.

The Philippines has its own proof that street food can thrive when cities choose to support it. Makati’s iconic Jollijeeps—once improvised jeepney canteens—were formalized by the city government into regulated kiosks that continue to serve thousands of office workers affordable lutong bahay meals every day, proving that street food can coexist with sanitation, order, and good urban planning.

Every food cart creates a ripple effect across the economy. Vendors buy ingredients from local farmers and suppliers while generating income for entire families. Because street vending requires relatively little capital, it remains one of the country’s most accessible pathways to entrepreneurship, especially for low-income Filipinos.

Our national identity is served on a stick

Street food is more than business.

It is one of the country’s strongest expressions of Filipino identity.

Long before Filipino cuisine gained international recognition, recipes were already being preserved by vendors on neighborhood corners and busy sidewalks. Fish balls, taho, banana cue, balut, kwek-kwek, adidas, isaw, and barbecue are not merely snacks—they are part of our collective memory.

Studies on gastronomic tourism consistently show that travelers increasingly seek authentic local food experiences, with street food often becoming their first and most memorable encounter with a country’s culture.

For many foreign visitors, their first authentic taste of the Philippines doesn’t happen inside a luxury hotel.

It happens beside a street cart.

Asia shows there is a better way

Our neighbors have proven that preserving street food and maintaining public order are not mutually exclusive.

Singapore invested in more than 110 government-run hawker centers, transforming informal vendors into organized community food hubs. The effort earned UNESCO recognition for Singapore’s hawker culture in 2020.

Thailand turned street food into one of its strongest tourism brands through the government’s “Clean Food Good Taste” program, which certifies vendors that meet sanitation standards while promoting Bangkok and Chiang Mai as global culinary destinations.

Vietnam has incorporated street food into its national tourism strategy through dedicated food streets, pedestrian zones, and night markets. Taiwan similarly invests in its famous night markets, treating them as vital economic and cultural assets rather than public nuisances.

These countries did not eliminate street food.

They invested in it.

From crackdowns to collaboration

The Philippines doesn’t need fewer street food vendors.

It needs smarter policies.

Cities should establish designated street food districts equipped with clean water, proper drainage, waste disposal, lighting, and seating. They should simplify permits, provide free food safety training, and certify vendors who comply with hygiene standards.

Such programs would protect public health without sacrificing livelihoods.

Imagine if Manila developed permanent food streets in Binondo, Quiapo, Escolta, or along the Pasig River—not unlike the hawker centers of Singapore or the bustling food districts of Bangkok, Hanoi, and Taipei.

Street food has never been the enemy of urban progress.

Neglect is.

If our Asian neighbors can transform humble food stalls into symbols of national pride and international tourism, there is no reason Manila—and every Philippine city—cannot do the same.

The future of Filipino street food should not be measured by how many vendors disappear from our sidewalks.

It should be measured by how many are given the opportunity to operate safely, legally, and proudly—while serving one of the country’s greatest cultural treasures to the world.

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