Bryan Tiu grew up surrounded by bolts of fabric and warehouse chaos. His family ran a textile business in Divisoria—a tough, traditional trade that never quite sparked his interest. “Nung bata pa ako, pinapapunta kami sa Divisoria. Ang traffic, mainit, walang aircon,” he recalled. “Sabi ko sa sarili ko, gusto ko negosyo na may aircon.”
It may have sounded like a joke then, but it was the spark of a serious plan.
At a time when peers were still navigating college life, Tiu was already thinking of ways to break away from the family path. “Feeling ko noon, mahirap makakuha ng trabaho kung ‘di ka galing sa top three schools,” said Tiu, who studied Management at PSBA. “So I thought—baka negosyo talaga ang daan para sa akin.”
Breaking Away with a Brand of His Own
Tiu’s first venture wasn’t Teriyaki Boy—it was actually Domino’s Pizza, which he ran as a young franchisee. But after that ended, he didn’t retreat to the safety net of his family’s textile empire. Instead, he doubled down on his entrepreneurial instincts.
“I wanted to build something na akin talaga,” he said. “Ayoko na bumalik sa tela. Hindi ko talaga game ‘yon.”
That conviction led to a simple insight: while Filipinos loved Japanese food, the market lacked a casual, accessible option. High-end or budget options dominated—but nothing in between.
Enter Teriyaki Boy, a Japanese-style diner built on Tiu’s love for chicken and a sharp understanding of Filipino taste. “Chicken country tayo,” he said. “So sabi ko, bakit hindi chicken teriyaki ang gawin kong specialty?”
With help from a marketing-savvy friend, they coined the name Teriyaki Boy—a brand that felt youthful, modern, and uniquely local. Tiu put together the concept, designed the menu, and opened his first branch at Madison Square in 2001.
“Na-commit ko na ‘yung space. Wala nang atrasan,” he recalled. Six months later, a second branch opened in Morato. Then the business snowballed.
Selling the Brand—but Not the Vision
By 2005, Teriyaki Boy had grown to 10 branches—catching the attention of Pancake House Inc. Tiu made a calculated move: he sold 70% of the company but kept 30%, allowing him to stay involved while freeing him from the day-to-day grind.
“Alam ko kasi ‘yung limitations ko,” he said. “Hindi ako pang-corporate. Gusto ko ‘yung creative, ‘yung startup phase. Pag masyado nang structured, iba na ‘yon.”
The deal reportedly valued the company in the hundreds of millions. For Tiu, it was a moment of both validation and liberation. He had built a nationally known brand—not by following the family playbook, but by writing his own.
“I built Teriyaki Boy to prove I could do it on my own,” he said. “And selling it was part of that journey.”
What’s Next?
Today, Tiu continues to create new food ventures under his own terms, focusing on brands he truly believes in. But the success of Teriyaki Boy remains a personal milestone—not just in business, but in identity.
“Hindi ako galing sa big school. Hindi ako sumunod sa family business. Pero may sarili akong track,” he said. “At minsan, ‘yun ang kailangan mo para mag-stand out.”
This story is based on an interview originally conducted for Esquire by Henry Ong. Some quotes in this article may not have been published previously.
