How did the ‘hoagie’ get its name? It’s complicated.

There are few foods more associated with Philly than the hoagie. The sacred sandwich can be found across the city and in the hearts of many Philadelphians — yet the origin of the sandwich’s name is contentious and oddly mysterious.

Have you ever wondered why we call it a “hoagie”? Where did the name come from? Does anyone else besides Philadelphians call it a hoagie? A reader asked these questions through Curious Philly, The Inquirer’s forum for answering questions. The answer is complicated. We do our best to sort it out.

Even though we’ve explored this question a few times — in at least 1968, 1989, 1992, 1993, and 2003, based on The Inquirer’s available archives — readers are still wondering, so how could we resist doing it once more?

The term isn’t too common outside of the Philadelphia area, except — sometimes — in Pittsburgh and some parts of central Pennsylvania.

A survey conducted by Bert Vaux, a professor in phonology and morphology at the University of Cambridge, found that the leading term for the sandwich is hoagie, with 44% of Pittsburgh residents referring to it as such. This survey, however, is more than 10 years old and data could have changed since.

Another survey, also more than 10 years old, was created by a North Carolina State graduate student and sought to create dialectic maps, including one for hoagies. That survey reported similar results, finding Pittsburgh split between hoagie and “sub,” Philadelphia Magazine reported in 2013. So what are Pittsburghers saying nowadays?

The people of Pittsburgh seem to somewhat abide by these stats, at least according to internet discussions.

The consensus in forums such as Reddit and the “Hoagie Gurus” Facebook group was that the term “hoagie” was as common as the term “sub” within the region. Some users suggested that hoagie was the preferred word at local shops and among community organizations, and sub at national chains such as Subway.

Some TikTokers from Pittsburgh back the hoagie claims.

There are many legends describing just how the name originated. There are a few stories worth their salt, pepper, and oregano, including stories from Hog Island (today, the Philadelphia International Airport resides over this land) and theories relating it back to a hog (as in the wild boar), as well as family feuds — making it hard to pinpoint the true origin.

One of the more commonly prescribed theories, according to 1968 and 1992 editions of The Inquirer, is that the term was coined by those working at the Hog Island shipyard. During World War I, Italian immigrants working at the shipyard brought giant sandwiches stuffed with luncheon meats, cheese, and veggies.

Through humble beginnings of workers sharing these sandwiches with others, the “hoggie” or “hoggy” was born, affectionately named after Hog Island. After some time, the Philly accent adjusted “hoggie” to what we know as hoagie.

At least two other stories of the hoagie trace some of its origin to Hog Island. One relies on an Irish immigrant named “Hogan” who happened to work at Hog Island. The story goes that Hogan was “envious,” according to a January 1983 edition of The Inquirer, of his Italian coworkers’ lunch. Hogan asked the coworker if he could buy one off of him, and the very next day, history was supposedly made. Soon enough “Hogans,” eventually shortening to hoagie, grew in popularity at Hog Island, according to the 1968 and 1992 editions of The Inquirer.

But another story with bread crumbs leading to Hog Island might be the hoagie history with the most validity, according to what “Hoagie Historian” Howard Robboy told The Inquirer in March 2003.

Robboy, who published two journal articles about the Italian roll layered with deli meats, cheese, and choices of different fixings, said Al DePalma’s was the least tall of the tales. DePalma’s story, though, was best told by his daughter Rita Scaltrito, who spoke to The Inquirer in February 1992.

Scaltrito said her father went to look for work at Hog Island in the 1930s and saw the shipbuilders “scarfing down oversize cold cuts sandwiches. DePalma is to have said, “Those guys look like a bunch of hogs,” according to Scaltrito.

DePalma didn’t apply to work for the Hog Island Shipyard. Instead, the self-proclaimed “king of hoagies” opened up his storefront selling “hoggies” (sound familiar?) to laborers. The DePalma family story is backed by World World II-era photos of the luncheonette, which was located at South 20th and Mifflin Streets. And just as the other stories, hoggie eventually became hoagie.

A Daily News timeline in 1993 explains the totality of hoagie history up to that point.

There is one family, however, that disputes the DePalma family’s case.

The other family laying claim as the pioneering hoagie household is the DiCostanza family.

To quote The Inquirer’s Craig LaBan, a restaurant critic and columnist, hoagie isn’t synonymous with Philly “if you ask locals in Delaware County,” where the DiCostanza family made “sandwiches on long rolls layered with Italian meats, sharp provolone, and vegetables” for decades. The family got its start in Chester in 1925 and moved to Boothwyn in 1996.

During the summer of 1925, “Mom” was cooking in the store, located in Chester’s West End, according to DiCostanza’s website. A customer came in from a nearby pool hall and had an appetite after playing card games. The man asked for a sandwich with “everything,” and Mom listened. Aromas of fried sweet and hot peppers permeated the air and delighted the customer, who left after his sandwich was made. One hour later, the man returned with a group of hungry customers who were also at the pool hall, the DiCostanza’s website said. Thus, the DiCostanza’s hoagie was created.

Separate from Hog Island and the DePalma and DiConstanza family claims, another story is that when kids “played hooky from school,” they would buy the sandwich because it was cost-friendly. “They’d get them when they were ‘on the hoke.’ That became ‘hokey,’ and ‘hokey’ became ‘hoagie,’” Robboy said.

For all of its Philly glory, the origin story behind the name of the sandwich fulfilling the city for decades is still a bit of a mystery. The question is, which theory do you back?