Identity Within the Food Ladder

by Cristina Flores

Person 1: "So, what do you want to eat?"
Person 2: "There's this new restaurant that opened just down the street, I think it serves [insert country of origin here] food. Wanna go?"

Let's stop for a second. Say you were running low on funds but still wanted to enjoy a nice lunch out. You're hanging out with your friend who's recommending a place to go, like in the example above. How would your reaction differ if your friend said:

"There's this new restaurant that opened just down the street, I think it serves French food. Wanna go?"

compared to:

"There's this new restaurant that opened just down the street, I think it serves Mexican food. Wanna go?"


When analyzing "cheap food" versus "fancy food" in class, issues of elitism and privilege emerged from such a subconscious level in the back of my head that I hadn't thought twice about it before. Why is Mexican food easier to envision as "cheap" when compared to French food? What sets the two apart, other than their distinct flavor markers? Even the word cuisine, French for kitchen, commonly gets tacked on to higher end restaurants than, say, a fast food place. In addition, seeing the word "ethnic" is rare where French foods are concerned, but not so much when discussing Mexican dishes. If you disagree, all you need to do is go to a local supermarket and read the Hispanic food aisle description. If it's not labeled as Hispanic, the ethnic label more often than not takes its place.

Individual labels would be nice...

...but even then it still isolates non-Western European cultures.

In an article for The Washington Post, writer Roberto A. Ferdman contemplates underlying issues of American consumerism among restaurant chains. Inviting sociologist Krishnendu Ray, author of "The Ethnic Restaurateur", the two discuss issues of the demand for cheap and fast food within non-American cuisine. Ray argues that an "ethnic" label not only creates a division of White and non-White foods, but adds on an element of inferiority that sets similar-tier food on differing price levels. He goes on to add that even though a strong part of American culture lies within the Civil Rights movement, assigned inferiority still remains, and keeps demonstrating itself through insidious means in the cuisines that we give our money to. Collecting data from Zagat restaurant guidebooks, Ray compiled a list of the highest earning types of restaurants in the United States, as demonstrated here.

So then, despite an increase in popularity of non-White cuisine, why does the association of cheap food remain attached to different non-White cultures?

Here are some reasons why some cuisines might fare better than others on the American palate, as demonstrated by Ray.

1. Economic and social prestige. The way that we view different countries can influence how we view the identity of the food we're consuming. France, identified as one of the top first world countries, would have the average American feeling indulgent as they eat their escargot, envisioning thin people sipping coffee while taking a smoke break. Mexico, on the other hand, would paint a more humble picture as a victim of media sensationalism, reminding the average American about immigration and cheap labor as they bite down on their enchilada.

2.  Lack of exposure to different cultural foods. This is common in children, who refuse to eat, say, shrimp because they don't like the appearance of it. Once consumed, however, the usual response can be favorable. If not immediately favorable, through prolonged exposure, said food can eventually become an acquired taste. That isn't to say people should necessarily force themselves to eat things they don't like, but rather to keep an open mind to foods not commonly available in their diet.

3. Advocating "authenticity" for cheap. Here's where I get slightly anecdotal. On one of my last trips back home to Portland, Oregon (land of the famous food carts), my parents excitedly took me to a Peruvian food cart that had received glowing reviews on Yelp. But instead of meeting a fellow Peruvian preparing soft sweet potatoes to go along with our ceviche, it was a Costa Rican insisting that only cold and solid sweet potatoes should be eaten with our main dish. As Ray argues, insisting on cheap labor and demanding increased access to different "ethnic" foods will mainly get you people who not only aren't native to the culture, but who have learned the cuisine on the fly and will produce, in my words, a corrupt version of the dish you believe is representative of the culture.

Hang on, Chef, I'm getting to that.

As a way to curb this elitist nonsense, I suggest a couple of ideas.

1. Be cognizant of who is preparing your food. If you can take the time and effort to only go to restaurants who obtain their ingredients locally, then you can sure as heck take the time to investigate the management and the cooks who are making your meal. Many small restaurants are proud to give a little backstory on the birth of their business, and if such a story is difficult to find on their website or on their menu, take the time to look around and see who's in the kitchen. Get to know the owner if they're around, and who knows? You could end up with a discount on your meal should you choose to come again. If you're at a chain restaurant and none of the above is possible, keep in mind that you may not necessarily be consuming a traditional dish. Be open to tasting alternatives that might contradict your previous perceptions of that same recipe.

2. Keep politics and prejudices away from the table. Cuisines from around the world are a beautiful representation of a slice of what that country has to offer, and should be treated as such. Not all regions within a country are alike, which opens up to a greater variety of interpretation and ingredients. Eat with your eyes closed, and take the time to savor what you're putting in your mouth. I'm not saying this to be a cliche, but as a way to encourage appreciation for the hard work from the cook, for the collective knowledge that built and created the recipe, and for the resources that even made the dish possible. If you want to go the extra mile, I encourage you to read up on the history of the food made within the region or country of interest. But if you insist on only consuming cheap non-Western cuisine, then make it yourself.

3. Finally, be aware of how you address the food. Not quite a heart-to-heart conversation with your pho, but rather a heart-to-heart conversation with yourself about how you talk about the pho. When you present your non-American dish to your friends, what do you bring up first? Do you mention the taste, or do you mention its cost? Is what you're eating right now handled with the same amount of respect that you would give gnocchi soup? Getting a good deal on food isn't a bad thing, but if it's within your budget, the taste and culture of the dish should take priority over any kind of monetary expectation. To reduce a non-Western meal to only its value on the American market would be to distance yourself from an increased acceptance of a foreign culture.

In short, respect the food you eat, regardless of culture. The people who cooked your food worked hard to make it, whether you bought it at a French restaurant or a Mexican restaurant. Do not overgeneralize a diversity of regions, countries, and identities under an "ethnic" label. And if we can learn to value foreign dishes for the art forms and cultural identity that they are, we may well see a shift in popular dishes consumed within the United States.

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