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In a world of growing complexity and interconnection, prejudice and cultural intolerance seem to find their way even into the most mundane of spaces—like the dining table. What began as a casual chat among friends about flavors and cuisines turned into a thought-provoking exploration of identity, heritage, and belonging.
My Thai friend passionately recounted his recent experience with Tom Yum, the iconic Thai soup known for its perfect blend of tangy and spicy flavors. He had savored it at a restaurant in Malaysia, and the taste instantly transported him back to his homeland. Yet his joy gave way to indignation when he learned that the chef behind the dish was Indonesian.
To him, this revelation wasn’t just surprising—it felt like a violation of “cultural property.” He expressed concern that Indonesians might one day claim Tom Yum as their own.
I don’t want to strip Tom Yum of its Thai identity, but his remarks provoked me, and I responded: “What you call theft is the natural flow of cultural exchange. In my view, Food knows no nationality—it is a universal language of creativity and skill. Flavors, like ideas, transcend borders. If someone masters the art of making Tom Yum, why should it matter where they come from?”
But as we debated, it became clear that the issue went far beyond food. Beneath the surface was an existential fear—a fear of losing cultural distinctiveness in an increasingly interconnected world.
This moment brought to mind a humorous memory from my childhood neighborhood in Mecca, Saudi Arabia. One morning, I witnessed a heated argument between two workers: an African and a Bengali. The Bengali man was washing a car when the African man confronted him angrily, accusing him of “stealing his job”—a job traditionally associated with Africans in the area. The Bengali man fired back, pointing out that he had once seen the African carrying gas cylinders, a role typically filled by Bengalis. The argument escalated into a physical altercation, a scene both comical and deeply revealing.
Though seemingly trivial, both incidents expose a universal human anxiety: the fear of change and the loss of control over what we perceive as “ours.” Whether it’s about a traditional dish or a simple job, these conflicts reflect an innate desire to preserve what we see as cultural or personal territory. Yet, at their core, such fears are echoes of larger socio-economic and cultural tensions.
I couldn’t help but recall the words of the French philosopher Roland Barthes: “food is not only a collection of products that can be used for statistical or nutritional studies. It is also, and at the same time, a system of communication, a body of images, a protocol of usages, situations, and behavior.”
Cooking, in this sense, becomes more than a daily practice—it evolves into a language that tells the story of a people, passed down through generations. Yet this same food can also become a symbol of conflict when seen as a national treasure under siege. For example, when an Indonesian chef brings his unique touch to a Thai dish, does it threaten the integrity of Tom Yum, or does it enhance it with a new layer of meaning?
To better understand such tensions, consider a hypothetical story: Imagine an Egyptian baker who creates a traditional flatbread with tomatoes. One day, an Italian immigrant learns the recipe, adds basil and mozzarella, and transforms it into a pizza. The new dish becomes wildly popular, leaving the Egyptian baker frustrated and defensive. A debate ensues over “authenticity” versus “innovation,” while customers—standing in the middle—enjoy the delicious diversity. This highlights a deeper question: Is authenticity a rigid concept, or can it adapt and evolve with time?
What connects these stories is not just the apparent prejudice but also a deeper impulse—the desire to protect cultural heritage from being diluted in the vast sea of global exchange. However, cultural identity is not static or sacred; it is fluid, like a river enriched by the tributaries it absorbs.
History offers countless examples of such cultural intermingling. Italian pizza owes its existence to tomatoes from the Americas, and the American hamburger traces its roots to a German culinary tradition.
A 2021 study published in Food Security examined the impact of cultural food security on identity and well-being among second-generation U.S. American minority college students. The research highlighted that access to cultural foods plays a significant role in maintaining cultural identity and promoting well-being, suggesting that food practices are integral to cultural understanding and dialogue.
Yet the debate over “cultural ownership” persists, underscoring the need to shift our perspective from protecting exclusivity to celebrating exchange.
Ultimately, my Thai friend’s frustration with the Indonesian chef, and the argument between the African and Bengali men in Mecca, are microcosms of larger global challenges. Prejudice and intolerance, whether over food or jobs, are symptoms of a deeper fear: fear of change and loss.
But if we can overcome this fear and view cultural exchange as an opportunity for collaboration and creativity, we may find that the world is much like a complex, flavorful dish—one that cannot be complete without contributions from all its ingredients.
As the Arab poet Mahmoud Darwish so eloquently said, “On this earth, there is what deserves life.” Perhaps there is also much that deserves to be tasted.
Abdullah Bugis is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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