In a city where tacos are topped with kimchi and ramen comes spiked with truffle oil, the American palate revels in global mashups. International flavors are everywhere — from upscale food halls to fast-casual chains. But as culinary borders blur so do the lines between celebration and appropriation.
What’s being served often differs wildly from what was intended. Dishes rooted in centuries of migration, struggle and community are repackaged to fit Instagram aesthetics and Western expectations. The result is a non-authentic representation of the original combination of recipes that were emptied of their cultural depth. “Respecting a dish means knowing its story,” says Jenny Lee, a Korean-American chef in Houston. “When bulgogi is reduced to ‘Korean Barbecue beef’ on a menu, it strips away context — what families made it for, how ingredients were preserved, why certain techniques mattered.”
Food appropriation isn’t always malicious — it’s often unintentional, stemming from ignorance rather than intent. Yet the damage persists. When cuisines are diluted or misrepresented, they can reinforce stereotypes or flatten diverse identities into caricatures. At the same time, culinary exchange is inevitable — and often beautiful. Immigrant communities have long adapted recipes to local ingredients, creating diasporic foodways that honor origin while embracing change. The difference lies in who controls the narrative. Are cultures speaking for themselves or being spoken over?
Responsibility rests not only with chefs but with eaters, restaurateurs and media. A dish’s popularity should invite curiosity not consumption without conscience. Asking where a flavor comes from — or why it matters — is a simple start. As food media buzzes with “authenticity” and innovation, it’s worth asking: Whose culture is being highlighted and whose labor is being hidden? Celebrating international cuisines should be more than a trend — it should be an invitation to learn, honor and uplift the communities that carry these traditions forward. Because food is never just food. It’s memory, resistance and identity — served by the spoonful.
