Embrace the diversity of Indian food.

As the pandemic surges, diners and celebrities have drummed up support for BIPOC and immigrant restaurateurs. However, to revolutionize the industry we need more than one-off campaigns. Alongside policy to secure humane working conditions for workers, we need to reexamine our approach to “ethnic food”.

TAKE ACTION

Reflect: What are your expectations regarding Indian food and Indian restaurants?

Support restaurants that challenge your perceptions of the limits of Indian cuisine.
Advocate for the people who labor to put food on your plate, including but not limited to farmers, service workers, and BIPOC and immigrant restaurateurs.

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By Aarohi Narain (she/her)

As we wrote in a previous newsletter, it’s crucial to ask: which restaurants do we deem worthy of our dollars and why? And since seeking “authenticity” often disadvantages restaurateurs from immigrant backgrounds, what’s at stake when we appreciate the complex journey of the food on our plate?

Arriving in the United States as a privileged international student, I realized that I carried my own warped ideas about “authenticity” in the context of Indian food. Naive and self-righteous, the fare I encountered at Midwestern Indian restaurants struck me as simulacra– diluted, distorted imitations that bore little resemblance to the flavors and textures of my upbringing in New Delhi. But in coming to this conclusion, I had ignored the larger legacies of which I am a part.

Through a combination of the historical forces of Partition and the contemporary pressures on many immigrants to assimilate, diverse South Asians created the food most diners readily associate with Indian cuisine.

As Krishnendu Ray, Professor of Food Studies, writes in The Ethnic Restaurateur, more than half of nominally Indian restaurants just in New York City are operated by people from Bangladesh. Similarly, it has been estimated that 85-90 percent of Indian restaurants in Britain are run by Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Nepalese and more (South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies). Zooming in further, around 8 out of 10 curry house chefs in Britain hail specifically from the northeastern Bangladeshi region of Sylhet (The Guardian).

Sylhet is an unmatched, albeit underexplored, emblem of the Indian subcontinent’s violent and precarious intimacies. It’s also crucial to the story of how Indian food circulates.

A quick turn to history: in 1947 the Partition of India, the largest ever mass migration, ended almost two centuries of British rule. Britain not only extracted $45 trillion from India (Al Jazeera), but also knowingly fomented communal tensions through deploying the policy of divide and rule during its yoke. Eventually, the demand emerged for two separate nations to be carved out along religious lines: Muslim-majority Pakistan and Hindu-majority secular India (Vox).

A British lawyer who had never been to India drew the new borders. Sylhet, a district that was Bengali-speaking and skewed Muslim in the otherwise Hindu-majority province of Assam, became the subject of a referendum (BBC). Residents opted to join East Pakistan (Scroll). Then following Bangladesh’s Liberation War in 1971, Sylhet joined independent Bangladesh.

It was enterprising migrants primarily from Sylhet who disrupted the otherwise bland culinary order of Britain as its colonies collapsed. At curry houses, they invented the genre of nominally Indian cooking– spice-scaled post-pub curries to enliven the timid British palate– that continues to shape dominant perceptions of Indian food across the globe. Chicken tikka masala, the orange-hued poster child of Indian food once praised as a “true British national dish”, likely sprung from these kitchens (The Guardian).

Early waves of Indian restaurants in the United States espoused the curry house logic: menus typically featured the likes of chicken tikka masala and Anglicized stews, and later incorporated dishes drawn from Mughlai cooking like braises, kebabs, and grilled breads (The Juggernaut). This blended style became so central to the American awareness of Indian food that when many Bangladeshi immigrants arrived in the 1970s, they opened nominally Indian restaurants to cater to consumer interest. Instead of presenting food that reflected their heritage, they served versions of Indian food they assumed were already familiar and more approachable to most diners (The New York Times).

It’s only in the past decade or so that a small crop of restaurants has begun resisting the generalizing label of “Indian”. And because within India culinary styles are as deeply regional as they are molded by caste and class, chefs in the diaspora are creating more regionally specific offerings– expansive buffets unfurling as gastronomic maps of an imagined South Asia are giving way to Gujarati home cooking, Bengali street food, and Malabari coastal cuisine alike (NBC).

Still, most mainstream restaurants stick to the old formula: about 90% of Indian restaurants in New York City alone have not meaningfully moved away from it (The Juggernaut). Even as the diasporas mature, the “authentic” that Yelp reviewers demand remains static. Meanwhile, the people behind the food– with their interconnected yet distinct identities– swing wildly between invisibility and hypervisibility, becoming targets of hate crimes and racialized surveillance.

Perhaps, fifty years from now, there will be a course correction for Anglicized and Americanized iterations of Indian food– as we are seeing now for American Chinese food– that will view the culinary improvisations of those early Indian restaurants with more empathy. Instead of relying on fragile nation-states as the units of our analysis, perhaps convergence will become the norm when it comes to understanding what shapes cuisine.

Imagine a cartography of karak chai, spread out across migrant communities in the Gulf. A ghost story centered on dhal puri– split pea flatbread with chutneys sold as street food in the Caribbean– a dish first created by Bhojpuri-speaking indentured laborers that have somehow vanished from where it arose. A tender map tracing the journey between what restaurateurs might choose to savor at home– in moments of celebration– and what they serve to survive.

In the meantime, quitting chicken tikka masala is not the solution. It’s seeing how, as bell hooks writes, “ethnicity” is treated as spice: seasoning that livens up the dull dish of mainstream white culture under capitalism. It’s supporting immigrant restaurateurs even when they present something unfamiliar or a particular food you cherish but prepared differently from what you’re used to. It’s appreciating the complex journeys– the history, politics, and personal investments– of what’s on your plate.

Key Takeaways

The food that many diners reflexively associate with Indian cuisine was actually created by diverse South Asians.
A vast number of Indian restaurants in the United States and beyond are run by migrants who trace their ancestry to Bangladesh, Nepal, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, and others.
Partition spurred the largest forced migration in human history– an estimated 20 million Hindus, Sikhs, and Muslims were displaced (UNHCR).

11/23/2020 | Fight food insecurity.

7/22/2020 | Don't Americanize other cultures.

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Nicole Cardoza 6/25/21 Nicole Cardoza 6/25/21

End the “lunchbox moment”.

The fun of this segment is based on disgust: we see our famous celebrities shriek, gag, and embarrass themselves confronted with revolting foods. Some of the items featured were clearly specially created to evoke just such revulsion: hot dog juice, hot sauce and olive jello, the aforementioned ant pickle.

Happy Friday, and welcome back! Food is central to many cultural traditions across the world and throughout history. How we relate to one another is often evident in how we respect each other's cuisines. Today's topic is just one of many ways we can ostracize people without thinking. Andrew shares more.

Thank you for your support! This daily, free, independent newsletter is made possible by your support. If you can, consider making a donation to support our team. You can start a monthly subscription on Patreon or our website, or give one-time using our website, PayPal, or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza).

– Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Demand actively anti-racist policies in schools.
Vigorously oppose racism from teachers and school administrators.
Support the Xicanx Institute for Teaching and Organizing, New York Collective of Radical Educators, Abolitionist Teaching Network, Teachers 4 Social Justice, and the Institute for Teachers of Color so teachers and students of color can thrive.

GET EDUCATED

By Andrew Lee (he/him)

Earlier this month, Kim Saira started a petition that now boasts over 40,000 signatures (change.org). Saira’s petition wants to fight anti-Asian racism through an unusual venue: by opposing one of the sections on The Late Late Show with James Corden, “Spill Your Guts or Fill Your Guts.”

In this recurring segment, a celebrity sits opposite Corden around a spread of apparently revolting foods. Each takes turns selecting one that their opposite will have to consume should they decline to answer an embarrassing question. Justin Bieber swigs a shrimp-and-chili-pepper smoothie in lieu of admitting which country is home to his least favorite fans (YouTube). Instead of eating bull penis, Kim Kardashian discloses that her then-husband Kanye West’s most annoying habit is falling asleep in public (YouTube). Alicia Keys chooses to take a bite of an ant-covered pickle instead of saying which city she most dislikes performing in (YouTube).

The trouble is that other dishes are just normal, non-Anglo food: cow tongue, which appears in Korean BBQ and in tacos as lengua; chicken feet, a dim sum staple; or durian, a popular Southeast Asian fruit with a strong aroma. Some of these are presented in the least appetizing way possible such as the cow tongue, which appears unseasoned and whole. Others, like Chinese century eggs, are evidently grotesque enough as they are for Corden and guests to theatrically dry heave in disgust (Inkstone News).

Nobody is obligated to enjoy every food and there are some that each of us might emphatically refuse to taste. But dramatizing the “grossness” of Asian foods for popular entertainment is a low blow, especially given that so many immigrants in the United States are mocked for the food they eat. It’s repugnant coming from a celebrity with a large audience and influence, since that media plays a key role in giving permission to react with disgust to “exotic” dishes.

“The story of being bullied in the cafeteria for one’s lunch is so ubiquitous that it’s attained a gloss of fictionality,” writes Jaya Saxena. “It’s become metonymy for the entire diaspora experience; to be a young immigrant or child of immigrants is to be bullied for your lunch, and vice versa.” In my case, I got to hear about how disgusting all of my fourth grade classmates thought it was that I brought kimbap instead of a sandwich for lunch one day. That this is a common and widely recounted experience makes Corden’s display of Asian foods for shock, disgust, and amusement especially repulsive.

But no food is inherently disgusting, even if it’s a new dish from an unfamiliar culture. The “lunchbox moment” – that experience that many children of color have when they're shamed by their peers for what they brought for lunch – doesn't just happen, it's learned and perpetuated through pop culture. Although it exists for many, it’s anything but universal. One Indian girl growing up in South Dakota, for instance, found her white classmates reacted to Indian food “with either genuine curiosity or ‘at worst boredom’” (Eater).

That’s because disgust – especially the over-the-top enactments of it that are the bread and butter of the “Spill Your Guts” segments – is something we’re taught and something we teach each other. That’s not to say if, when left to our own devices, we’d find each and every new food wonderfully appealing. But we are taught that expressing public revulsion at some things is permissible and even encouraged (immigrant lunches, cow tongues), but that being disgusted at other things is a sign you have no class or taste (French haute cuisine, your mother-in-law’s signature dish). Public disgust at things that seem foreign isn’t just a matter of taste but a political act, and not a very good one at that.

That’s why 40,000+ people have signed onto the Change.org petition against “Spill Your Guts.” “In the wake of the constant Asian hate crimes that have continuously been occurring, not only is this segment incredibly culturally offensive and insensitive, but it also encourages anti-Asian racism,” it reads. “So many Asian Americans are consistently bullied and mocked for their native foods, and this segment amplifies and encourages it” (Change.org). On Instagram, @intersectional.abc is making videos showing how delicious some of the show’s “gross” foods actually are (Instagram). And we can all rethink the instinct to reject or disrespect new or unexpected foods or cultural practices.

Key Takeaways

In “Spill Your Guts” segments, James Corden and guests have to eat “gross” foods or answer uncomfortable questions.
Many of these dishes are just non-Anglo foods that Corden and guests react to with horror and disgust.
We can choose to react to unfamiliar foods or practices with respect instead of revulsion.

7/22/2020 | Don't Americanize other cultures.

11/25/2020 | Question your understanding of "authentic" food.

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Nicole Cardoza 4/28/21 Nicole Cardoza 4/28/21

Explore the origins of cuisine.

Happy Wednesday and welcome back! Sometimes, it's difficult to realize how much we've lost through colonialism until we recognize how much we've accepted as the "norm". I always stumble into that realization through food, which is why I'm grateful that Aarohi joins us today to share more about the history of Indian cuisine.

This newsletter is a free resource and that's made possible by our paying subscribers. Consider giving $7/month on our website or Patreon. Or you can give one-time on our website or PayPal. You can also support us by joining our curated digital community. Thank you to all those that support!

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Currently, India is experiencing unprecedented levels of COVID-19. Here is a list of individuals and organizations that need support: bit.ly/MutualAidIndia
Reflect: What are your expectations regarding Indian food and Indian restaurants?
Support restaurants that challenge your perceptions of the limits of Indian cuisine.
Advocate for the people who labor to put food on your plate, including but not limited to farmers, service workers, and BIPOC and immigrant restaurateurs.

GET EDUCATED

By Aarohi Narain (she/her)

Sylhet is an unmatched, albeit underexplored, emblem of the Indian subcontinent’s violent and precarious intimacies. It’s also crucial to the story of how Indian food circulates.

Key Takeaways

The food that many diners reflexively associate with Indian cuisine was actually created by diverse South Asians.
A vast number of Indian restaurants in the United States and beyond are run by migrants who trace their ancestry to Bangladesh, Nepal, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, and others.
Partition spurred the largest forced migration in human history– an estimated 20 million Hindus, Sikhs, and Muslims were displaced (UNHCR).

11/23/2020 | Fight food insecurity.

7/22/2020 | Don't Americanize other cultures.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 12/23/20 Nicole Cardoza 12/23/20

Question your understanding of "authentic" food.

Happy Wednesday! Many of our cultural traditions are defined by our relationship to food. As we enter the holidays, it's a good time to think about how, as Jami puts succinctly in today's piece, our perception of cuisine defines our understanding of culture. It's a great way to consider how you can authentically support the cultural diversity in your community with where you dine.

Thank you for making this newsletter possible! Support our work by making a one-time contribution on our website or PayPal, or giving monthly on Patreon. You can also Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). To subscribe, go to antiracismdaily.com. New! You can share this newsletter and unlock some fun rewards by signing up here.

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Reflection: What makes you feel that food is “authentic”? Who in our culture is given authority on what kind of food is valuable?
Advocate and support the cultures and communities whose food you consume.
Advocate for the workers in our food supply chain, many of whom are enduring terrible working conditions during COVID-19.
Instead of asking “Which restaurant serves the most ‘authentic’ food” think, ask yourself “What community am I supporting by giving my money to this restaurant?”

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

Across America, COVID-19 restrictions are increasing, due to its astronomical spread. In many states, that means restaurant owners have to figure out once again how to survive without indoor dining (TK). In response to the pandemic’s disproportionate effect on the restaurant industry, there’s been a large push to support small restaurant owners— especially immigrant and BIPOC owners—through our takeout orders and our GoFundMe donations. But with today’s wealth of options of “ethnic cuisine” available comes some troubling perspectives on what makes “authentic” food.

Foodies are often eager to seek the most “authentic” representation of whatever “ethnic cuisine” they want to eat. By authentic, they usually mean food that’s the closest to what you would eat in the country of origin. But the word authentic is fraught. In a deep dive on Eater, food writer Jaya Saxena dives deeply into our contemporary relationship with the idea of “authenticity,” and notes: “What consumers deemed “real” was heavily influenced by whiteness. Americans still largely consider European-influenced cuisine as the norm (see any “new American” menu for proof), and their opinions of what is authentic extend from that center point.”

A separate report from Eater NY studied over 20,000 Yelp reviews. The writer summed up her results succinctly: “The word “authentic” in food reviews supports white supremacism, and Yelp reviews prove it… According to my data, the average Yelp reviewer connotes “authentic” with characteristics such as dirt floors, plastic stools, and other patrons who are non-white when reviewing non-European restaurants” (Eater NY). On the other hand, reviewers considered European restaurants “authentic” when they had the hallmarks of upscale dining, like white tablecloths and fresh-cut flowers.

Such viewpoints are pervasive. Growing up in the Chicago suburbs, I learned what (white) Americans thought of Asian cuisine before I grasped what Taiwanese and Japanese foods meant to us personally. I internalized the myths that all Chinese food was unhealthy and cheap, for example, while Japanese food had social cachet. How we view cuisine often mirrors how we view culture. With little cultural and political representation in the United States, recent immigrant cultures are usually most visible through their food. Our conception of other cultures’ food is often filtered through what we are served at “ethnic restaurants,” without an understanding of the ways that dishes and customs change when the owners need to keep their lights on when they know their audience wants a sanitized version of their foods.

The question of “authentic” vs. “not authentic” also can ignore the effects of colonization, imperialism, diaspora, and the ways communities must adapt to their surroundings. The Korean, Japanese, and Taiwanese food industries, for example, were heavily influenced by American foreign policy. Instant ramen—a food we think of as being inherently Japanese—was invented because America shipped their surplus wheat to East Asia after the war, and the food was seen as being more nutritionally balanced than bread (International Institute for Asian Studies).

That’s why asking “is this food authentic?” isn’t the right question— especially when we rely on Yelp reviews for the answer. Wealthy chefs can claim authenticity when they spend tens of thousands of dollars in a foreign country, learn ancient methods from locals, and return to develop their own high-priced restaurants— but that isn’t what I want to support.

Instead of asking, “which restaurant has the most authentic food?” we can ask ourselves, “which community am I supporting by giving my money to this restaurant?” Is the restaurant owned by a large restaurant group, or is it a family operation? How integrated is the restaurant into the cultural community and the local geographic community? As consumers, we have power. What we pay for is literally what we value. Let’s use our power to invest in these communities.

This piece was inspired by What We Feed Ourselves, a project developed by my sister Cori Nakamura Lin (@cori.lin.art). This project examined food, culture, and acculturation through interviews from immigrant-owned restaurants, essays from local writers, and illustrations of different meals. The restaurants were all from East Lake Street in Minneapolis (the area near where George Floyd was murdered by the police). Thank you to the restaurants who participated in this project: Moroccan Flavors (@moroccanflavorsmpls), International Cuisine, Wiilo Food Distributor, Taqueria Las Cuatro Milpas (@las_cuatro_milpas), and Gandhi Mahal (@curryinahurrympls).

KEY TAKEAWAYS

With little cultural and political representation in the United States, recent immigrant cultures are usually most visible through their food.
Conversations about what food is “authentic” often center white Americans’ version of authenticity.
The idea that there is one “authentic” version of cuisine also ignores the effects of imperialism, colonization, diaspora, and assimilation.

ARCHIVES

Embrace the diversity of Indian food.

TAKE ACTION

GET EDUCATED

Key Takeaways

RELATED ISSUES

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

End the “lunchbox moment”.

TAKE ACTION

GET EDUCATED

Key Takeaways

RELATED ISSUES

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Explore the origins of cuisine.

TAKE ACTION

GET EDUCATED

Key Takeaways

RELATED ISSUES

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Question your understanding of "authentic" food.

TAKE ACTION

GET EDUCATED

KEY TAKEAWAYS

RELATED ISSUES

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

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