Aarohi Narain Nicole Cardoza Aarohi Narain Nicole Cardoza

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.

GET EDUCATED

By Aarohi Narain (she/her)

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”. 

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).

RELATED ISSUES

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.

Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza

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Aarohi Narain Nicole Cardoza Aarohi Narain Nicole Cardoza

Explore the origins of cuisine.

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”.

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)

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”. 

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).

RELATED ISSUES

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.

Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza

Read More
Jami Nakamura Lin Nicole Cardoza Jami Nakamura Lin Nicole Cardoza

Question your understanding of "authentic" food.

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.

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.

RELATED ISSUES

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.

Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza

Read More
Jami Nakamura Lin Nicole Cardoza Jami Nakamura Lin Nicole Cardoza

Support Chinatown during COVID-19. 

Like many other Asian Americans, when I first heard about the novel coronavirus ravaging Wuhan, China, I was afraid. Our fear was not just of the potential reach of the disease, but of what being Asian American, particularly Chinese American, would mean in a country prone to xenophobia, racism, and hysteria.

Happy Tuesday,

We're continuing our ongoing coverage of COVID-19 by analyzing the impact of anti-Asian racism on small businesses, mainly restaurants, in Chinatown. Jami shares stories and insights from the communities impacted and outlines how we can help.

Speaking of help, thank you all for helping our work grow. Thanks to you and Jami, we're bringing on an influx of new writers to offer fresh perspectives. If you haven't already, consider making a contribution. You can give on our website, PayPal, Venmo (@nicoleacardoza), or subscribe monthly on Patreon. 

Nicole 

TAKE ACTION

  • Support your local Chinatown. If you’ve never been, do some research to find out the perfect place to order from. Don’t be constrained by what’s available on apps—to find the best food, you’re probably going to have to make a phone call.

  • Read the stories in Resy’s extensive “Welcome to Chinatown, USA” series. Each is a love letter to a food or restaurant in Chinatowns across the country.

  • Broaden your understanding of Chinese American history and culture beyond just food.

GET EDUCATED

By Jami Nakamura Lin (she/her)

Like many other Asian Americans, when I first heard about the novel coronavirus ravaging Wuhan, China, I was afraid. Our fear was not just of the potential reach of the disease, but of what being Asian American, particularly Chinese American, would mean in a country prone to xenophobia, racism, and hysteria. I remembered the white college friend who, upon greeting me, would say, “Eww, don’t touch me—you probably have bird flu.” For him, this was a recurring bit; for me, it was a bite. 

His “joke” recalled all those old stereotypes associated with the Chinese in America—that we carry disease, that we are dirty—that the coronavirus brought again to the forefront. (I wrote at length about coronavirus, fear, contagion, and Asian America in another essay.) 

“The outbreak has had a decidedly dehumanizing effect, reigniting old strains of racism and xenophobia that frame Chinese people as uncivilized, barbaric “others” who bring with them dangerous, contagious diseases and an appetite for dogs, cats, and other animals outside the norms of Occidental diets. These ideas [are] perennially the subtext behind how Chinese people are viewed by the Western gaze.”

-Jenny G. Zhang in Eater

In those early months, fear arrived in the United States long before the virus did. This fear was wielded as a weapon, as evidenced by all stories of Asian Americans being spat on, jumped, shouted at, as we wrote about in a previous newsletter. But beyond those individual stories, you can just look at what happened to Chinatowns across the country. 

Before the first cases ever arrived in New York City, fear of the virus made Chinatown business drop 50-70% (NYTimes), a number that replicated in Chinatowns across the United States (Eater) and in other Western nations. And it wasn’t just Chinatown—other restaurants owned and operated by Asian Americans started declining as early as December or January (KQED). The timing was especially poor: this happened around the Lunar New Year when Chinese restaurants pull in most of their business.

“At New Year’s, we had our 121st Golden Dragon Parade celebration, and only like 10 percent of the people showed up. The virus didn’t have anything to do with Chinatown, but it being associated as an Asian thing by the president, people just got that phobia about it.”

-Glenn SooHoo, owner of a small business in Los Angeles’s Chinatown (National Geographic)

“It was a fall-off-the-cliff kind of decline,” the owner of Hang Ah Tea Room in San Francisco told NPR’s Bay Area affiliate KQED. Several restaurants have closed permanently; others are unsure how long they can survive. The loss of some of these restaurants would mean losing pieces of our history and culture. Hang Ah Tea Room is the country’s oldest dim sum house, and one hundred years after its opening, the owner had to lay off over half his staff, most of them new immigrants (KQED). 

But Chinatowns have faced very similar xenophobia before. During the 19th century, their residents were blamed for smallpox outbreaks. “The city health officer ordered the fumigation of every house in Chinatown,” writes Melissa Hung (San Francisco Chronicle). “Yet the epidemic raged on. Unable to account for the epidemic’s severity, he doubled down on his belief that “treacherous Chinamen” had caused it.”

The first Chinatown developed in San Francisco during the influx of Chinese immigrants during the Gold Rush in the 1800s. “These men were bachelors who needed sleeping quarters, clean clothes, and hot meals after long days of grueling labor; this [led] to a proliferation of housing, laundry services, and restaurants in burgeoning, Chinese-centric neighborhoods,” writes Rachel Ng (National Geographic). But, she adds, they also grew out of necessity, as they were not welcome in many other places. “After the abolition of slavery, Chinese immigrants provided a cheap source of labor, leading to resentment from the white working class.” 

After the Gold Rush, Chinese immigrants found all kinds of work, most famously on the railroads. (Learn more about their work on the transcontinental railroad through the Smithsonian’s online exhibit Forgotten Workers). But anti-Chinese sentiment grew among white Americans, and in 1882, President Arthur signed the first Chinese Exclusion Act, barring almost all Chinese from entering the country (Chinese Historical Society of America). It was America’s first race-based immigration law. 

Such stereotypes and discrimination have also shaped how many Chinese restaurants run and what kind of food they serve today. White Americans usually don’t view Chinese food as fancy or refined; they’re not used to paying a higher price point (NPR). Therefore, Chinese restaurants often use a high-volume, low-margin business model. Without a high volume of patrons, they are hit extra hard. Additionally, most restaurants in Chinatowns are small businesses, some owned and operated by generations of a single family. Few used apps like GrubHub before the coronavirus, so they were at a disadvantage when the pandemic struck (Fortune).

📰 Read about the model minority myth in our previous newsletter.

If all our Chinatowns make it through, it will be because of the resilience of the community. “Chinatown has a history of surviving adversities, with several indications the neighborhood will weather this one, too,” writes Melissa Hung (San Francisco Chronicle). Even during these difficult times, the community has banded together. Feed and Fuel Chinatown, an initiative from San Francisco’s Chinatown Community Development Center, delivered over 120,000 free meals to people living in public housing or SROs throughout COVID-19 (Chinatown CDC). 


In August, Chicago’s Chinatown had “signs of a modest rebound,” said Kevin Pang (Resy).  “Outdoor seating has been installed in Chinatown Square, and virtually everyone wears face masks.” When I went, it wasn’t nearly as busy as pre-pandemic, but neither was it a ghost town. There were signs of life. So when you choose to order food, remember to support the restaurants coronavirus hit first and hardest. Support our Chinatowns.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

  • The coronavirus revived our country’s long history of anti-Chinese racism.

  • In Chinatowns across the country, restaurant business dropped 50-70%, even before the shutdowns (Eater).

  • The first Chinatown developed in San Francisco during the influx of Chinese immigrants during the Gold Rush in the 1800s.

  • In 1882, the president signed the Chinese Exclusion Act, the first race-based immigration law (Chinese Historical Society of America).

RELATED ISSUES

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.

Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza

Read More
Nicole Cardoza Nicole Cardoza Nicole Cardoza Nicole Cardoza

Think before eating out.

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I was once a bartender and line cook, and currently travel the world as a nomad. Between the two, I've always considered restaurants a second home, and find solace whenever I cozy up at the bar for a dinner for one. Today, as part of our ongoing series on the racial disparities exposed by COVID-19, I researched how new trends of dining in at restaurants are increasing the likelihood of contracting the virus.

Do you currently work in the restaurant industry? I'd love to hear from you. Reply to this email or send us a note on our submissions page.

As always, consider making a contribution to help this work grow. You can give on our website, Paypal, Venmo (@nicoleacardoza) or subscribe $5/mo on Patreon. A huge thank you for those that have already supported!

Nicole

Share | Tweet | Forward

TAKE ACTION

Tell Congress to pass the RESTAURANTS Act, which prioritizes funding and support for independent restaurants to weather COVID-19. Read an overview of the bill here.

 

Protect farmworkers in your state/region. There are different calls to action for various states, including New York, southern California, and Florida.

 

Consider how your efforts to support local businesses can also center the needs of those most vulnerable in the restaurant industry.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza

Many states have started to re-open businesses, encouraging communities to head to their favorite bars and restaurants. But data indicates this trend has unfavorable results. About 25% of new cases in Louisiana stemmed from bars and restaurants, and so did 9% of outbreaks in Colorado. 12% of new Maryland cases started in bars and restaurants last month, and 15 of the 39 new cases in San Diego stemmed from restaurants in only one week (NYTimes). 

 

This doesn’t just threaten the safety of guests. Workers, often forced to return to their jobs, carry the brunt of this impact. And these workers are disproportionately from the Latino community, who are already disproportionately impacted by COVID-19. The Hispanic and Latino population represent 17% of the total U.S. workforce, but over 27% of restaurant and food service workers (U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics). 

 

And this goes beyond the restaurant where you may be dining. Consider how eating out affects the supply chain that fuels the restaurant industry. According to a PBS report, farmworkers are three times more likely to contract COVID-19 than workers in other industries, where lack of affordable housing and personal transportation forces workers to live in closed proximity in shared homes and cars (PBS). Although the federal Occupational Safety and Hazard Administration (OSHA) has issued workplace guidance to protect employees, none of them are mandatory, and many employers aren’t providing the necessary PPE to support practicing these policies (PBS).

 

And a significant percentage of workers across the restaurant industry are also undocumented, which exacerbates the stress of the persistent lack of employment. Most workers pay taxes in this income, but they aren’t eligible for government aid, nor are they protected by the eviction moratorium. Many face a difficult decision: stay at the open and available jobs and expose themselves to risk, or go without pay indefinitely (Eater). 

 

Undocumented or not, there are millions of workers in the restaurant industry who were already paid too little to be eligible for unemployment (Time), a critical part of the unemployment gap we referenced in last week’s newsletter. This is because many restaurants operate off of the subminimum tipped wage policy, where workers get paid less than minimum wage in addition to tips provided by customers. But this practice stems from our legacy of slavery. After slavery was abolished, restaurant owners weren’t keen on paying their newly freed Black workers. Instead, they created policies that customers would pay employees on their behalf, based on the service they provided. This makes front-of-house workers’ pay subject to discrimination of guests, making “customer prejudice into public policy” (Time). It’s no surprise why front-of-house workers are predominantly white, while 70% of tip-ineligible cooks and dishwashers are people of color (Time). Furthermore, many restaurants don’t share tips between front-of-house staff and back-of-house employees, fueling pay disparities within the restaurant itself.

 

In some ways, you can argue that it’s better that these restaurants can open at all. Many restaurants have been forced to shutter, even if they did receive some time of business relief grants. Nationwide, about 25% of those unemployed in the U.S. because of the pandemic are food and beverage workers (Washington Post). In NYC, a culinary epicenter, 80% of restaurants could not pay their full rent (Eater). Although many restaurants and local organizations started GoFundMe initiatives to support staff earlier this spring, many of those funds have long been disbursed. And as of now, there’s no plan for future relief funding for small businesses. Many restaurants are tasked with choosing whether to close or expose staff and guests to risk to recoup costs.

 

And many of the guidelines open restaurants are encouraged to follow center the safety of the guests, not the staff. For example, tables might be placed further away from one another, but wait staff still have to serve guests nearby. Back-of-house staff still have to cook and clean in smaller conditions, and decreasing staff support places more stress and burden on those remaining. In New York and other major cities, temperature checks and contact tracing is encouraged for guests, but not required, so diners can come and go as they please. In a way, it doesn’t matter if restaurants make these precautions required for their staff; there’s such high traffic of other people not committing to the same rules. And if a diner finds out they’ve contracted COVID-19 and want to hold a restaurant accountable, they could sue. Read more of the double standards in Eater.

 

And there’s no reprieve from the virus on the horizon, but we’re transitioning from summer to fall and winter. With temperatures dropping, many of us may be more tempted to escape our homes for the atmosphere of a restaurant and sit indoors. With windows closed to contain the heat, the likelihood of contracting the virus may increase. And this will be paired with an upcoming flu season that, at minimum, will conflate how we respond to the virus (Science Magazine).

 

So when supporting your local businesses and boosting your local economy, take extra care. Take-out may be a safer alternative – or, consider buying gift cards to enjoy the food and drink later. But as you do, remember that this is less of an individual failing than a political one. The safest option, for many industries, is to close businesses and pay people adequately to stay at home – it’s just not an option our government is considering. Another effective way to support your local restaurant is by exercising your civic duty and advocating for the needs of local businesses and vulnerable workers.

Do you currently work in the restaurant industry? We'd love to hear from you. Reply to this email or send us a note on our submissions page.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

  • Restaurants are faced with difficult decisions between shuttering businesses and operating during a global pandemic

  • A rise of cases in many states have been linked to the return of dining-in establishments, like restaurants and bars

  • The likelihood of contracting the virus at bars and restaurants disproportionately affects the staff, who are more likely to be communities of color and undocumented

  • The impact of eating out impacts marginalized workers across the supply chain

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