Food is Political
Food is Political," read the white text over a black background. It was the graphic for a social media post from famed food magazine Bon Appétit, made in response to protests around the world that focused on Black Lives Matter, systemic racism, racial injustice and calls for equality. The post led to a significant backlash, as it soon came to light that they had been underpaying (or not paying) presenters of colour on their popular Youtube channel. The publication's editor-in-chief was later called out for appearing in brownface. This followed a very public reckoning for one of their former editors after seemingly diminishing the work of two women of colour in an interview.
It was a lot for me to process as a person of colour who considered himself a fan of their content. I readily bought cookbooks, subscribed to magazines and made #thestew. Yet, I hadn’t given much critical thought about the way that content had been presented. As one half of Bytown Bites — a blog celebrating the food scene in the capital region — and someone who enjoys posting and writing about the food I love in Ottawa, it made me start to question my own voice and how I'd been using it.
Around the time of the protests, my partner, Nathalie, and I decided to publish a post on our social media account highlighting our favourite BIPOC-owned (Black, Indigenous, People of Colour) restaurants in Ottawa, such as YKO Chicken and Coconut Lagoon. After listing a dozen or so, we asked for recommendations from our readers. We had labelled these recommendations as places that were "minorityrun." I like this term because it seems factual, whereas terms like "people of colour" felt way more charged. I had assumed that my experience as a first-generation Sri Lankan-Canadian lent me some authority to make such a post.
Though the feedback we received was mostly positive, a few readers took offence with our terminology. I learned, for the first time, that some view the term "minority" as offensive. Some also questioned why we would feature such restaurants at all, despite there being evidence that BIPOC businesses have been disproportionately affected by the global pandemic. When presented with this kind of response, a natural reaction can be to dismiss it all or to question whether it is worth it. With reflection, it became apparent to us that it could be an opportunity for dialogue and learning. This is particularly important as the way we write about food, and the types of restaurants that are featured, are often a reflection of the systems in which we exist. I agreed to try to explore this discussion for edible Ottawa, not as an expert, but as someone who is curious and wants to learn.
Food is a gateway
Food is a way to bridge different cultures, one that can literally bring people to the same table. I was a fan of Bon Appétit’s video and written content, which initially made me reluctant to analyze their issues a bit more closely. The first time I had ever thought of using the Somali spice blend Xawaash was after seeing presenter Hawa Hassan’s recipe of Suugo Suqaar. The first time I used dried Persian limes (Limu Omani) was for Andy Baraghani’s dish of Khoresh Gheymeh. Priya Krishna used the platform to launch her cookbook Indian-ish, and the food she made seemed comfortably familiar. It’s the kind of South Asian-North American fusion I could see myself making, as a son of immigrants with a penchant for North American cuisine and shortcuts. I had assumed that Bon Appétit was working on increasing diversity, doing so fairly and with an intention of being more reflective of its diverse audience. I was mistaken.
If a simple recipe is someone's foot in the door towards venturing into new cuisines, learning about a culture and using ingredients they may not recognize, could that be considered a positive? Can there be a way to achieve this goal while also respecting its origins? I grew up as a child ashamed of my fragrant lunches, wanting instead to "fit in" by purchasing soggy french fries from the school cafeteria. I'd be so happy if "foreign cuisine" wasn't an outlier or an exception, not having to explain why my parents sent me to school with curry instead of bologna. When I first moved to Ottawa, the Real Canadian Superstore still had an aisle sign that said "Ethnic Juices" (I'm not sure when it was taken down, but the photo was a big hit amongst friends).
Food is communication
There has been a lot of dialogue in recent months about ways that we can (and should) adjust how we write about food (two Instagram posts that particularly inspired this article were from H.M Messinger (@hmmessinger) and Jenny Dorsey (@ chefjennydorsey)). For too long, clickbaity shortcuts have played into readers’ views of food and reinforced societal power dynamics behind them. When someone makes a dish from a background that they do not identify with, and presents their dish as "elevated," what does that mean exactly? When people of privilege look down on specific restaurants for the origins of the produce they use or their lack of formal “culinary training,” what gives them that right? If a magazine’s mandate is to highlight local restaurants using locally grown ingredients, does that exclude individuals who make food that includes ingredients that cannot be sourced locally? Are we ignoring the history of a dish specifically or of colonization and globalization more broadly to suit the demographic of the perceived audience of readers or customers to which these restaurants are tailored and the price point that individuals from that community prefer or expect?
I've been having more of these conversations and asking more of these questions lately. One friend told me of the experience of going to a restaurant and being told by a server that the ramen at their restaurant was "very authentic." As someone who has knowledge of the diversity of various ramen and their roots in different parts of Japan and the world, she joked that it was as absurd as a restaurant claiming they have "authentic sandwiches."
Could a dish be presented differently, with respect for the culture from which it originates? Instead of using terms such as “authentic,” could a restaurant’s servers talk about the handmade nature of some of its ingredients or specify the style of ramen and the history of the dish? Would it be better if the servers were more aware of the roots of the cuisine or, better yet, there were individuals from that culture as members of the staff? It may take effort and time for someone to make a recipe “accessible” to their target demographic, and profiting from that effort seems just. But if someone is acknowledging that their privilege may have given them access to a broader audience or a certain credibility, is there a way that they can also use that platform to uplift the community they are borrowing from?
If using an ingredient that is unfamiliar to consumers, why not talk about its roots? If posting about "golden milk lattes," it could be viewed as respectful to talk about its Ayurvedic origin. With writing about or using food one has little knowledge about, there comes a responsibility to learn about it. What we've learned from our brief time in the food scene is that having a platform can lend one credibility, which may not necessarily be earned. As someone discovers and writes about food that was previously unknown to them, there may be an importance to acknowledge that lack of expertise.
Delving into this topic, I have more questions than I have answers. These are heavy discussions, ones involving dynamics from various fields that I know little about. edible Ottawa has given me an opportunity to ask these questions, not just of myself but of people who have a lot more expertise. I do not take on this task lightly and hope to explore it in future articles in the months to come.
After months of radio silence and negotiation, several Bon Appétit staff members (including Priya Krishna) have announced that they are leaving the magazine and the magazine’s video channel following the failure of contract negotiations. Some of their white colleagues have followed suit. Actions speak louder than words, but words are still important.
