Since the beginning of time, humans have formed groups and found ways to distinguish themselves from others. As civilizations emerged, people took pride in their unique characteristics, including languages, religions, appearances, customs, and, notably, food—the focal point of this article about the nationalism of food.
Our world has undergone significant changes throughout history. World maps from a hundred years ago differ drastically from those of today. If you delve into the past, you’ll discover that maps have evolved every century. For instance, what we now call Turkey was once the heart of the Ottoman Empire until 1922. Before that, it comprised small kingdoms and sultanates, and even earlier, it was an essential part of the Byzantine Empire. Yet, if you were to walk the streets of Istanbul and ask a local with fair skin and blond hair if they were Byzantine, they would likely be confused or even offended. They would proudly declare themselves Turks. The irony lies in the fact that their appearance resembles that of a Greek rather than a typical Turk. Curiously, a Turk is defined as a member of any ancient Central Asian people who spoke Turkic languages; it is neither an ethnicity nor a nationality. Despite this, individuals embrace the label “Turk” due to years of nationalist propaganda that has shaped generations. Turkey serves as just one example; similar phenomena have occurred worldwide, from Korea in the East to the United States in the West.
The same nationalist propaganda that I mentioned earlier has given rise to various forms of sub-nationalism. One of the most absurd manifestations is the nationalism of food, also known as “gastronationalism.” This type of nationalism is rampant on modern social media platforms, particularly among cooking and food enthusiasts. Simply read the comments on a post, and you’ll encounter hundreds, if not thousands, filled with nationalism and animosity. Not long ago, while scrolling through Instagram, I came across an interview with a young lady in a North American city. When asked about her origin, she proudly stated she was Syrian. The interviewer then inquired about her favorite Syrian dish, to which she replied, “stuffed grape leaves,” a delectable dish known across West Asia and Southeast Europe. However, reading the comments was a decision I immediately regretted. The first comment that caught my eye was, “Stop stealing Turkish food.” Another user retorted, “Grape leaves are Armenian, but the Turkish people want to claim everything.” A subsequent comment argued, “It is Egyptian,” while another countered, “No, it’s Greek.” The conversation rapidly devolved into a war of words, replete with racism and inappropriate language. Similar conflicts arise worldwide, with neighboring Asian countries, European nations, Africans, and Americans engaging in similar disputes. Notably, even neighboring cities within the same country fall prey to such divisions. Take, for instance, the Central Region of Syria, renowned for a delightful dessert called “Halawet el Jibn,” which translates to “cheese sweet.” Culinary historians assert its origins in Hama, a city of significance in the Greek and Roman empires. Most neighboring cities and countries acknowledge “Halawet el Jibn” as a Ḥamwi (from Hama) dish, except for the closest city, Homs, located just 50 km to the south of Hama. Common sense might dictate that very close cities share a common history, culture, and culinary heritage. Yet, to this day, a person from Homs would claim, “Halawet el Jibn is a Homsi dish, but the Hamwis stole it from us.” It remains possible that the dish originated in either city and spread from Hama, but such nuances seem lost to many.
Throughout history, culinary culture has been an essential element in building civilizations. Our cuisines reflect our experiences with our lands and showcase our creativity. By utilizing available natural ingredients, diverse dishes emerge. Offer a Chinese person cabbage, meat, and rice, and they will prepare cabbage stir-fry with steamed rice. Provide the same ingredients to an Egyptian, and they will craft cabbage rolls stuffed with rice and meat. Although both dishes use identical ingredients, cultural differences between Egypt and China result in distinct culinary outcomes. In the Levant, geographically close to Egypt, Palestinians or Lebanese individuals create dishes akin to those made by Egyptians. Such similarities can be attributed to the blending of cultures within thriving empires, the influence of neighboring cultures due to economic and social interactions, and the enduring impact of colonialism on culinary traditions.
A dish like “stuffed grape leaves” is a local delicacy in various regions, including the Balkans, Levant, Persia, North Africa, and the Caucasus. Given the native presence of grapevines in these areas, it is logical that locals would experiment with recipes, leading to diverse versions of the same dish. Yet, human nature often succumbs to egotism, fostering a desire among groups to assert superiority over others. In doing so, we overlook the fact that our labels and national borders are human constructs. We share 99% of our genetic makeup, highlighting our inherent unity. Our culinary traditions are integral to this shared culture. To combat the issue of food nationalism, we must raise awareness of our commonalities as humankind. Achieving this requires modern educational methods, such as school exchange programs, enabling students to explore different cultures intimately. These initiatives diminish prejudices and foster a deeper sense of shared humanity among individuals, transcending borders and nurturing understanding.