The markets of Little Mekong along University Avenue are a reflection of an ever-changing, globalized world, where the shelves are filled with an expansive variety of ingredients: things that Minnesota’s Scandinavian, Irish, and Eastern European communities would recognize, and then an array of items from countries along the Mekong River in Southeast Asia. Here you can find salted duck eggs, fresh quail eggs, pickled chicken eggs, vibrant Thai basil, live clams and frogs, and an entire wall of noodles. The shelves are stacked with hot sauces made from fiery red chili and bags of coffee mixed with sweetened condensed milk.
For food enthusiasts or anyone eager to explore new flavors, these markets are a window into the diverse world of global cuisine, providing resources for anyone curious to expand their palate. And this diversity of food isn’t just about newness for the sake of novelty, more a celebration of the growing tapestry of flavors from cultures near and far.
The foods that line our shelves in St. Paul, Minneapolis, and across Minnesota deserve to be celebrated. These foods have their own stories, rich in history, culture, and significance. But it’s crucial to understand the impact they have on our lives – the ways they connect us to past generations, to the land, and our communities. Acknowledging where our food comes from and why it matters is central to appreciating what’s on our plates.
Can we still imagine a time when food was simpler, defined purely by region and tradition? It’s a challenge, especially when everything we need is so readily available. Bananas, avocados, quinoa, items once foreign to Minnesota now commonplace, no more difficult to acquire than lettuce and tomato. The rapid globalization of food has transformed the way we experience taste.
Authentic, regional food cultures deserve recognition and respect. We forget that long before the influx of immigrant communities, indigenous people were eating foods unique to this land, with rich culinary traditions rooted in local ingredients. And yet now, the food landscape has exploded into something vibrant and loud, full of newness. When you don’t know how to navigate the ever-expanding food scene or appreciate its diversity, it’s easy to retreat into the comfort of familiar, nostalgic dishes, those foods you grew up with, the ones that shaped our sense of home.
Food for All
This isn’t about criticizing past generations who grew up with a different food landscape, or about giving a pat on the back to those who pride themselves on being adventurous eaters. My grandfather preferred his coffee dark and bitter. My grandmother’s apples, sweeter than the rest, picked fresh from trees beside the garden of their farmhouse. And that’s what I craved when I visited them: the simplicity of fresh fruit, the warmth of coffee, and the comfort of home.
We don’t need to tell people they shouldn’t like what they like. My grandfather’s tastes were his own, and they were authentic to his life experience, just as my experiences are authentic to mine. Whether it’s a pizza from Naples or a Domino’s delivery at midnight, what we love is personal, rooted in nostalgia, memory, and the simple joy of a meal. Food is not a judgment; it’s a celebration. Food should never be divided into “highbrow” and “lowbrow.” Yes, Naples may produce “better” pizza, but craving a slice of Domino’s doesn’t make anyone lesser. The same goes for the endless quest for “authenticity.” Yes, food from the source country is often the most genuine expression of a culture’s culinary heritage, but that doesn’t invalidate the adaptations, hybrids, or new expressions that come from the fusion of various influences in a new place. After all, food is inherently fusion: Italian pasta owes much to influences from China, Mexican beer would be unrecognizable without German and Czech immigration.
This is why the strict, sometimes rigid definitions of “authentic” don’t always hold water. In Italy, two villages just miles apart may prepare the same dish in subtly different ways. Which one, then, is truly authentic when replicated in America? If a dish evolves to reflect its environment or the people who enjoy it, that evolution is just as valid as the original.
America’s Relationship with Food
What my grandfather ate growing up was authentic to his experience in Minnesota. Just as what we eat is authentic to our respective cultures and life stories. There’s no singular definition of “real” food. As we navigate a world where health issues like diabetes are on the rise and concerns about factory farming grow, it’s important to acknowledge the real challenges we face around food access, food insecurity, and the health consequences of our eating habits.
We need to be conscious of how much processed food we consume and how it impacts our bodies. But that doesn’t mean we should dismiss or demonize the food traditions and practices people rely on; food that’s rooted in history and shaped by socio-economic realities. As we know from the rise of “peasant” food in fine dining, once scorned as simple or working-class fare, dishes like French cassoulet, cheese curds in Minnesota, or even the humble cheeseburger have become celebrated, reinterpreted in high-end kitchens. And yet, when these foods were originally eaten, they were often considered less-than, seen as food for people without the luxury of choice.
There is therefore no place for judgment. No need for separation between what’s “good” food and what’s “bad” food. Whether it’s a late-night fast food indulgence or a carefully crafted dish from an upscale restaurant, it all comes down to what it means to us as individuals, as communities, as people.
If we truly want to address the complex relationship Americans have with food, its contradictions, the extremes of obesity and eating disorders, the struggles of food deserts, we must start by acknowledging the inherent value in all food. It’s not about devaluing one kind of eating for another; it’s about honoring all food traditions, and remembering that each meal, each dish, is a part of our shared human experience.
Food isn’t just something we consume. It’s the thread that connects us to our history, our culture, and each other. It carries memories, emotions, and stories. And whether we’re eating apples from a family garden or a bowl of pho, it’s something worth celebrating. The sweet apples and the dark coffee, the rich flavors and the deep histories behind every dish are all part of the same beautiful table that makes up our relationship with what we eat.