When I was little, my grandmother’s kitchen in Muju always smelled like dried anchovies and fermented soybean paste.
That smell meant safety and home.
But here in Switzerland, when I see that same doenjang trapped in the Asian aisle of the supermarket, I start to wonder:
Whose memory does this jar of paste belong to now?
And under whose name will it be remembered?
1. Peppers, and the Illusion of Tradition
Many of the foods we call “Korean” today are relatively recent creations : products of war, trade, and globalization.
Take chili peppers, for example. They are not native to Korea. They came from the Americas in the 16th century through whatever people now call the Columbian Exchange:a process deeply connected to European colonialism, exploitation, and the forced reshaping of cultures and ecosystems worldwide..lol.
Potatoes, corn, sweet potatoes…..—these too arrived through networks of empire and extraction.
And yet today, a bibimbap without gochujang feels incomplete.
– Who created this standard?
– Whose memories shaped our taste?
2. Who Names the Ingredients?
For example, I recently found a product called Knorr Asia Specials Korean BBQ Style Noodles sold here in Coop, Switzerland. Its ingredients include chili peppers, garlic, ginger—spices familiar in Korean cooking—but also smoked paprika, coriander, cumin, and cinnamon, which are uncommon in traditional bulgogi recipes. what???
This blend attempts to make “Korean flavor” but is clearly adapted for local tastes and industrial production. Such products, while marketed as “Korean style,” reshape the culinary identity to fit global consumer preferences. This process further dilutes the original taste and cultural significance, turning deeply rooted food memories into commodified versions for consumption abroad.
Again, it’s not just about authenticity. It’s about power.
If these sauces and products are sold worldwide as the “real taste of Korea,” the memories and stories behind the food get overwritten.
To be sold globally, food changes its name, language, flavor, and aroma—losing its original spice and taming its smell.
At that moment, it stops being ours and becomes a product made for others.
3. The Kitchen as a Space of Power
Even within a home, the kitchen is a site of power.
Who cooks?, Who eats?, Who gets to remember the meal?
My mother cooked for me everyday for years and years. But her recipes were never documented.
Meanwhile, food influencers’ “authentic Korean recipes” circulate the globe with ring lights and English subtitles.
– Whose recipes get archived?
– Whose kitchen becomes the standard?
4. Returning to Our Own Memory
Decolonizing food is not a grand revolution.
It begins with small questions:
– Where did this ingredient come from?
– Who created this recipe?
– Why does this taste feel “familiar” while that one is labeled “exotic”?
And in the kitchen, we can ask:
“Is this my story?”
We can cook differently, we can rename the familiar, we can reclaim the meal.
Mintz, Sidney W. Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History. (1985)
Heldke, Lisa. Exotic Appetites: Ruminations of a Food Adventurer. (2003)
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