When a Simple Chickpea Ball Becomes a Weapon
Picture this: diplomats in heated debates, governments filing official complaints, and international organizations stepping in to mediate. You’d think they were discussing nuclear treaties or territorial disputes, right? Wrong. They’re fighting over falafel, hummus, and kimchi. A significant facet of the Arab–Israeli conflict deals with a cultural struggle over national cuisines. Foods like falafel and hummus, which originated in Middle Eastern cuisine, have historically been politicized in general expressions of gastronationalism throughout the region. Welcome to the world of food wars, where culinary pride can spark international incidents faster than you can say “cultural appropriation.” These battles might seem silly on the surface, but they reveal something deeper about identity, heritage, and the lengths countries will go to protect what they consider theirs.
The Great Middle Eastern Menu War
Hummus is claimed as a national dish by Israel, Palestine, and Lebanon in a disagreement sometimes referred to as the “hummus wars”. This isn’t just about who makes the best chickpea dip—it’s about legitimacy, identity, and belonging. According to Alexander Lee, writing for History Today in 2019, “More often than not, arguments about the origins of falafel are refracted through the lens of political rivalries. Particularly for the Israelis and the Palestinians, ownership of this most distinctively Levantine dish is inexorably bound up with issues of legitimacy and national identity. By claiming falafel for themselves, they are each, in a sense, claiming the land itself – and dismissing the other as an interloper or occupier.” The stakes couldn’t be higher when food becomes a symbol of who belongs where. Think of it like two neighbors fighting over who invented the perfect barbecue sauce recipe, except the backyard they’re arguing over has been contested for decades.
From Egypt to Everyone’s Plate
The dish most likely originated in Egypt. The origins of falafel can be traced back thousands of years to ancient Egypt, where a predecessor of the dish was consumed. Egyptians developed a recipe known as “ta’amiya,” which consisted of ground fava beans mixed with spices and herbs. But here’s where it gets interesting—as falafel traveled north through trade routes and migration, it transformed. In Egypt, it is most often made with fava beans, while in Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria, it is typically made with chickpeas or sometimes a blend of both. The dish later migrated northwards to the Levant, where chickpeas replaced the fava beans, and from there spread to other parts of the Middle East. It’s like a centuries-old game of telephone, but with recipes.
Israel’s Strategic Food Adoption
In the wake of the Arab-Israeli War of 1948-9, there was a concerted effort to foster a distinctive sense of Israeli national identity and to separate its culture and cuisine from that of its neighbours. Helped by the fact that many Yemenis soon started opening falafel stalls, the Israeli government avidly promoted the idea that falafel had been imported not from Egypt but from Yemen. It was a patent falsehood, but it served its purpose. This wasn’t accidental—it was culinary nationalism at work. The consumption of falafel took off. Before long, it had become so popular – and so closely identified with the Israeli state – that songs were being written about it. Perhaps the best known is Dan Almagor’s Ve-Lanu Yesh Falafel (‘And we have falafel’), released in 1958. Imagine if hot dogs became so American that people wrote hit songs about them. That’s the power of food as cultural currency.
The Palestinian Perspective on Culinary Colonialism
She argued that “Food for Palestinians becomes a way to reclaim our country, if not geographically, at least psychologically and emotionally,” adding “That’s why referencing traditional dishes adopted from Palestinians as Israeli without regard to their origin is seen as adding insult to injury: First the land, now the food and culture?” To combat this negative perception, Israel would begin to coopt some aspects of the natives as their own, especially regarding cuisine and some symbolic markers. Suddenly, Falafel and Hummus become “Israeli” staples, when most of the Zionist settlers had never even heard of them before arriving in Palestine. The pain runs deep when your grandmother’s recipe becomes someone else’s national dish. It’s not just about food—it’s about erasing a people’s contributions to the world’s dinner table.
Korea’s Kimchi Crusade
The “Korea-Japan kimchi standard disputes” in 1996 began with Korea protesting against Japanese commercial production of kimchi (namely kimuchi) arguing that such a product was different from kimchi. Furthermore, Japan attempted to register its kimuchi as a Japanese original food at the Codex Alimentarius Commission held in Tokyo in 1996 while Korea also intended to register kimchi as a Korean original food at the same time. South Korea wasn’t messing around when it came to protecting their fermented cabbage. The international standard of kimchi was stipulated by the Codex Alimentarius Commission in 2001, and kimjang, the traditional Korean communal activity of making kimchi, was listed as a UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity in 2013. The standardization of kimchi by the Codex Alimentarius Commission in 2001 and the recognition of kimjang as a UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity in 2013 were the hallmark cultural events that reinforced the sovereignty of kimchi at the international level. They literally took their cabbage dispute to the United Nations.
When China Joined the Kimchi Battlefield
South Korea saw this as urgent due to the commercialization of similarly fermented cabbage from China and Japan. Even the name has caused disputes: In 2020, China lobbied the In The kimchi wars expanded beyond Japan when China entered the fray. During the time travel for millennia, kimchi has faced many challenges that put its identity as an original Korean dish into question, particularly with Japan and China as Korea’s neighboring countries. Such cultural disputes are often addressed as “kimchi wars” that have attracted the attention of international media. It’s remarkable how a simple fermented vegetable can become the center of a three-country dispute. Kimchi is not just cabbage salad — it is essential to the culture of the country. There are hundreds of different varieties of kimchi in Korea, and about 1.5 million tons of it is consumed each year. When you’re eating that much of something, you definitely want credit for inventing it.
Spain’s Paella Protection Program
Recently, the government of Valencia – the region in Spain where the beloved dish of paella originated – officially declared paella “an icon of the Mediterranean diet” and “a representation of Valencian culture”. By giving it a new formal status as an item of cultural significance, the authorities want to help ensure its survival, and protect it from “distortions”, they said. This move came after years of watching foreigners butcher their beloved rice dish. Naturally, what immediately came to mind for many was that time in 2016 when British chef Jamie Oliver tweeted his recipe for paella and unleashed a firestorm of controversy. Almost seven years later, Oliver is still trying to live this chorizo incident down. Valencia’s announcement about paella’s new cultural status prompted headlines like “Spain’s famous paella given protected status to shield it from people like Jamie Oliver”. When adding chorizo to paella becomes an international incident, you know food politics are serious business.
The Sweet Battle of Baklava
Today, baklava forms such an important part of the culinary identity of so many places that people sometimes dispute claims to its origins. The Greek-Turkish debate over its origins is particularly vociferous. In 2012, when President Barack Obama ate baklava at a dinner celebrating Greek Independence Day, rumors spread in the Turkish press that he was taking a side in this culinary conflict. In 2013, much to the dismay of baklava makers from Greece and beyond, the European Union awarded protected status to the Gaziantep variety of baklava from southern Turkey. When the President of the United States can’t eat dessert without causing international drama, you know food politics have gone too far. At least one Turkish baker keeps things in perspective: “These are places that have historically been interconnected and have been on the same trade routes,” he says. “But also, more fundamentally, it means that we cook in similar ways.”
The Science of Food Nationalism
Gastronationalism is the academic term for these food fights, and it’s more common than you’d think. Hainanese chicken rice is claimed by both Malaysia and Singapore. The conflict dates to 1965, when the two countries split. Both countries claim its origin and accuse the other of having appropriated the dish into their own national cuisine. Harissa is claimed by both Armenia and Turkey, where it is called keshkek. Keshkek was recognized by UNESCO on its intangible cultural heritage list, which has caused passionate debate, with Armenians arguing that the dish’s main ingredient, wheat, indicates it could not have been developed in Turkey, where the tradition was nomadic. These disputes follow predictable patterns—neighboring countries with shared histories fighting over who invented what first. It’s like siblings arguing over who came up with the best bedtime story.
When Food Becomes a Diplomatic Tool
The term gastrodiplomacy has been used to designate global campaigns of soft diplomacy meant to increase interest in a country’s gastronomy and products in order to raise its profile, generate goodwill, and enjoy economic and commercial windfalls. Gastrodiplomacy has been variously described as a “government’s practice of exporting its national culinary heritage as part of a public diplomacy effort,” “the practice of sharing a country’s cultural heritage through food,” or more simply as “winning hearts and minds through stomachs.” Countries now have official food ambassadors and culinary cultural centers. In 2009, South Korea’s Ministry of Food, Agriculture, Forestry, and Fishery and the country’s Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism launched the Korean Cuisine to the World campaign. The government, through the newly founded Korean Food Foundation and with the support of private companies, believed that Korean food (or hansik) could ride the wave of interest in Korean culture that followed the success of its TV dramas, films, and—above all—K-pop. It’s genius, really—get people hooked on your TV shows, then sell them your food.
The Unexpected Peace Power of Shared Meals
Culinary diplomacy leverages food to foster cultural exchange and enhance soft power, creating platforms for dialogue and understanding between nations. Shared meals serve as symbols of unity, building trust and empathy, which are essential for effective conflict resolution. While countries fight over who owns what dish, food also brings people together. Throughout history, food has acted as a catalyst for diplomacy, showcasing its power to mend relationships and foster understanding. Studies indicate that communal dining can greatly reduce tensions, paving the way for smoother negotiations. Engaging in shared meals enables people to find common ground, transforming adversarial relationships into collaborative ones. There’s something about breaking bread together that makes it harder to see someone as your enemy. Maybe that’s why business deals happen over dinner and not conference calls.
The Economics Behind the Food Fights
These culinary battles aren’t just about pride—there’s serious money involved. While in 2006–08 when some 15 million Americans consumed hummus, and annual national sales were about $5 million, sales growth in 2016 was reflected by an estimated 25% of US households consuming hummus. By 2016, the leading American hummus manufacturer, Sabra Dipping Company, held a 62% market share for hummus sales in the United States, and was forecast to exceed $1 billion in sales in 2017. When a dip becomes a billion-dollar industry, you bet countries want their name on the label. After all, there is a lot at stake here. Besides being an important part of its culture, kimchi is also the centrepiece of South Korea’s culinary branding abroad, and the country stands to gain the most if made-in-Korea kimchi is universally regarded as the only authentic kimchi. Brand recognition equals export dollars, and countries are fighting for every cent.
The Global Menu Gets More Complicated
No one owns a cuisine. All cultures have taken ideas from others. Yet the fights continue to multiply. Shortly after the 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine, Russian Foreign Ministry spokesperson Maria Zakharova said the fact Ukrainians “didn’t want to share borscht” was an example of alleged “xenophobia, Nazism, extremism in all forms” that led to the invasion. Shortly after, UNESCO added “Culture of Ukrainian borscht cooking” to the List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Need of Urgent Safeguarding, citing the invasion. According to The Smithsonian, “The designation by the international cultural authority was widely seen as a landmark decision in the ongoing cultural dispute between the two countries on borshch’s true country of origin.” When soup becomes a justification for war, we’ve officially entered the twilight zone of food politics. West African countries typically have at least one variant form of jollof rice, with Ghana, Nigeria, Sierra Leone, Liberia and Cameroon particularly competitive as to which country makes the best jollof. Even within regions, the competition never stops.
Why We Fight Over Food
Since ancient times, food has been a cornerstone of cultures worldwide. It is essential for our survival, which is why preoccupation with food is a human universal that connects us all. Food is our most intimate connection to home, family, and identity. Eating and drinking are a medium through which we gather, socialize, and create bonds. We celebrate, commemorate, tend to one another, and enact our rituals through food. When someone claims your grandmother’s recipe as their own invention, it feels like they’re stealing a piece of your soul. That’s why these battles are so fierce—they’re not really about chickpeas or cabbage, they’re about who gets to tell the story of where we come from and what makes us who we are.
In a world where borders shift and empires rise and fall, food remains one of the few constants that travels with people wherever they go. The irony is beautiful: while countries fight over who invented hummus, millions of people around the world just enjoy dipping their pita bread without caring about its passport. Maybe that’s the real victory—when a dish becomes so universally loved that everyone wants to claim it as their own. Did you expect that your lunch could spark international incidents?
