Discussions around cultural authenticity often reveal a complex interplay between nostalgia and modernity, raising questions about what it means to truly represent a culture.
A few months ago, I found myself in a bustling parking lot, eagerly awaiting entry to Jagalchi, a new Korean grocery store and food hall that has quickly gained popularity in the San Francisco area. On weekends, long lines often snake around the building, a testament to its appeal.
Upon entering, I was struck by the store’s impressive selection, organized layout, and clear signage, which transported me to a futuristic version of Seoul rather than a typical suburban grocery store. The aisles were filled with imported Korean foods, including a dedicated section for prepared meals. I was so impressed that I texted my family, sharing my excitement about discovering Korean temple food: “Got Korean temple food from this new grocery store … We need Indian stores this nice in the U.S.!!”
However, a recent column in the San Francisco Standard titled “The Korean Food Hall That Repels Koreans” sparked a conversation about cultural authenticity within diasporic communities. The author expressed feelings of disconnection, noting that despite the store’s clear signage, the experience felt foreign. The glossy, spacious layout contrasted sharply with the cramped, cluttered aisles typical of traditional Korean grocery stores. The author questioned who the store was designed for, suggesting it catered more to those unfamiliar with Korean cuisine than to seasoned shoppers.
While the author’s feelings are valid, they also prompt reflection on the broader implications of cultural gatekeeping. As someone who identifies as a second-generation immigrant, I find myself pondering the rigid definitions of authenticity that often emerge in discussions about cultural representation.
In my previous writings, I have argued that Indian food, like all cultural cuisines, deserves to evolve and adapt. The notion of “authenticity” can be limiting, especially when it is tied to outdated standards. Historically, Indian grocery stores in the U.S. were often small, family-run businesses that faced numerous challenges. Yet, does the struggle of the past dictate what is considered authentic in 2025?
Urban centers in Asian countries have undergone significant transformations, far surpassing the experiences often found in ethnic enclaves in the U.S. It seems somewhat dismissive to label modern, well-organized grocery stores as inauthentic. For instance, airports in Mumbai and Bengaluru are now more modern and appealing than many U.S. airports, challenging the idea that authenticity must be synonymous with a lack of sophistication.
As I explore the growing variety of Indian grocery stores across the U.S., I appreciate those that prioritize cleanliness, organization, and transparency in pricing. The idea that a store must feel “built for me” can be problematic. Should a grocery store be less organized or slightly messy to feel more authentic? I reject that notion.
While I cherish the nostalgia of visiting Indian grocery stores during my childhood, I also yearn for spaces that offer unique experiences, similar to those found in popular chains like Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods. Imagine an Indian grocery store that highlights organic South Asian products or one that sparks curiosity about home-cooked Indian meals, much like Jagalchi does for Korean cuisine. While I may not visit these stores daily, I believe our cultures deserve diverse representations that evolve with time.
In New York, some of the best South Indian food can be found in a basement at a Hindu temple, but I also appreciate the variety offered by mid-range restaurants and fast-casual options. What is wrong with sharing the beauty of our cultures and cuisines with a wider audience while still catering to our own communities? Can a cleaner, more organized store serve both our needs and those of non-Asian customers? Why is the immediate reaction to a modern, appealing store often that it is “not for us” but rather for outsiders?
The nostalgia for the past can sometimes blind us to the innovations occurring in our ancestral countries. The definition of authenticity is not static; it evolves as cultures adapt and grow. Is it truly authentic if we gatekeep and claim cultural elements as solely our own?
These questions invite deeper contemplation about the nature of cultural representation and the evolving landscape of our identities. As we navigate these discussions, it is essential to recognize that authenticity is not a fixed point but a dynamic concept that reflects the ongoing journey of our cultures.
Source: Original article