Between Tastes: A Reflection on Food, Culture, and Being Fortunate

I have lived in the UK for almost twenty-five years. Long enough for it to feel like home in many ways. And yet, it is often through food that I am reminded that I do not belong to just one place.

Over time, I have learned to appreciate many kinds of food: British food with its quiet simplicity and comfort; the food of my upbringing, rich with memory and depth; and the cuisines of others, each offering something new to understand.

This was not instant. It took time, exposure, and a willingness to try, again and again, until unfamiliar flavours became meaningful rather than strange.

And yet, I notice something that stays with me. When others encounter food from my culture, their reactions can be immediate:

“Strange” “Too strong” “Disgusting.”

The words linger because what I hear is not just a reaction to taste, but a dismissal of something that feels deeply part of me.

Then, when I return home, I see the reverse. My own family tasting British food:

“Too sweet” “too bland,” “not quite right.”

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And I realise I stand somewhere in between, understanding both, fully belonging to neither.

But perhaps this “in-between” is not a loss. Perhaps it is a gain because I have come to see that taste is learned, shaped by memory, by culture, by what I am given early in life.

What feels normal to one person can feel unrecognisable to another. Not because it is lesser but because it is unfamiliar.

And in this realisation, something shifts. I begin to see this not as a tension, but as a quiet form of privilege.

How fortunate I am to have learned to appreciate what others cannot yet see. While some remain anchored to a single definition of what food should be, I have been able to stretch beyond it, to find comfort in multiple palettes, to recognise beauty in difference.

Not everyone has that opportunity; not my friends here, who may not have travelled far beyond what they know, and not even my own family, whose tastes remain rooted in the place I came from.

But I have stood at a crossroads of cultures, and over time, I have learned to receive rather than reject.

Photo by Tanya Prodaan on Unsplash

So now, when I hear “this is strange,” I remind myself:

It is not the food that is limited. It is the experience.

And I no longer see my position as divided, but as expanded. I carry more than one way of tasting the world.

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And in a world that is so diverse, being able to appreciate that diversity, not just intellectually, but sensorially and emotionally, is, perhaps, a quiet strength. It is a strength I did not set out to build, but one I now recognise.

And for that, I feel not divided, but deeply, unexpectedly lucky.