Why Do Americans Hate Our Food So Much?
In recent years, the online divide between Americans and Brits has only become more apparent, with conversations surrounding our culinary choices strengthening their distaste towards our culture. LA socialite and influencer Jake Shane recently posted a series of videos on TikTok, praising UK high-street chain Caffè Nero for its honey Americano. This sent his British audience into a frenzy, questioning his admiration for something we find so accessible, and so mediocre. Seeing someone with an LA vocal fry rave about our morning-commute pit stop feels so wrong, given the often snobbish opinions Americans have towards our food. It’s rare to see those across the pond be so open-minded and enjoy the things we eat as a country. But why is it that British food has caused such a cultural debate over the years?
When YouTube first rose to popularity, “Trying British/American Candy” videos became a trend that would ultimately continue through to the rise of TikTok. The content was pretty self-explanatory: Americans would try British candy, and Brits would try American candy. This trend peaked during the eruption of overpriced American sweet shops throughout the UK, which inevitably failed due to the lack of demand once the popularity of these snacks led to them being stocked in mainstream supermarkets.
I remember watching these videos as a child and drooling at the sight of Laffy Taffy and Hershey’s, only to have zero craving for them now that my frontal lobe has developed. Sure, they were tasty, but nothing compared to the excitement of my dad allowing me to purchase whatever vibrant, diabetes-inducing snacks my heart desired at the time. But looking back on it, the appeal of whatever snacks other countries had wasn’t reciprocated nearly as much when it came to the UK. Americans were so spoilt with their aisles of caramel-crunch, marshmallow, unicorn-glitter, rainbow cereals that our basic Dairy Milk just wouldn’t satisfy any cravings.
What I’m trying to say is, there’s this infatuation with American food and its significance in pop culture. Think American diners and their relevance in classic movies such as Grease, which has led to tourist traps modelled after these classic diners opening in cities big and small across the world. The opening of Mollie’s Motel & Diner in Manchester, as well as the iconic Times Square diner Ellen’s Stardust, is proof that American iconography continues to lure in hungry tourists, no matter where you are.
The reason American sweets had us in such a chokehold is not because they looked particularly tasty, but because American food is a novelty we are so used to seeing within pop culture. The packaging is often cartoonish and vivid, making a mockery of our own culinary staples. It’s clear why Americans are often unamused when it comes to trying our foods, but the genuine fear and concern that rises when someone plates up their Chinese on TikTok is more than just snobbery.
To the Gen Z American, the term “Chinese” used to describe a takeaway is wince-worthy, given that they take it far too literally. If someone on TikTok shares their order and the video reaches an international audience, you can expect to see a flock of angry Americans asking, “Why the hell are you eating a Chinese person?” Once the Brits hit the comment section, it becomes a war. I’ve seen plenty of young British content creators receive accusations of racism, followed by a brief cancellation, for referring to their Chinese takeaway simply as a “Chinese”. The shortening of the phrase isn’t intended as a comment on people of any race, but rather a product of the sheer laziness of our vocabulary. Why refer to it as a Chinese takeaway when you could just call it a Chinese? You can only imagine the outrage when they were caught saying, “Let’s dish up my Indian.”
When the “dish up my takeaway” content became more popular last year, it appeared that Americans had one thing on their minds — and that was the chaos of a classic British Chinese order. Mind you, these are the same folks who eat radioactive Takis on a regular basis, but they draw the line at salt-and-pepper chips with curry sauce. It was exhausting to see the outrage of someone from Arkansas over someone ordering egg-fried rice and sweet-and-sour chicken after their 9-to-5. We might complain about the weather a lot, but one thing Brits are proud of is the invention of a British Chinese takeaway.
While disgusted Americans would slander our orders for their lack of “real” Chinese dishes and demonise us for our supposedly unadventurous palates, they had no idea that British Chinese takeaways developed through decades of Chinese immigration, with restaurants adapting recipes to western tastes. It wasn’t an attempt to whitewash the beauty of Chinese cooking, but a way for immigrant communities to make a living in unfamiliar circumstances. But how were they supposed to know? I can see why they’d be confused, but when influencers started coming to London and trying these dishes, their lack of cultural context was staggering.
Anyone with a ridiculously large screen time is likely to be familiar with Rebecca’s Chinese in Scotland. The takeaway is known for its pink interior and AI-generated logo, as well as some of its questionable menu items. The takeaway went viral on TikTok due to its owner, Rebecca, filming the cooking process of their dishes, which include wraps filled with salt-and-pepper chicken nuggets, as well as their mystery sauce, which viewers have named “crude oil” due to it’s dark, gloopy texture. Once these videos reached American audiences, they were mortified, assuming that this was representative of the food culture we’re proud of as a country. But truthfully, Rebecca’s Chinese is something many Brits find just as baffling.
When James Charles visited Ireland, he raved about the spice bag, as well as the iconic Greggs sausage roll. This was a refreshing take, given that LadBible’s viral YouTube series Snack Wars often depicts these carby snacks as the work of the devil. When American actors are greeted with the sight of a Dairy Milk Marvellous Creations, they often act as though they’ve never seen chocolate before. They take the tiniest bite and describe its flavours in a way that really makes you question how many unfamiliar additives are pumped into their Twinkies, which they proceed to demolish and speak of with nothing but admiration. Is our food really that alien?
The stereotype that British food is bad has always stemmed from ignorance. Sure, our classic dishes might not look particularly tasty, but at the end of the day, mushy peas are still peas, and baked beans are still beans. Americans are so accustomed to heavily processed foods and intense flavourings that our more unadorned dishes can seem unappealing by comparison. I find it interesting how our cupboard staples, such as beans on toast, are slated and memefied online despite their convenience. The cheaper the food looks, the more it seems to be criticised. Take caviar, for example, which is rarely condemned despite its bizarre texture and morbid colouring. Because our foods are associated with convenience and traditionally date back to the years of rationing, the stereotype has only persisted. It doesn’t help that our foods often feature bleak packaging and lack the intense flavourings that can make American foods appear more exciting.
Americans often seem to have a sense of superiority when it comes to the iconic foods that lie at the heart of their country. Take burgers or fried chicken, for example: iconic foods that have become quintessential parts of American pop culture. When you go to America, you assume you’re going to eat the best versions of these foods. It’s no surprise that they continue to sit on their high horse while we receive stick for our fish and chips.
The jokes surrounding our beige-food obsession have only widened the divide between Brits and Americans online. Whenever the argument resurfaces, it only strengthens the opinions we already have about Americans and their supposed lack of cultural understanding when it comes to anywhere outside the US. But what else are we to expect from the people who pronounce the H in Birmingham?