Going Local: The Rise of Regional Cuisine

In a world of porous borders, global migration and majority minority populations, the insipid “ethnic” hardly begins to express the diversity of our society’s polyglot food-ways—let alone its people. If not wielded with care, it can even sound downright condescending. Worst of all, it’s so hopelessly imprecise: When everyone and everything is ethnic, nothing is.

Precision, in today’s food biz, is the name of the game. Broad-brush Italian, Chinese and Mexican culinary descriptions have outlived their usefulness for a generation driven to learn ever more about what they feed themselves and where it comes from. The stamp that regional peculiarities of geography, culture and time leave on a cuisine gains purchase with them. “Food today is becoming more of a sport,” explains Adam Schreier, corporate chef, Mastertaste, Commerce, CA. “It’s like collecting baseball cards, but people are collecting ingredients and finding out where they come from and why we eat them.”

Regional Mexican 

One needn’t be a global culinary expert to appreciate how inadequate blunt classifications based solely on political boundaries really are. Take the fuzzy concept of “Mexican cuisine.” Mexico’s a pretty big country, with a whole lot of people and a long, complicated history of indigenous and colonial occupation. Its terrain varies from tropical coastline to saguaro-studded desert to volcanic peaks. To assume its inhabitants would adhere to some sort of culinary uniformity isn’t just naïve, it’s fantasy. Hence, the only appropriate response to “Do you like Mexican food?” is, “Which one?”

To give a brief summary, in the central plateau state of Puebla, an ingenious use of nopales—prickly cactus paddles that a little careful prep turns into a serviceable vegetable —characterizes the cuisine. Puebla also boasts a well-developed sweet culture, cultivated in Catholic convents that flourished during Spanish colonial rule. Mole poblano, with its exhaustive list of ingredients, including tomatoes, almonds, cinnamon, dark chocolate, raisins, garlic, onions and as many as half a dozen types of dried chiles, is the region’s—some would argue, the nation’s—representative dish.

Along Mexico’s southern coast is Oaxaca, another state known for, among other specialties, its moles— seven of them, tradition says, that range in color from black and brown to brick-red, green and yellow. With a sizable indigenous population whose ancestors purportedly invented Mexico’s two most enduring kitchen gadgets— the stone mortar known as a molcajete and the griddle-like metal comal—Oaxaca could qualify as an ambassador to the present of Mexico’s culinary past.

Along Mexico’s Gulf coast lies the narrow state of Veracruz, where seafood stars and tropical produce such as plantains, yucca and sweet potatoes lend a slight Caribbean savor—fitting, given Veracruz’s role as a vibrant trading hub in the colonial era. Further legacy of Spain’s influence remains in the region’s namesake dish: pescado a la veracruzana, fish seasoned with Mediterranean staples like capers, olives and olive oil.

Also still bearing traces of European influence are the foods of Yucatán, the Mayan civilization’s peninsular home and, for years, an isolated region that saw more contact with Europeans, Cubans and merchants from New Orleans than with people who, in time, would become fellow Mexicans. As such, the cuisine bears scant resemblance to anything gringos consider Mexican: bitter orange where other regions would choose lime or vinegar; an exultation of the fiery, fruity habanero over other chiles; oregano preferred to cilantro; and less reliance on tomato salsas than on recado rojo, a seasoning paste made from achiote seed. Yucatán’s wild turkeys also established themselves in the local cuisine, where their domesticated descendents appear in moles unlike any found in Oaxaca or Puebla.

Meanwhile, mention the cuisine of Tabasco, another Gulf state, and northerners might think about the Louisiana pepper sauce. Not so. Tabascan cooking rests its reputation on a liberal use of herbs that flavor the seafood so abundant in this coastal region. Hoja santa leaf adds a licorice-anise note to stews, casseroles and seafood, and tamales and roasted fish take on the herbal aroma of the banana and plantain leaves used to wrap them.

Adding further diversity is the expansive northern region, where states such as Chihuahua, Sonora, Cohuila and Nuevo León cover vast, unforgiving deserts and plains. The landscape doesn’t make for lush agriculture, but it does suit livestock—bolstering the north’s status as a producer of prime-quality beef and cow’s milk cheeses. And in a marked break from form, northern Mexico’s granaries overflow with wheat, not the corn that reigns supreme throughout the rest of the nation.

It’s a small world 

Our familiarity with such food may not have bred contempt, but did lead to boredom, and after repeated Mexican dinners in the Americanized template, we got antsy to graduate to a cuisine that was a little more ... well, Mexican. It didn’t hurt that Mexico was such a close and welcoming travel destination, either. (Raise your hand if you realized there’s more to Mexican food than chips and salsa while vacationing in Guadalajara or Mazatlán.) With Mexican expatriate communities taking root everywhere from Phoenix to Fayetteville, it was inevitable that markets and eateries opening in their wake would expose the rest of us to what folks really eat in Jalisco or Sinaloa. As the size, strength and pride of these communities in their hometown cultures have grown, they’ve effectively inoculated their regional cuisines from the assimilation that too often erases valuable distinctions.

Thus, our understanding of Mexican food in general has aged into a seasoned appreciation of its regional nuances in particular. That same evolution plays out with regard to Italian, Chinese, Mediterranean, Middle Eastern and any number of international cuisines with enough of a foothold with mainstream diners—or that will soon have one—to tempt our fuller exploration.

The shift has kept Adam Walker’s radar buzzing. “Recently, Asian, Latin and Italian cuisines have seen a regional following,” says this research chef at McCormick & Company, Inc., Hunt Valley, MD. “That may be because consumers are realizing that there is so much more to these cuisines, and it could also be due to the fact that these were the three big ‘ethnic’ cuisines to hit America in the past, and they have now matured to regional status.”

Whatever the reason, it reveals a mainstream culinary consciousness that makes chefs like Walker giddy. Is this the tipping point that he’s been waiting for? “Absolutely,” he says. “No longer does Asian food have to include egg rolls. Nor does Latin food have to have a pile of salsa on top. As chefs, this is great news and allows us to offer cuisine that is much truer.”

For Matthew D. Burton, C.E.C., C.H.E., C.R.C., director of culinary innovation, ConAgra Food Ingredients, Omaha, NE, much of that excitement owes itself to the access to “exotic” ingredients that a critical mass of interest grants. “To me, a big part of ‘regional’ is the specialty ingredients of the region or area that you were never able to find before, or had only seen in culinary school,” he says. “You can now find Oaxacan items here in Omaha. Who would’ve thought? So the availability of these things is giving us a lot of tools to play with.”

Indeed, foodies’ yen to romanticize all things local and seasonal, inspired by Slow Food philosophy, stokes interest in regional cuisine, as well, especially among socially conscious consumers who see it as a vote for revitalizing ties to vanishing communities and a more-holistic approach to dining. “The search for local artisan foods and beverages has increased all over the culinary landscape,” agrees Stefan Strehler, senior development chef, Givaudan Flavors, Cincinnati. “The artisan dairy farmer and cheese maker is a great example of this localized movement. Seasonality also continues to build momentum. The motto, ‘What grows together goes together,’ is becoming more of a reality than simply an idealistic view in mainstream America.”

The real deal 

At the core of this ideal is the same principle that drove our attempts to capture “ethnic” cuisines in the first place: the quest for authenticity.

The only difference is that now we’re excavating authenticity at the regional level. If achieving authenticity was a matter fraught with theoretical controversy and practical constraints before, it’s even more so when you’re dealing with local traditions. If the Medici clan of Renaissance Florence saw the mess of “Tuscan” this and “Toscana” that now crowd shelves and menus, they’d probably spin in their graves at the liberties taken with their classic cuisine (which, it merits noting, isn’t characterized by a willy-nilly dousing of tomato sauce and mozzarella, but rather exhibits restrained seasoning, simple grilled and roasted preparations, and a celebration of the region’s famed olive oil).

Charles Heaton, C.R.C., C.E.C., consultant for Hydroblend, Inc., Nampa, ID, has seen the response such liberties elicit from Italian chefs in his professional circle. “I’ve got some Italian colleagues who have very tight roots to Italian cuisine and ingredients over here working to promote regional Italian products,” he says. “So when you list off dishes like ‘chicken Vesuvio,’ that are thought of over here as the core of Italian cuisine—well, in Italy, they don’t even have those! So these chefs are really working hard to dispel the notion that these things are what Italian food is about.”

Aside from offending cultural pride, playing fast and loose with regional identity violates actual law in some cases. Notes Guy Beardsmore, R&D corporate chef, Sargento Food Ingredients, Plymouth, WI: “France, Italy and Greece all have regional standards of identity for their foods. This has made it very hard in Europe to make and sell certain products not made in that country. For example, Parmigiano-Reggiano can only be made in the regions of Emilia and Modena, and in a portion of Lombardy on the right bank of the river Po, between April 15 and Nov. 11. There are other excellent Parmesan cheeses that may suit the required flavor profile of the recipe, though they can’t use the ‘Parmigiano- Reggiano’ moniker.”

Ultimately, our pursuit of authenticity boils down to a question of honesty—to the cuisine, the consumer and ourselves. It’s about “being true to where foods come from and calling things what they are,” Heaton says.

Walker agrees: “If your company is making a pesto Genovese and you are replacing the expensive pine nuts with walnuts, then call it a walnut pesto Genovese.”

Not surprisingly, research chefs— who came to the profession out of a passion and respect for food—are proving stalwart guardians of regional culinary character. “We welcome the challenge of the increased seriousness of consumers,” says Chad Shafer, development chef, Givaudan. “We also approach this challenge with caution, because the understanding of these unique local or regional foods needs to be the focus so as not to lose the essence that makes them so terrific in the first place.”

Mind your market 

But who decides what’s regionally authentic? “This is a difficult question and touches on the heart of this movement,” Walker says. “Truly regional cuisine is actually from that region, and by logic, that is who would decide. However, consumers are often more concerned about the feel of authenticity than about the truth of it.”

With that in mind, Strehler suggests: “The customer who returns over and over again while bringing in friends and family each time is the one who defines truly regional food. Making the product as authentic as possible, and yet desirable enough so that a larger population of consumers will purchase it repeatedly, is the key.”

Even hidebound regional cuisines evolve—and on a global scale these days—and the tastes of consumers are the engines of that evolution. The process will come in for accusations of homogenization and of watering down foods to the point of banality, and certain camps will always be eager to quibble with every ingredient substitution, but chefs have to remember which audience they’re playing to.

As Burton notes, “Chefs in our position wear two hats, because we get excited as we look at the front ends of these trends, but when we start looking at our brands and when we start making this stuff, we have to take a step back and ask, ‘Does the general public really understand —and/or truly care—that a dish is an authentic whatever-itis?’” While we should pay heed that they’re learning the lingo by reading it on our labels, “if I were to put out Oaxacan mole versus a traditional mole from Puebla,” he asks, “will they know the difference? I don’t know,” noting that it could take generations for people to start to fully appreciate and understand regional-level foodways.

“It’s got to make good business sense,” Heaton says. “An important part of that equation is, ‘Will people buy it?’ And I think that more people will buy something because it’s interesting and tastes good and is maybe a little bit of an adventure than simply because the words printed on the package say that this is ‘authentic’ and ‘pulled out of the jungles of wherever.’ As much as people like adventure, if a flavor profile is past the edge of polarization —even if they don’t know what it is based on what’s printed on the box—they may be a little too shy to buy it.”

Back to school 

In the end, Burton says, “It’s about style. I think that’s where our world will always need to stay. It’s almost impossible to put something on a shelf that can stay stable and that’s going to be truly authentic anything.” Of course, that doesn’t mean that the reinterpreted product won’t be delicious. “But if you market it as Venetian-style or Tuscan-style,” rather than as Venetian or Tuscan to the core, he says, “you’re at least pitching it within reasonable bounds.”

But by acknowledging a limited ability to recreate a cuisine note-for-note—and by accepting that a typical consumer may catch only the most glaring of missteps—we risk letting down our guard and letting products’ regional character drift. That, according to Burton, is a dereliction of duty. Doing our level best, within present constraints, to maintain a regional profile, he says, is “a huge responsibility” for R&D. “And I think it’s very important that we take the responsibility —we’re the only ones that really can—to educate people,” both within and outside our organizations.

Education consistently ranks among the first tools—before specialty ingredients, before processing tricks—that chefs tap to achieve convincing regional character. “You need to research and look indepth into where this food is coming from, where they’re growing this, why they’re using this,” Schreier says. “These are all important factors so that you’re not just creating an item and calling it whatever you want.” Every chef has his own favored tactics for getting that in-depth picture.

“If you have the budget,” Beardsmore says, “a trip to the country or region is by far the best. While you are there, it is important to eat in the local markets or small cafés and trattorias.”

In the absence of such a luxury, hitting the books can serve as a proxy. “I’m a big fan of the library,” Heaton says, “and I’m a big fan of the Internet, obviously.” He also values his colleagues’ know-how, especially when they hail from the regions he’s investigating. “There’s a pretty big world of culinarians out there,” he says. “Anybody in a white hat is a brother to anybody else in a white hat. And there’s usually a free exchange of information. No question is a dumb question when you’re talking about food.”

While immersion in a regional foodway can bring us closer to the holy grail of authenticity, it can also foster a second-nature sense of the cuisine that lets us better judge when we should stick to the script and when we can bend the rules. “If we as food manufacturers understand what a certain regional cuisine is,” Walker says, “then we’re betterequipped to decide which aspects of it must be kept and which can be changed when developing foods for the new, educated public.”

In a way, it gives us a license to take shortcuts—but smart ones. “Shortcuts will dilute the regional cuisine if the knowledge and understanding behind the preparation isn’t truly understood,” Strehler says. “But understanding the specific flavor profile and what makes it spectacular in the first place” lets us sustain that spectacle well into the development process.

Meeting in the middle 

As we grow more comfortable designing regionally influenced foods, we’re learning to meet our different masters in the middle. “Authenticity takes a toll on many food manufacturers,” says Schreier. “You’re going to want to try to make the gold standard. But then you’ve got to come back a little bit, because while, yes, the American palate is becoming more adventurous and trying new things, you still have to play a part where you balance a fine line.”

Then, says Keith Shafer, R&D scientist, Sargento, “once you’ve gained that place—namely, the gold standard—how does one develop a robust process to consistently deliver the quality expected?” This is where the tension between ambition and reality starts to tighten. “Usually, the system breaks down when efficiencies and cost reduction take their toll over time on the original product,” he says. “Constant attention to quality and to the original consumer- tested design will maintain a winning product in the market.”

And that’s what the gold standard’s all about. “You don’t want to stifle innovation,” says Randy Hobert, vice president, sales and marketing, Hydroblend, “but if you’re taking shortcuts, you have to worry about incremental degradation. You’ve got to worry about how that’s going to affect quality. Because there should be a standard.” So, as you map out the cuisine regionally, he continues, “you can map out where you’re trying to go with your flavor profile. And if you’re willing to be honest about it and not label it as ‘authentic’ when it’s not, you can usually find that you can migrate the flavor profile to an intermediate compromise,” which is precisely where we want to be.

Tools of the trade 

The flood of new technologies and ingredients available makes hitting this sweet spot all the more manageable. As Walker reminds us, “When creating regional foods, we must always keep in mind how those foods came to be. Regional cuisine didn’t develop because a bunch of chefs were picky about what ingredients they used. Rather, they developed from the chef using the ingredients that were available. If we take this into account, many more regional foods are possible.”

And now we can import a lot of these new ingredients, notes Beardsmore. “Chefs are able to procure new cheeses, different styles of olive oil—and the consumer is looking for something new to experience,” he says. “This could be an authentic cheese or a New World wine.” While he makes every effort to use the region’s original ingredients when he can, he does allow that “time and cost restraints have led to the development of some very good products that can deliver the flavor that the consumer wants.” Speaking of his bailiwick in cheese, he says, “we can deliver the expected flavor and performance—such as a fast or slow melt—in the desired form: sauce, IQF matrix, or portion-pack of shredded or diced cheese,” and all while holding true to a product’s regional character.

When you can’t access the entire contents of a regional pantry, Burton suggests choosing ingredients that leave a lasting impression. “You want to go to the items that can hit the tongue really quickly and click in people’s brain,” he says. “I think that lemongrass is a good example of that. You know it’s there, it’s got a distinctive flavor, and it immediately pops into your head: Vietnamese, Thai.” But, he cautions, “it’s also important that you don’t only rely on those.” In other words, no one silver bullet flavor conveys the fullness of a regional cuisine. “I think it’s a big responsibility for the ingredient suppliers not just to try to sell one ingredient,” he says.

For example, Burton notes that his company’s line of Garden- Frost® purées in several regional styles incorporates multiple flavor keys to give a truer profile. As for the Asian-influenced variety, he says, “it has lemongrass. It has roasted serrano chile. We add galangal to it. These are ingredients that people have heard about and that are maybe hard to find, but are already in there.” Currently working on a sofrito profile for the same line, he adds, “we did a lot of research on it: What is it? How is it made? Is it lots of oil cooked down into the tomatoes? We made some gold standards, worked with our controlled moisture tomatoes, did a roasted tomato flavor, and we got pretty darned close. It can be done.”

In tying together these loose ends, Schreier says, flavor ingredients come into their own. “They fill the void,” he says. “We do mortadella. We do pancetta. We do prosciutto. We have a white truffle flavor that’s identical to the white truffle you find in Piedmont. There are ingredients like porcini where we can recreate great porcini mushroom flavors. There are definitely tons of classical flavors that we have that can help achieve the exotic world out there.” And before long, that “exotic world” will become just another region to explore. 

Kimberly J. Decker, a California-based technical writer, has a B.S. in Consumer Food Science with a minor in English from the University of California, Davis. She lives in the San Francisco bay area, where she enjoys eating and writing about food. You can reach her at [email protected].