Flavour, Culture and Consistency: A Costly Trade-Off?

There’s a quiet reverence in real flavour. The kind that lingers. That rises from a pot of ginger and lemongrass that’s been slowly steeped. That speaks not just to your tastebuds, but to your memories, your roots, your place in the world.

But in the world of food production—especially on a commercial scale—reverence is often replaced by reliability.

The Problem with Consistency

Consumers have been trained to expect uniformity. Each bite of a product should taste the same as the one before. The challenge? Real, fresh ingredients don’t behave that way. A garlic clove harvested in spring can differ wildly in pungency to one harvested in autumn. Climate, soil, moisture—these all shift flavour subtly. And so, to maintain "consistency," producers turn to natural flavours and synthetic replicas.

The result? A vanilla extract that never wavers. A lemon note that’s just tart enough, every time. And a customer that doesn’t question where the flavour came from, only that it was what they expected.

Reverence vs Replication

But there’s something lost when flavour becomes predictable. When turmeric comes from a lab and not a root. When chai tastes like essence instead of ceremony.

Steeping real herbs. Grinding fresh spices. Simmering slow. These practices not only honour the ingredient, but engage the senses in ways that industrial flavourings never could. They carry stories. They require patience. They’re inconsistent—beautifully, seasonally, authentically so.

The Cost of the Shortcut

Let’s talk money. Because that’s the driving force here. Bottled flavour is cheaper, faster, and easier to standardise. It reduces waste. It simplifies supply chains. It ticks the boxes for scalability and shelf life.

But it also severs the relationship between eater and ingredient. It’s efficient, yes—but is it nourishing? Is it ethical? Is it real?

Culture at the Table

When flavour is approached with reverence, we’re not just tasting food—we’re tasting a culture’s values. In many Asian kitchens, for example, the act of slow preparation is the medicine. The warming herbs are selected based on season. The broth simmers not for minutes but hours. That context matters.

When these dishes are commercialised, the challenge becomes: how do we stay rooted in real, whole ingredients, while still creating flavour profiles that resonate authentically in different cultural contexts? Not to win over markets—but to respect them. It’s a balancing act—preserving integrity while opening space for meaningful, cross-cultural connection through food. And it starts with listening: to the people, the land, the traditions, and the flavours that hold them.

A Question to Chew On

At what point does consistency become compromise?

If you’ve ever tasted the difference between freshly grated garlic and garlic in a jar you already know this isn’t just about food—it’s about respecting seasonality, natural variation and those who guard the real thing.

Let’s keep asking the hard questions. Let’s keep tasting for what’s real.
Hayley