We are Miocene Species in a Processed World.

 The global transformation of human diets—what we eat and how we produce it—reveals a deep mismatch between rapidly changing, human-built food systems and our comparatively ancient genetic adaptations. The domestication and industrialization of plants and animals have narrowed our food supply, eroded nutrient density, and intensified environmental strain. At the same time, our bodies still carry metabolic adaptations shaped under conditions of scarcity, including highly efficient fat storage. Together, these forces create a “nutritional bottleneck” that undermines both human health and planetary resilience. We are a Miocene species navigating a processed world. While Homo sapiens cannot rewrite their evolutionary past, understanding the evolutionary history of human nutrition can help us reshape food systems and dietary norms to support a healthier future.

Introduction

Human nutrition is undergoing an evolutionary transition analogous to how species respond to new selective pressures. Over roughly the last century, many societies have shifted from diverse, regionally adapted diets to monotonous, industrially produced foods dominated by refined grains and ultra-processed foods (UPFs). Traditional staples, such as millets, leafy greens, and wild vegetables, have been displaced by wheat, rice, maize, and calorie-dense processed foods.

India provides a particularly revealing example. Historically, Indian agriculture supported an array of millet varieties—such as finger millet (ragi), pearl millet (bajra), and foxtail millet—that are less water-intensive than rice and wheat and well-suited to semi-arid environments. These grains were deeply embedded in local cuisines and cultural practices. However, with the advent of the Green Revolution and global shifts in agricultural policy and markets, the country saw a major decline in nutritional and genetic diversity. This echo of the transformation of wild teosinte into modern maize, which entailed a substantial loss of allelic diversity (Kim et al., 2015), illustrates how anthropogenic selection can create genetic and nutritional bottlenecks. In the pursuit of yield, we sacrificed resilience. 

Domestication of Corn

Modern maize (corn), domesticated from wild teosinte in Mexico over 9,000–10,000 years ago, epitomizes this process. Early farmers selectively bred teosinte for larger, starchier kernels and higher yields, thereby altering corn’s structure and genetic composition. Today, plant breeders actively seek out surviving wild teosinte populations in Mexico, in part because these wild relatives harbor alleles that confer resistance to pests and environmental stress. These wild genetic reservoirs are increasingly vital for breeding more resilient crops capable of withstanding climate change.

My own travel through more than 50 countries, including India's farming regions and diverse landscapes across Africa-Tanzania, Madagascar, and Morocco-has underscored how dietary patterns are changing in real time. Drawing on these observations along with empirical research on the “nutrition transition,” I have seen traditional, fiber- and micronutrient-rich foods displaced by refined starches and ultra-processed staples. In India, dishes based on millets—such as ragi mudde and millet rotis—are increasingly replaced by refined wheat products (naan, paratha) and polished white rice. Diversity was our original source of nutrition. Finger millet, for instance, was historically grown across India's dry regions for its drought tolerance and high nutritional value, but it declined sharply under British colonial policies and post-independence development programs that prioritized rice and wheat to boost caloric intake and support nation-building.

A similar pattern is evident in parts of East Africa. In Tanzania, for example, traditional wild greens, pulses, and locally adapted crop varieties have been replaced by storage-friendly staples such as maize and rice. While these staples have helped prevent famine, they have also contributed to rising rates of overweight and obesity, especially in urban centers. Restaurants and households are more likely to serve fatty meats and cheap starchy staples—such as maize-based ugali or other milled corn products—than diverse plant-based dishes. The broad shift from diverse, climate-resilient crops to homogeneous, fragile monocultures reflects not only a dietary simplification but also a loss of ecological and nutritional resilience.

Impact of the Uricase Mutation

The external shift in our food environment interacts with risk to our internal biology. The “thrifty gene” concept proposes that some human populations evolved mechanisms to absorb energy efficiently and store fat in response to recurrent famines. Thousands of years ago, during the hunter-gatherer period, food was less abundant. Recent work on the uricase (UOX) pseudogene suggests that aspects of this thrifty phenotype emerged during the Miocene period, when our primate ancestors relied heavily on seasonal fruits (Johnson et al., 2022). Loss of uricase function elevated serum uric acid, which, under conditions of limited and seasonal fructose availability, likely enhanced the conversion of fruit sugars (fructose) into fat and helped maintain blood pressure for the consumer, thereby developing as adaptations advantageous in an environment of food scarcity and climatic instability.

Similar to how bears gorge on salmon prior to winter scarcity, early hominin and primate populations likely benefited from mechanisms that maximized body fat storage when food was abundant only in certain parts of the year. In contemporary societies characterized by sedentary lifestyles and continuous access to energy-dense, low-fiber foods, these same metabolic traits have become liabilities. Genes associated with energy efficiency and lipogenesis—including those involving uric acid metabolism and regulators like PPARGC1A—now contribute to a chronic mismatch between our physiology and our environment. Our survival traits have become our liabilities. Rather than cycling between feast and famine, many populations experience perpetual “feast,” leading to obesity, insulin resistance, and metabolic syndrome. 

Cambodian Market

Cambodia illustrates a metabolic mismatch in a post-conflict context. In a country where previous generations of Khmer communities experienced severe food shortages and political instability, including during the Khmer Rouge regime, modern urban areas like Siem Reap now offer abundant, inexpensive, hyperpalatable foods. Supermarkets and convenience stores stock sugary beverages, refined baked goods, and processed snacks. Simultaneously, street vendors sell fried rice, noodles, and roasted pork at a fraction of the cost of whole and unprocessed foods sold in higher-income countries. The famine ended, but the metabolic crisis began. The sudden caloric abundance in Cambodia, layered onto an evolutionary adaptation in the human genome shaped by food scarcity, exacerbates the tension between our Miocene-era biology and a 21st-century food environment saturated with cheap calories.

Combining insights from evolutionary biology and nutritional epidemiology, rising rates of obesity and metabolic disease can be seen not merely as failures of individual willpower but as the consequence of an ancient genome struggling to adapt to novel, calorie-rich, nutrient-poor diets.

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Anthropogenic Selection and the Erosion of Nutritional “Armor”

The shift in the Indian diet from different varieties of millets to a dominance of refined wheat and rice exemplifies directional selection driven by human policy and market incentives rather than by natural ecological pressures. During the Green Revolution, India and other countries prioritized High-Yielding Varieties (HYVs) to rapidly increase calorie output and avert famine. This strategy relied on subsidized inputs—irrigation, synthetic fertilizers, and other agrochemicals—that made large-scale production of wheat and rice highly profitable (KNN India, 2024).

While these interventions improved short-term food security, they also produced a massive genetic bottleneck. Just as maize lost substantial allelic diversity during its domestication from teosinte, Indian agriculture sacrificed a wide variety of resilient millets—including pearl, finger, and foxtail millet—in favor of a nutritionally limited portfolio dominated by wheat and rice. The narrowing of the genetic base of staple crops makes the food system more vulnerable to pests, diseases, and climate shocks and reduces the micronutrient diversity available in the human diet.

The environmental costs are equally significant. Subsidies for water-intensive wheat and rice accelerated groundwater extraction, particularly in regions like Punjab. As KNN India (2024) reports, overproduction of rice and wheat has depleted alluvial aquifers and increased the risk of long-term land degradation and desertification. The same policies that initially bolstered caloric security have thus eroded ecological buffers and nutritional diversity.

From an evolutionary perspective, the selection for high-starch yield in modern grains parallels mutations like sugary1 in maize, which altered starch composition to improve sweetness and texture at the expense of broader nutritional complexity. In the Indian context, artificial selection and post-harvest processing have effectively stripped much of the “nutritional armor” of grains—the bran and germ that contain fiber, vitamins, minerals, and healthy fats—leaving the starchy endosperm primarily.

As the Agriculture Institute (2023) notes, grains, pulses, and seeds share a three-part structure: (1) the bran or husk, rich in fiber and minerals; (2) the endosperm, a largely starch-based energy store; and (3) the germ, which contains lipids, vitamins, and other bioactive compounds. Modern food systems favor milling and refining processes that remove the bran and germ because they increase shelf life, improve uniformity of food products, and provide high caloric output. Even though this extends shelf life and produces the white flour and polished rice preferred in many markets, it eliminates key nutrients that moderate postprandial glucose spikes and support metabolic health.

Stickleback Evolution

A useful evolutionary analogy for the modern food-processing phenomenon is the three-spined stickleback. Marine sticklebacks that colonize freshwater lakes often lose their heavy bony armor, including lateral plates, because such structures are metabolically expensive and unnecessary in predator-poor environments. The reduction of armor in freshwater populations reflects selection against energetically costly traits when the selective advantage disappears. Similarly, in industrial agriculture, the bran and germ—metabolically and structurally “expensive” tissues rich in minerals, fiber, and lipids—are routinely removed because the global food market primarily rewards cheap, storable calories. The “armored” components of grains, which once provided nutritional defense against metabolic dysregulation, have been sacrificed for refined energy density.

The consequence is a diet in which refined starches, with high glycemic indices and loads, can constitute more than half of total caloric intake. In India, the common eating pattern has contributed to a population-wide metabolic crisis, particularly in urban areas, where an ancient genome adapted to whole grains, pulses, and diverse plant lipids is now replaced by rapidly absorbed carbohydrates. The loss of dietary diversity undermines not only individual health but also the genetic and environmental resilience necessary to adapt to a rapidly changing climate.

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Wild Reservoirs and the Loss of Genetic Resilience

The transition from diverse wild plant populations to genetically uniform domesticated cultivars represents a trade-off, where in exchange for greater predictability, marketability, and yield, we have forfeited much of the allelic diversity that once buffered crops against environmental change. Wild relatives and underutilized species, such as African leafy vegetables (e.g., amaranth) and tropical tubers like Amorphophallus paeoniifolius, function as genetic reservoirs, retaining variation that has been lost or severely reduced in cultivated forms.

Gao et al. (2017) demonstrate this pattern in A. paeoniifolius using RAD-seq to compare wild and cultivated populations in southwestern China. Their analysis reveals significantly higher genetic diversity in wild populations than in cultivated strains. The cultivated gene pool is more homogeneous and less structured, likely due to repeated cycles of human selection and clonal propagation. This genetic narrowing creates a bottleneck that may limit the crop’s evolutionary potential under future climate or disease pressures.

The loss of crop diversity also has direct implications for nutritional quality. In natural ecosystems, plants evolve phytochemicals such as carotenoids, phenolic compounds, and other secondary metabolites as defenses against herbivores, pathogens, and ultraviolet radiation. These same compounds often provide critical health benefits for humans, including antioxidant, anti-inflammatory, and anti-carcinogenic effects. Domesticated crops, however, have frequently been selected for reduced bitterness, milder flavors, and visual uniformity—traits that can be inversely correlated with phytochemical content.

Carotenoid Foods 

For example, carrots contain carotenoids that serve as precursors to vitamin A, essential for vision and immune function, while phenolic compounds contribute to antioxidant capacity (Agriculture Institute, 2023). Yet, selective breeding for sweetness, color uniformity, and texture can reduce concentrations of these bioactive compounds. As ultra-processed foods (UPFs) displace whole foods—particularly fruits, vegetables, legumes, and minimally processed grains—human diets increasingly lack the complex “nutrient networks” in which vitamins, minerals, and phytochemicals act synergistically. The absence of these networks, such as the co-occurrence of vitamin E and folate in many plant foods, contributes to hidden hunger: caloric sufficiency accompanied by micronutrient insufficiency.

Genetic uniformity also renders agricultural systems ecologically fragile. The model of industrial agriculture exemplified by glyphosate-tolerant “Roundup Ready” crops illustrates the pitfalls of depending on a narrow genetic base. By inserting bacterial genes that confer herbicide tolerance, breeders enabled large-scale application of glyphosate, initially simplifying weed management and boosting yields. However, this created intense selection pressure on weed populations, leading to the rapid evolution of glyphosate-resistant weeds.

In fields dominated by genetically identical crops, the emergence of a single highly adapted pest or pathogen can cause near-total system failure because there is little standing genetic variation to buffer against the new threat. Without a reservoir of alternative alleles—akin to a pool of cryptic variation—there is limited capacity for rapid evolutionary response. This is where recessive alleles and wild relatives become crucial. Wild genes are the world’s insurance policy. 

Recessive alleles often persist at low frequencies in wild populations, largely invisible until environmental conditions change. Naveenkumar et al. (2025) discuss the importance of such alleles in plantation crops like coffee and cocoa. In these systems, recessive variants underlie traits such as resistance to coffee leaf rust and tolerance to drought or cold stress. For decades, coffee production depended heavily on a narrow set of favored coffee varieties, such as high-yielding Arabica varieties, that are prized in the coffee market for flavor and market value. The reduced genetic diversity in these monocultures allowed diseases to spread rapidly and devastate plantations when new pathogens or environmental stresses emerged.

Roasting Coffee in Tanzania

While I worked as a researcher on Mount Kilimanjaro in 2024, I observed the tension within the coffee plantations themselves. In Moshi, Arabica coffee beans are grown on the mountain’s slopes because of the optimal climate conditions the trees require. When I met the farmers who managed the coffee plantations, they described how difficult it was to balance the need to grow high-yielding varieties against the increasing threat of climate-driven pests. Many of these farmers relied on the Tanzanian Coffee Board to pay them for high coffee yields, so long as the quality was high and the beans were in high demand among coffee investors worldwide. But they knew there was a risk in growing only a certain variety of coffee tree for its sustainability. On the one hand, those of us working on the tree-planting project did so to sequester carbon and improve local resilience to climate change. But the plantations relied on a dangerously narrow genetic base of crops that may not survive the very changes we were trying to slow. 

In response, breeders turned to wild Ethiopian coffee populations and other wild relatives, which harbor recessive and rare alleles conferring disease resistance and stress tolerance. This dynamic strongly parallels the well-known case of marine and freshwater sticklebacks. In marine populations, a low-Eda allele associated with reduced armor plates remained rare because full armor was advantageous in predator-rich ocean environments. However, when sticklebacks colonize freshwater habitats with fewer predators and different ecological pressures, the low-Eda allele rapidly rises in frequency and becomes a primary determinant of fitness. A previously rare, context-dependent variant becomes critical for survival.

In a similar way, as climate change intensifies droughts, heat waves, and extreme weather events—from harsher monsoons in South and Southeast Asia to prolonged dry spells in parts of Africa—the rare or recessive alleles found in wild plant populations may become essential. However, ongoing habitat loss, deforestation, and the replacement of traditional polycultures with monocultures are eroding these wild reservoirs (Gao et al., 2017). When the agriculture industry allows wild varieties and underutilized plant species to disappear from the gene pool, we effectively delete potential advantageous alleles from the global food genome.

Biodiversity in Madagascar

The loss of genetic variation is not theoretical. During my time conducting conservation research in Sainte Luce, Madagascar, I saw firsthand how the fragmentation of littoral forests directly threatens wild plant varieties that have sustained local biodiversity for millennia. Sainte Luce faced Rio Tinto miners tearing down forests filled with diverse plants that fed the local population. Even the government funded projects to keep rice fields abundant, which replaced local plants from the Malagasy people's diet. The Malagasy tribes lost their forests and their lemur habitats, but, more importantly, they lost the genetic library of their future food supply. Communities suffered from nutritional depletion and had only a narrow range of foods, as habitat loss and deforestation eroded wild plant reservoirs. My experience taught me that the loss of wild plants was devastating to every living organism in the community, not just to the forests themselves but also to the people who depend on them. 

Farmers, breeders, and policymakers face an urgent imperative to conserve and reintegrate wild genetic resources into breeding programs and agricultural landscapes. Doing so is not only a matter of preserving biodiversity for its own sake; it is a pragmatic strategy for restoring the nutritional and environmental resilience that our streamlined, domesticated systems have lost.

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The Metabolic Anachronism: Uricase, PPARGC1A, and Thrifty Genes

The current metabolic crisis is best understood as a temporal mismatch between rapid changes in agriculture and food environments and the comparatively slow pace of human genomic evolution. Our metabolic systems were adapted to environments characterized by intermittent food availability, high energy expenditure, and diverse, fiber-rich plant foods. In contrast, contemporary environments offer near-constant access to inexpensive, ultra-processed, energy-dense foods and demand far less physical activity.

The uricase pseudogene provides a particularly clear example of how a once-beneficial adaptation can become maladaptive. As Johnson et al. (2022) describe, the loss of functional uricase in the human lineage during the Miocene likely conferred a survival advantage under conditions of fruit scarcity and climatic cooling. Elevated serum uric acid enhanced the lipogenic effects of fructose, facilitating fat storage and sodium retention, thereby supporting blood pressure and survival during periods of food shortage.

In the modern era, however, the context has reversed. Fructose intake has increased dramatically, not primarily from whole fruits but from sucrose and high-fructose corn syrup embedded in sodas, packaged snacks, condiments, and baked goods. Industrial processes that convert corn starch into high-fructose corn syrup have decoupled calorie density from the broader nutritional context of food. We are trapped in a perpetual feast. Instead of consuming seasonal fruits with fiber, antioxidants, and relatively moderate sugar content, many people ingest large quantities of refined sugars in low-fiber, ultra-processed matrices.

Given a uricase-deficient physiology, this chronic fructose surplus keeps the body in a biochemical state that resembles perpetual famine preparation: storing fat, increasing triglycerides, elevating blood pressure, and promoting insulin resistance. This process is further modulated by genes like PPARGC1A, a key regulator of mitochondrial biogenesis and oxidative metabolism. Variants in PPARGC1A likely supported efficient energy utilization and endurance in physically active, hunter-gatherer contexts. In sedentary, calorie-rich environments, however, highly efficient energy conservation can contribute to positive energy balance and fat accumulation.

Importantly, evolution has not produced a single “thrifty gene” but rather a constellation of alleles that interact with specific environments. Johnson et al. (2022) emphasize that, while uricase loss and other thrifty mechanisms plausibly conferred past benefits, their role today depends heavily on dietary context. Other theoretical frameworks, such as the “drifty gene” hypothesis, propose that some obesity-related alleles spread not because they were actively selected for famine resistance, but because reduced predation pressure relaxed selection against higher body fat. In either case, contemporary patterns of obesity, diabetes, and metabolic syndrome emerge from an interplay between inherited biology and environmental change, not simply from individual-level choices.

The key point is that major changes in the human genome occur over evolutionary timescales—tens or hundreds of thousands to millions of years—not within a few generations. Our food system has transformed within roughly a century, far too quickly for genetic adaptation to keep pace. Meanwhile, any protective or moderating variants that do exist—analogous to low-frequency alleles in sticklebacks or wild crop relatives—may be unevenly distributed and context dependent. This makes it unlikely that humans can simply “evolve out” of the current metabolic mismatch via natural selection alone, especially given modern medicine’s life-extending effects and the complex ethical issues surrounding reproductive fitness.

Reframing obesity and metabolic disease as products of an evolutionary and ecological mismatch, rather than purely as matters of self-control, shifts the focus toward structural and policy-level interventions. These might include strategies to reduce dietary fructose and refined carbohydrate intake, lower serum uric acid levels where appropriate, and promote dietary patterns rich in whole, fiber-dense, minimally processed plant foods.

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Conclusion: Reclaiming Evolutionary Resilience in Food Systems and Diets

The global nutrition transition represents a public health crisis rooted in a fundamental evolutionary and ecological mismatch. By domesticating crops into high-yield, low-diversity systems and refining grains to their starchy cores, we have stripped away much of the nutrient density and phytochemical complexity that human bodies evolved to depend on. Simultaneously, by eroding wild genetic reservoirs through habitat loss, monocultures, and reliance on a narrow set of commercial varieties, we have weakened our food system's capacity to adapt to environmental shocks.

We are, in essence, a Miocene-shaped species—carrying thrifty metabolic strategies like uricase pseudogenization and energy-efficient regulators such as PPARGC1A—attempting to navigate a food environment flooded with refined grains, added sugars, and ultra-processed products. This misalignment manifests in rising rates of obesity, metabolic syndrome, and diet-related chronic disease across the globe.

Addressing this crisis requires a multi-level response grounded in evolutionary thinking. At the agricultural level, farmers, breeders, and policymakers can work to reintroduce and support underutilized, resilient crops such as millets, wild tubers, and leafy greens. This involves shifting incentives away from a narrow focus on subsidized, water-intensive staple grains and toward diversified, climate-adapted agroecosystems that integrate wild relatives and locally adapted landraces. Reducing dependence on herbicide-tolerant monocultures and instead leveraging natural genetic variation and ecological principles can foster more robust, self-renewing systems.

Support Regenerative Farming 

At the dietary and public health level, re-diversifying what we eat—prioritizing whole grains, legumes, fruits, vegetables, nuts, and seeds—can help restore the nutrient-dense “chemical signals” our metabolism expects. High-fiber, minimally processed, plant-based diets modulate postprandial glucose, lower serum uric acid, and dampen the chronic “starvation signaling” that drives fat storage and insulin resistance in a world of caloric abundance. Policy tools such as front-of-pack labeling, restrictions on marketing ultra-processed foods to children, subsidies for nutrient-dense crops, and investment in traditional and indigenous food systems can support these shifts at scale.

Evolution of Diet by National Geographic

From an evolutionary perspective, the task before nutrition researchers and policymakers is not to wish for a different genome, but to redesign food environments and agricultural landscapes that align with the one we have. This means treating both crops and humans as evolving entities shaped by historical contingencies, trade-offs, and constraints. By reintegrating biodiversity into fields and plates, and by grounding policy in evolutionary and ecological principles, we can move toward a future in which human health and planetary resilience are brought back into closer evolutionary equilibrium.

Exploring the Science and Soul of Kimchi in South Korea

Kimchi is woven into the fabric of South Korean life and has been for generations. During my time there, I saw countless varieties made from local vegetables, piled high in markets and served with almost every meal. Some were intensely spicy, others mellow and almost creamy. Some kimchi relies on daikon radish or perilla leaves, though cabbage still feels like the classic base. Every so often, you even stumble across something unexpected, like okra kimchi. It is hard to imagine a truly traditional meal without it: from bubbling kimchi tofu stews, like the one I first discovered while I was wandering through Tokyo’s Koreatown in summer 2024 when I was vegan and carefully checking for hidden shrimp in the broth to the seafood stew at my final meal in Seoul’s airport a few weeks ago, where three different kinds of kimchi (fermented soybeans, daikon, and cabbage) appeared alongside seaweed and white rice. Even that soup itself held elements of kimchi. It really does feel as though kimchi runs in the blood of Koreans. This preserved food has survived and remained central to daily life even in an age of supermarkets, refrigerators, and freezers, which have tended to push foods from other cultures aside as more ultra-processed foods take up shelf space in food markets. The powerful cultural presence of kimchi is what pushed me to explore its scientific and health benefits more intentionally.

Traditional Korean Dishes

A cornerstone of my own diet is the regular use of traditional fermented foods—kimchi, natto, miso, and others—that are affordable, accessible, and nutritionally dense across much of Asia. In Korea, the safety of kimchi is not an accident, but actually stems from a long-standing “yangnyeom” culture that relies on fermented seasoning pastes like doenjang and spicy yangnyeom mixes to support lactic acid fermentation in vegetables (Kwon et al., 2025). Making kimchi usually starts with a strong salt brine that pulls water out of the vegetables and creates a salty environment where most harmful bacteria cannot survive, but salt-tolerant, beneficial microbes can. Korean chili peppers (gochu) add more than just heat: they bring capsaicin, a pungent compound that helps keep spoilage organisms in check while favoring beneficial lactic acid bacteria such as Lactobacillus and Leuconostoc (Kwon et al., 2025). Capsaicin’s fat-loving and antioxidant properties support the growth of the lactic acid bacteria (LAB) and discourage harmful species like Helicobacter pylori and Salmonella (Kwon et al., 2025). So even though kimchi starts as a raw agricultural product, the microbial ecosystem created during fermentation renders it safe for consumers. 

Historical and Philosophical Roots

Kimchi at the Marketplace

Hongu et al. (2017) highlight that kimchi has been part of Korean meals for thousands of years. Historical documents from the Three Kingdoms Period (37 BC–668 AD) already describe the cultivation of Korean red pepper (gochu), suggesting that the fermentation of red pepper flakes (gochugaru) has shaped the region’s survival for centuries. This technique emerged as a practical response to long, cold winters, when preserving vegetables meant the difference between scarcity and survival. Traditionally, households used large earthenware jars, known as hangari or onggi, to store these treasures.

Today, kimchi carries deep social and philosophical meaning. The communal practice of kimjang—making large quantities of kimchi together for the winter—involves clear roles: men traditionally handled the heavy work of moving jars, while women led the preparation and seasoning. This culinary inheritance is passed from mothers to daughters and mothers-in-law to daughters-in-law, turning the practice into an opportunity for people to gather, talk, and share life's emotional ups and downs. Most Koreans eat it twice a day, with an average intake of about 27.6 g per person (Surya & Lee, 2022). In this way, kimchi embodies perseverance and a deep respect for the gifts of the earth and of God.

The Science of "Yangnyeom" Culture

The safety of kimchi is not an accident but stems from a long-standing yangnyeom culture that relies on fermented seasoning pastes like doenjang and spicy yangnyeom mixes (Kwon et al., 2025). The process starts with a strong salt brine that draws water from the vegetables, creating a salty environment where harmful bacteria perish but salt-tolerant, beneficial microbes thrive.

Korean chili peppers (gochu) add more than just heat; they bring capsaicin, a compound that helps keep spoilage organisms in check while favoring beneficial lactic acid bacteria (LAB) such as Lactobacillus and Leuconostoc. As these bacteria produce lactic acid, the pH drops to roughly 4.0–4.2, creating an acidic environment that very few other microbes can tolerate (Surya & Lee, 2022). Furthermore, recent research indicates that gochugaru promotes the growth of specific bacteria, such as Weissella cibaria, which are associated with anti-inflammatory, anticancer, and antibacterial effects (Hongu et al., 2017).

The Nutritional Profile and "Super Food" Status

Researchers Song et al. (2023) describe kimchi as a "super food" rich in fiber, minerals, and vitamins (A, several B vitamins, C, and K). It contains a staggering array of bioactive compounds, including:

• Gingerol, chlorophyll, and allyl compounds
• Benzyl isothiocyanate and indole compounds
• Thiocyanate and beta-sitosterol

Clinical studies show that eating kimchi can reshape the gut microbiome. What I found most interesting was the statistical difference between fermented and unfermented types: fermented kimchi generally showed better results in improving insulin resistance and sensitivity. Overall, consumption was associated with healthier measures of body fat and blood lipids (Song et al., 2023).

Park et al. (2014) further explain that the LAB in kimchi can survive the journey through the acidic stomach and small intestine. In human studies, fermented kimchi specifically was associated with decreases in waist-to-hip ratio, fasting blood glucose, total cholesterol, and leptin levels. It essentially nudges the body to burn more energy by triggering the release of catecholamines from the adrenal glands.

Addressing the Sodium Paradox

Because kimchi is a salt-fermented food, many worry about high blood pressure. Average sodium intake in Korea is over 5,000 mg per day, and kimchi is a major contributor, with about 128 mg per half-cup serving (Hongu et al., 2017).

However, the work of Song and Lee (2014) offers a more nuanced picture. While high sodium is a risk factor for hypertension, kimchi is also a key source of potassium, which can counteract sodium’s effects. Their results showed that higher kimchi consumption was not associated with a higher prevalence of hypertension, suggesting that the potassium and other nutrients in kimchi help offset its sodium content.

Modern Challenges: Medicine and Food

Historically, Koreans have lived by the saying “medicine and food come from the same source,” seeing everyday meals as a humanitarian, welfare-minded approach to health. Korea experienced significant food scarcity until the mid-1960s, but since then, rapid economic growth has pushed annual per capita income above $20,000.

Yet, compared with other countries at similar income levels, Korea still has relatively low rates of overweight and obesity—a feat many attribute to kimchi (Oh et al., 2014). However, nutrition experts are currently worried about a rise in obesity among younger generations who often choose imported instant foods over traditional banchan (side dishes).

A Personal Legacy

Busan Night Market

On a personal level, it was fascinating to be in Korea this March, wrapped in a thick coat, watching cherry blossoms open while I warmed myself with steaming stews and soups, always accompanied by kimchi and an assortment of side dishes. Watching kimchi being made—taking a few simple ingredients and turning them into something complex and alive—felt like witnessing a quiet work of art, woven into the daily routines of Korean women and men alike. The range of flavors—spicy, tangy, creamy, slightly sweet—gave me a sensory window into how Korea has persevered through hardship, especially over the last century. To me, kimchi now looks like one of the threads that have helped hold people together through war, political tension, and rapid modernization.

One of my favorite memories is walking through the Busan night market in Haeundae, hands cold from the evening air, a hot kimchi pancake warming me from the inside out. I can still feel the heat from the griddle, see the vendor—an older Korean woman—standing behind rows of ten different colorful kimchis. I tried to negotiate a fair price, not just a tourist price, and later that night, I ate the kimchi while looking up at a clear sky scattered with stars. In that moment, I felt deep gratitude to God for how simple vegetables, when treated with care, can become a vehicle for nourishment and cultural memory. Without the gift of vegetables from the earth—from God—we would not experience this kind of joy or this form of preservation that carries tradition forward generation after generation.

Church and Cherry Blossoms

As I write this, I am on my way to Taipei, where a new set of culinary traditions will invite me to keep learning from my environment. Kimchi was not entirely new to me before I visited Korea, but eating it in the place where it was born felt very different. I could almost taste the gratitude, the kimjang spirit, and the layers of history in each bite. I want to leave you with a small challenge: be intentionally grateful today, even if it feels like an ordinary day. Be grateful for the food that nourishes your body and helps you stay strong and healthy. Be grateful for the parents or caregivers who cooked for you when you were young, who served you comfort meals, and who loved you even when you pushed away the crock pot dinners or turned up your nose at vegetables you thought were too bitter.

We have the opportunity to pass down not just recipes, but also pieces of our ancestors’ souls—through dishes, stories, and the attention we give to feeding one another. I think of my paternal grandmother’s meatloaf made with tomatoes and fresh ingredients, and my maternal grandmother’s grape leaves or Greek spaghetti. Those foods were their way of saying “I love you.” I hope my future children will recognize the thought and dedication behind the preservation methods and nourishing meals I share with them. And who knows—maybe they will grow up loving kimchi as much as I do.

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3. Hongu, N., Kim, A. S., Suzuki, A., Wilson, H., Tsui, K. C., & Park, S. (2017). Korean kimchi: Promoting healthy meals through cultural tradition. Journal of Ethnic Foods, 4(3), 172-180. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jef.2017.08.005

4. Surya, R., Lee, A.GY. Exploring the philosophical values of kimchi and kimjang culture. J. Ethn. Food 9, 20 (2022). https://doi.org/10.1186/s42779-022-00136-5

5. Oh, S. H., Park, K. W., & Lee, Y. E. (2014). Preserving the Legacy of Healthy Korean Food. Journal of Medicinal Food. https://doi.org/10.1089_jmf.2014.1701.ed

6. Song, H. J., & Lee, H. (2014). Consumption of kimchi, a salt fermented vegetable, is not associated with hypertension prevalence. Journal of Ethnic Foods, 1(1), 8-12. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jef.2014.11.004

7. Park, K. Y., Jeong, J. K., Lee, Y. E., & Daily, J. W., 3rd (2014). Health benefits of kimchi (Korean fermented vegetables) as a probiotic food. Journal of medicinal food, 17(1), 6–20. https://doi.org/10.1089/jmf.2013.3083

The Health Food Obsession in Bali

Indonesian Buffet - Tiga Canggu

There’s a reason my mother loves to come to Bali. Part of it has to do with the island’s relative affordability, and the other part with the health-focused food culture that seems to be on every corner. Bali has become a magnet for health tourism: Australians fly in for a beach escape just a few hours away, while visitors from Europe and the United States arrive in search of wellness retreats, surf camps, yoga shalas, and nutrient-dense food. In Canggu, for example, “gym bros” and fitness enthusiasts migrate between weight rooms and smoothie bars, stopping at macro-focused restaurants that list the exact grams of carbohydrates, fats, and protein in every meal. Build-your-own bowls come with labels for prebiotics and probiotics, and the menus feature protein smoothies and shakes in every flavor imaginable. On nearly every block, there is a gym—whether it is a Pilates studio with a boutique selling overpriced athleisure or an MMA gym with a burger shop next door, catering to travelers trying to bulk up in Bali.

Just an hour away by motorbike, you arrive in Ubud, where I am writing this now. Here, health food is not a niche—it is the norm. There are multiple health food stores on every block. Raw vegan restaurants are commonplace, and nearly every café is vegan, gluten-free, raw, or some hybrid of those identities. My family jokingly calls this culture “earthy-crunchy”: the kind of place where you can scoop dried fruits and nuts out of bulk bins, buy cashew milk and cashew butter, or even cashew-based shampoo. Shelves are stocked with minimally processed vegan protein bars, gluten-free pizza crusts made from nuts and seeds, and natural soaps infused with tea tree oil or castile, all marketed as ways to cleanse and “detox” from the environmental stressors that define much of life in Western countries. There is something singular about this health-centered community in Bali—unlike anywhere else I have ever been.

From a nutritional standpoint, what makes Bali even more fascinating is that traditional Balinese cuisine itself is often quite health-promoting. As a visitor, you can choose to eat at Westernized, gentrified health food cafés—or you can sit down at Indonesian and Balinese warungs serving dishes that are nourishing, fiber-rich, and deeply flavorful, usually at a fraction of the cost. Many of these traditional meals offer balanced plates of rice, vegetables, legumes, herbs, and seafood, providing micronutrients and phytochemicals that support long-term health. In other words, Bali’s wellness scene is not only imported; it is also rooted in local foodways that have nourished communities for generations.

Health Bowl - Motion Cafe

There are many aspects of Balinese culture that make the island uniquely appealing to health-conscious travelers. For people with food allergies, intolerances, or specific dietary goals, the sheer number of options—vegan, gluten-free, raw, organic, or low-sugar—can feel liberating. Beyond the plate, there is the restorative environment itself: organic, minimally processed foods that reduce the burden of additives; open-air cafés bathed in natural sunlight that support vitamin D synthesis; and easy access to the ocean and nature, which can reduce cortisol levels and promote grounding. Yet for this blog, I focus specifically on Bali’s health food stores and wellness cafés. As a future nutritionist and a conscious tourist, I see these spaces as both an opportunity and a responsibility: they can transform how we eat and live, but they also raise urgent questions about equity, culture, and access. Furthermore, the earthy-crunchy aesthetic does not just influence expats and travelers—it is actively reshaping the local Balinese community, particularly among youth who live and work alongside us.

Bali has effectively become an international hub for plant-based food, a visibility that researchers argue is essential as Indonesia navigates its rapid nutrition transition (Richadinata et al., 2025). Their research focuses on my own generation, Gen Z (born approximately 1997–2012), and identifies Bali as an international hub for organic and plant-based food. This visibility has contributed to broader trends in Indonesia toward greater nutritional literacy and sustainability awareness, both of which are essential as the country navigates a rapid transition in its nutrition landscape. The study found that two of the most important drivers of healthy food purchase intention among local Gen Z tourists were health consciousness and media exposure (Richadinata et al., 2025). Young people who already care about their health are more likely to make intentional food choices, and social media content further shapes what they see as normal, aspirational, or socially desirable.

Eating, then, is not just biological—it is deeply social. In Bali, the normalization of organic, raw, vegan, and gluten-free options within an international tourism context can have positive spillover effects for Indonesian youth. When “clean eating” becomes embedded in the social fabric—shared on Instagram stories, recommended by friends, and associated with status and belonging—it can support healthier subjective norms. Importantly, Richadinata et al. (2025) note that this health food market increasingly serves not only international visitors but also local consumers. For someone like me, who is passionate about disrupting harmful nutrition transitions in low- and middle-income countries, this is compelling. One way to support youth dietary change is to harness the very platforms that shape their identities—Instagram, TikTok, and other social media—to promote nourishment, prevent type 2 diabetes and obesity, and support long-term metabolic health. In that sense, being immersed in a health-focused tourism culture can be an asset, so long as it remains accessible and inclusive. Yet when health becomes a social media trend, it brings the hidden cost of widening the gap between those who can afford the status of wellness and those who are priced out of it.

Canggu Rice Fields 

To understand the broader food consumption landscape in Bali, it is helpful to look beyond tourist enclaves. Najib et al. (2020) studied urban consumers and examined the gap between Indonesia’s strong potential as an organic food producer and the relatively small size of its domestic organic market. Surveying major cities in Java and Bali, they found that consumers who buy organic foods prefer specialty fruit markets most, followed by supermarkets (36%), and only then traditional markets (5%; Najib et al., 2020). Food choices, they argue, are a form of social signaling: typical organic consumers tend to be highly educated office workers, and buying organic products functions as a badge of “modernity” and “intellectual awareness,” signaling both nutritional knowledge and disposable income.

These patterns raise important questions about equity and social stratification. As Najib et al. (2020) show, many consumers are intentional about where they shop and pay close attention to labeling. They often prefer branded specialty stores—like the organic shops I encounter daily in Ubud—over traditional markets that support local farmers and small-scale entrepreneurs. This shift funnels more revenue to supermarkets and upscale boutiques while weakening smaller enterprises. The aura around these specialized health stores turns “healthy eating” into a lifestyle choice associated with elite identity rather than a basic right. Middle- and upper-class Balinese residents are more likely to afford imported goods and high-margin health foods, while low-income families may be priced out of both these stores and the most nutritious traditional foods. As a result, social desirability leans toward conspicuous consumption rather than buying local, making it harder to normalize healthy eating across socioeconomic classes.

For me, this is one of the most troubling paradoxes of Bali’s wellness economy. Nutrient-dense foods should be accessible regardless of income, family size, or educational background. Yet lower-income households often have less access to reliable nutrition education and may be more vulnerable to the marketing of ultra-processed foods. Fried chicken shops, sugary beverages, and packaged snacks can displace the rice, vegetables, legumes, and seafood that have long formed the backbone of balanced Indonesian diets. Without intentional interventions—including nutrition literacy campaigns, subsidies for traditional staples, and support for local producers—the health food revolution risks becoming a story of exclusion rather than empowerment. The social stratification we see in where people shop and eat is not just about personal preference; it is the visible result of systemic forces that have been quietly re-engineering the Balinese landscape for decades.

Atwood (2024), in a study from Saint Michael’s College, examines the commodification of local food systems in Bali and traces how the island’s food landscape has been reshaped by external and institutional pressures. She identifies three primary forces driving the shift from whole foods to ultra-processed products—forces that sit at the heart of my own interest in nutrition transitions in lower-income settings. First, policies designed to fight hunger and increase rice production encouraged monoculture and discouraged crop diversity, reducing the availability of a wide range of fruits and vegetables. Second, the growth of palm oil, sugar, and wheat-based products facilitated an explosion of ultra-processed foods that are often cheaper than fresh produce, making them attractive for rural and low-income families (Atwood, 2024).

Third, social media has created powerful aspirations around Western-style eateries and trendy restaurant spaces. For young Balinese people scrolling through Instagram, the brightly lit cafés and aesthetically pleasing smoothie bowls can trigger a fear of missing out. Instead of choosing traditional Balinese food—rich in vitamins, minerals, fiber, and diverse phytochemicals—they may gravitate toward fast food burgers, fried snacks, and ultra-processed meals that resemble the Standard American Diet. Tourism compounds this dynamic. As more visitors come to Canggu and Ubud specifically for their food scenes, traditional warungs that once served family-style home-cooked meals face pressure to Westernize: raising prices, altering recipes, and incorporating more processed ingredients to appeal to foreign tastes. According to Atwood (2024), processed foods now occupy an estimated 59%–62% of supermarket shelf space, a striking indicator of how quickly food environments are changing.

Traditional foods, in other words, are being crowded out—both symbolically and physically. Social media aesthetics and tourism dollars can make Western-style food appear more desirable, even in communities with rich culinary heritages. To counter this, there is a need to create new norms that celebrate healthy eating rooted in local traditions: making Indonesian meals “cool” again, promoting whole-food diets as aspirational, and ensuring that traditional fruit and vegetable vendors remain visible and accessible. Conscious tourists have a role to play here. If you come to Bali wanting to eat healthfully, one of the most impactful choices you can make is to embrace local cooking rather than demanding replicas of the foods you eat at home. That decision influences not only the tourism sector but also the local food economy and youth health trajectories. When Balinese youth are immersed in media that glamorizes high-priced Western foods, those foods can appear more socially prestigious than a humble plate from a home-style warung. Reorienting that prestige toward traditional, minimally processed dishes is essential for preventing rising rates of chronic disease. If we want to reverse the crowding-out of traditional nutrition, we have to look closely at what drives us—individually and collectively—to make a change.

Septiani et al. (2024) investigated consumer purchase intentions and decisions regarding organic foods in Indonesia and found that responsibility for one’s own health is a key motivator. Many Indonesians view organic products as a preventive health strategy, particularly to avoid chronic disease and pesticide residues. This suggests that when we think about strategies to promote health in Bali, we should recognize that perceived personal health benefits may matter more to consumers than abstract environmental sustainability goals (Septiani et al., 2024). Stronger regulations on harmful agricultural chemicals, paired with education about the long-term benefits of organic and minimally processed foods, could therefore support both local residents and the growing tourism sector. For me, as both a future nutritionist and a conscious tourist, the challenge is to align my individual choices with these broader structural goals: to spend money in ways that sustain traditional foodways, to amplify evidence-based nutrition information, and to advocate for food environments in Bali—and beyond—that make the healthiest option the easiest and most affordable choice.

As Westerners, many people travel to find “the best” version of what they already know—the perfect latte, the most aesthetic açaí bowl, the gym that feels like home. Even my own family members travel to Thailand or Bali for the Western experience, often seeking the comfort of a burger or the superfoods they expect to find, even when they are in a new place with a completely different culture. But Bali offers a different kind of invitation if we are willing to listen to the people who have lived here for generations, with their own nutritional wisdom and the cultural soul they put into their cooking and spiritual practices.

Real wellness looks different in every country, and you can choose to be open to experiencing health through someone else’s eyes. Yes, in Bali, you are free to buy detox juices with turmeric and ginger that cost more than a local family’s daily grocery budget. But there is also an opportunity here to be intentional with your presence as a tourist. You can pick the local warung over the gentrified café with Westernized ingredients. It is cheaper, and it puts money into the local economy, helping ensure the survival of a food system that has sustained human life for centuries. There are superfoods in Indonesia that cost an arm and a leg at Whole Foods Market or your organic shop in the States. In this environment, however, they grow in volcanic soil, naturally rich in minerals, and are prepared by hands that know the history of the spices.

Warung Bu Mi Meal in Canggu

Mindful travel is an act of nutritional humility. It asks us to stop trying to colonize the local menu with our own dietary trends and instead to learn from the balance of the Indonesian plate. We can encourage ourselves to step out of our daily dietary routines and embrace local foods that are as close to the earth—and to God—as possible. It reminds us that our spending power is a responsibility. Every time we choose to support a small-scale entrepreneur or a traditional market vendor, we help push back against the tide of ultra-processed “modernity” that threatens the metabolic health of this island. And this matters not just for Bali, but for anywhere we go and choose to call ourselves tourists and travelers. Support local entrepreneurs, encourage cultural awareness, and consider the economic consequences of transforming local food systems—and how that impacts young people and the health of future generations, especially when lower-income families can no longer afford traditional foods and ingredient prices rise. People resort to cheap bags of snacks from the Circle K or M Mart.

I do not mean we need to stop eating clean. Instead, we can embrace “connected eating” through cultural openness and by being tourists who nourish the places that nourish us. Last night, I could have eaten at any organic, vegan, gluten-free restaurant. Still, I walked into Warteg Bulango Peliatan instead, and for 39,000 rupiah, roughly $2.50 USD, I topped my plate with fresh tempeh, capcay mixed vegetables, spicy aubergine, and curry leaves. I felt satisfied and grateful to communicate with and connect with the local business and the family running the shop, who cook everything homemade in their back kitchen and open themselves up to people like me who are not from here. I felt welcomed, and I felt like it was truly clean food. Choosing local whole foods is an opportunity to care for our bodies and ensure that the beauty of local Balinese food culture remains accessible, vibrant, and healthy for the generations of Indonesians who call this paradise home.

It is such a humbling experience to learn from people abroad—how they nourish themselves, their religious rituals, and their local economy and geopolitics—and I hope your next journey allows you to experience a culture in this same, humble way.

References 

Atwood, P. (2024). The commodification of local food systems in Bali: Social media, processed foods, and government policies (Independent Study Project (ISP) Collection, 3726). SIT Digital Collections. https://digitalcollections.sit.edu/abr2/2

Najib, M., Septiani, J. S., & Sumarwan, U. (2020). Organic food market in Java and Bali: Consumer profile and marketing channel analysis. Buletin Ilmiah Litbang Perdagangan, 14(2), 283–300. https://doi.org/10.30908/bilp.v14i2.457

Richadinata, K. R. P., Putra, I. M. L. A., Kusuma, A. M. I. W., Pratama, P. Y. A., Widnyani, N. M., & Lisnawati, N. M. A. (2025). Antecedents of healthy food purchase intention among local Gen-Z tourists in Bali. Journal of Economics and Public Health, 4(1), 27–36. https://doi.org/10.37363/jeph.v4i1.7068

Satrio, M., Nugraha, P. A., Anggara, A., & Hiyarialvi, H. (2025). The impact of over tourism on Balinese traditional food and beverages as part of image destination. Journal of Sustainable Tourism and Entrepreneurship, 7(2), 173–184. https://doi.org/10.35912/joste.v7i2.3682

Septiani, J. S., Hakim, D. L., Rahmiati, F., Amin, G., & Mangkurat, R. S. B. (2024). The factors influence on consumers purchase intention and purchase decisions of organic food in Indonesia. Bioculture Journal, 2(1), 1–18. https://doi.org/10.61511/bioculture.v2i1.2024.877