Bria Vaughn
Staff Writer
In the mid-1900s, an invention forced the world’s systems to update—continuously advancing the software of our realities. The “Age of Information and Technology” began with the invention of the transistor and the ENIAC, the first all-purpose digital computer. Fast forward several decades, and 98 percent of Americans own a cell phone. Technology has shaped nearly every aspect of life—how we make money, communicate, go to college, and, unassumingly, how we eat. From the rise of visual recipes to algorithm-driven culinary trends, we now find ourselves at a crossroads between tradition and digital influence, consumption and curation, and personal taste versus corporate engineering.
As a child, I sat on my grandmother’s couch, tuned into Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations and Man vs. Food, fully enamored by the different culinary methods and exotic foods they explored. I kept a notebook in my lap, writing down names of restaurants and cities, so I could one day travel and taste the world. By high school, I had traded travel shows for cooking competitions like Good Eats and Top Chef, studying techniques to recreate dishes at home. My grandmother, excited to try new recipes after a few decent experimental meals, would record cooking segments from Good Morning America and The Today Show so we could try them all. She often marveled at how easier it was to follow a recipe when you could see the chef in action. These visual recipes revolutionized home cooking, allowing us to expand our palates in the comforts of our homes. Beyond our homes, technology has opened doors— allowing people to explore new cuisines, helping home chefs transform their passion into careers, and giving small restaurants the chance to reach audiences far beyond their local communities.
Social media has transformed home chefs into influencers, with platforms like TikTok, YouTube, and Instagram thriving on food content. #FoodTok generates billions of views, feeding an endless loop of cooking tutorials, viral recipes, restaurant reviews, and even mukbangs. The key to this phenomenon lies in algorithms– software designed to predict what will keep users engaged. This pressure to go viral has forced culinary influencers to create provocative content.
The result? Hennessy-jerk-lemon pepper-salmon-stuffed-mac-and-cheese-egg-rolls. A single viral video and grocery stores are emptied of pasta shells, Greek yogurt, and cherry tomatoes in an attempt to recreate Anna Paul’s Viral Turkish Pasta because she makes it look so delicious. A struggling mom-and-pop restaurant randomly wakes up to lines wrapped around the block thanks to a glowing review from a nationally recognized food critic—better known as the Keith Lee Effect. We are no longer just eating food; we are consuming trends, dictated by algorithms that tell us what’s delicious before we ever take a bite.
Corporations are privy to this power, turning viral food trends into strategic marketing campaigns. The new Don Julio tequila and Popeyes chicken collaboration, for example, was no coincidence. Seemingly overnight, the spirit was possessing the algorithm, Don Julio 1942 flooded social media with viral jingles, celebrity endorsements, and even songs named after the tequila. Its sudden popularity was not organic. It was intentional, calculated. Don Julio partnered with celebrities and rappers to frame the liquor as an exclusive, high-end status symbol, primarily targeting Black and brown audiences. The inevitable emulation of the perceived upper class caused Don Julio to fly off the shelves, leading to a 20 percent rise in sales in 2023—mirroring the 2019 Popeyes Chicken Sandwich Craze, which also saw a 20 percent sales increase. The morality and racial implications of Popeyes chicken collaborating with Don Julio tequila— specifically its targeted promotion to Black culture– must be critically analyzed. Are our favorite foods just products of successful advertising?
Food has always been political. Long before the age of information, it was a tool of both capitalism and survival. Entire towns were designed around food production. Enslaved Africans were forced to cultivate crops that fueled economies they were excluded from. Until recently, diets were exclusively dictated by geography and seasonality—but now, with the seemingly ubiquitous access to grocery stores– urban and rural areas are plagued by food apartheid– our diets appear to have unlimited potential. The illusion of abundance does not equate to accessibility. Algorithms and corporations dictate what food trends gain traction. And food apartheid remains, even as social media convinces us we have limitless choice.
Technology has given us more access than ever before, but it has also introduced new forms of control. I say —for better or worse, technology is shaping our relationship with food. But what happens next is up to us. Will we use it as a tool to create more opportunities, support local economies, and reclaim agency over what we eat? Or will we continue consuming whatever is on our plate without questioning?
Who is really controlling the menu?
caption: Photo courtesy of independent.co.uk (iStock/TikTok)
