What Does Sustainable Food Travel Actually Look Like?
In a world where experience is currency and identity is curated online, food has become one of the most powerful ways we express who we are and who we hope to become, especially when we travel. Culinary choices signal taste, values and belonging, transforming meals into markers of identity. According to a market analysis by Grand View Research, the global culinary tourism market was valued at $11.5 billion in 2023 and is projected to climb to $40.5 billion by 2030. What was once a niche interest has become a booming global industry, reshaping the way we travel and eat. This surge is fueled by a growing appetite for locally sourced ingredients and a desire among travelers to immerse themselves in new cultures through food. But beneath this seemingly beautiful way to experience the world lies an unsustainable pace and an underbelly that’s often overlooked. Culinary tourism may promise connection, but it can just as easily slip into extraction.
At its best, culinary tourism is a gateway to genuine connection. A plate of takoyaki in Tokyo, street tacos in Mexico City or a bowl of phở in Hanoi can offer more than just a meal, they hold stories, memory and a sense of place. But at its worst, these moments are reduced to cheap souvenirs and social currency: content crafted to feed our feeds more than our curiosity. The line between meaningful exploration and shallow consumption is razor-thin. And the more pressing question I keep thinking about is this: What does sustainable food travel actually look like?
A few months back, just as I was boarding a Turkish Airlines flight for a culinary trip through Turkey’s Black Sea region, a headline caught my eye: “Does ‘sustainable food travel’ really exist?” It was a piece written by a guest writer, Michaela, for the Food People newsletter (below) and the timing had me clicking into the article without hesitation.
The article outlined the tensions between food, travel and sustainability struck a chord. Like her, I’ve built my life around food, studying it, writing about it and chasing its many meanings across borders. I, too, have wandered through Turkish pazars and Parisian markets with awe, driven by a desire to understand culinary tradition. But I’ve also felt the tug of guilt, on long-haul flights, in overcrowded city centers and when scrolling past the latest Instagram hotspot where food becomes performance and consumption eclipses care.
The Double-Edged Fork
Food tourism is often framed as a form of cultural appreciation. Done well, it can support local economies, preserve food traditions and foster cross-cultural empathy. But it can also be extractive. The very act of flying halfway around the world for the “most authentic” version of a dish contributes to the emissions that destabilize the climates that nourish it. Trend-chasing can drive up prices, displace locals and put unsustainable strain on small-scale food producers.
In other words, food tourism has the power to both celebrate and commodify the very cultures it claims to honor. With that in mind, it’s worth reflecting on how we share our experiences and “report back” after a trip, often fueling the engine of food tourism itself. In June, Abena Anim-Somuah explored this dynamic in her article “The ‘Guides’ Are Killing the Vibes” (below).
In the article, Abena reflects on her complicated relationship with city food guides, particularly a Bon Appétit reel about Mexico City, where she lives and knows the food culture deeply. While she sometimes enjoys food guides, this one was particularly underwhelming. It didn’t capture the richness or nuance she sees every day.
“The funny—or rather sad— thing about this video is that it’s a representation of ‘guide’ culture and what happens when we are fed content that doesn’t encourage us to experience but merely to consume.” - Abena Anim-Somuah
I appreciate her perspective, it has challenged me to rethink how I approach writing about a city’s food culture that I am not immersed in. Rather than offering a checklist of must-visit spots, I now see it more as an opportunity to shape the mood of an experience, to tell a fuller story.
And I’d take her argument a step further: more often than not, guides created by visitors just passing through will feel, at best, underwhelming to those who live and breathe the local food scene and at worst, they can come off as cheapened or reductive. I have personally experienced this frustration when people visit İstanbul, İzmir or other cities in Turkey that I have spent considerable time in.
Two of her solutions, that I wholeheartedly agree with, is this:
“Hire a local or an expat who has spent significant time in the city, someone who is paying attention to the shifting nature of the scene. Second, learn more about how locals eat in the city…present us with the one thing that you could only really savor when you are walking through the city’s tree-lined streets.”
She offers many more insights in her piece and I recommend giving it a read. But these particular suggestions stood out to me as a powerful example of shifting from mere consumption to genuine connection.
Rethinking My Approach
So, is food tourism inherently unethical? No, gosh, I hope not! But I think it does require rethinking. I want to start shifting the narrative from consumption to connection and that means asking harder questions from the onset:
What am I seeking when I travel for food? Is it novelty, nostalgia, status or understanding?
Am I supporting food systems that sustain the land and the people who live on it? Or am I just snapping the perfect photo?
What would it look like to engage with food cultures more slowly, more locally, more respectfully?
Slowing down doesn’t mean giving up travel, it means being more intentional about where we go, how we spend and who benefits. That might look like visiting second cities and rural regions instead of the “top 10” lists, building relationships with producers and farmers or exploring food diversity within our own communities before heading abroad.
Toward a More Ethical Appetite
I think food travel is about practicing humility, asking better questions and recognizing that being a guest, especially in someone else’s food culture, is a responsibility, not a right. The meals we remember most aren’t always the ones that go viral. They’re the ones rooted in human exchange: the ones where we listen as much as we taste.
Michaela writes: “Sometimes the best intentions don’t match our impacts.” We can love the world and still hold ourselves accountable for how we move through it. Eating with empathy, traveling with care and savoring with awareness might just be the most ethical path forward for hungry travelers everywhere.
LOVED reading this piece, and thank you for the shoutout. It always sparks a little joy when you feel like your piece of work can continue the conversation, and you've done it so beautifully!!
Thank you so much for writing this, Jo. I've been thinking about this since we returned from Istanbul. I've shared some of the spices I brought back with me with other people who I know will appreciate them, and I've enjoyed finding ways to use them in my own kitchen. I've also been trying to think about what food tourism in the US might look like for me, since the thought of flying too often makes me feel guilty about my carbon footprint.