I’ve often found that the flavours of hardship have a curious way of lingering on the palate. On my travels, I’ve stumbled across countless dishes that, unbeknownst to many diners, owe their existence to the battlegrounds of history. War, with all its trauma, has been an unlikely but powerful culinary catalyst, shaping what and how people eat through necessity, improvisation, and unexpected cross-cultural mingling.
One pot stop
Budae jjigae | Pic: Unplash
budae jjigaeTake for instance budae jjigae, or “army base stew” from South Korea, which truly is a bubbling pot of irony and ingenuity. After the Korean War in the 1950s, food was scarce and the country devastated. Locals living near American military bases began combining surplus rations, be it Spam, tinned baked beans, hot dogs, or processed cheese, with Korean staples like kimchi, gochujang, and instant noodles. The result is a spicy, hearty stew that’s now served in trendy Seoul restaurants with a wink to its gritty origins. What once was survival food has turned into a nostalgic comfort dish for many Koreans.
Similarly, Japan’s beloved kare raisu (Japanese curry rice) has roots not in traditional Japanese cooking, but in a British-Indian concoction. During the Meiji Restoration, Japanese naval officers encountered the British Royal Navy, who had adopted Indian-style curry as part of their rations. The thickened curry, made with a roux and often sweetened with apples, was easily adapted into a form that suited Japanese tastes and logistics—cheap, filling, and made with long-lasting ingredients. Today, it’s a school lunch staple and a weeknight favourite across Japan.
Rations to riches
Japanese Katsu Kare | Pic: Unplash
War not only transforms ingredients, but also reshapes entire national palates. In Hawaii, the canned meat (generally, pressed pork) Spam became so embedded in local cuisine that the islands now consume more of it per capita than anywhere else in the world. Introduced during World War II when refrigeration was scarce and protein was rationed, Spam proved to be the perfect military staple. It didn’t spoil, and it could be fried, grilled, or stewed. From Spam musubi (a sushi-like snack) to Spam loco moco (a gravy-laden Hawaiian plate), it’s a salty reminder of wartime improvisation that stuck.
In Europe, war’s impact on food was perhaps even more direct. S.O.S. or “S#!t on a Shingle,” as it was (crudely!) known to American soldiers, was a Depression-era dish made of creamed chipped beef on toast. It became a military standard during both World Wars and was loathed and loved in equal measure. Similarly, the Brits grew accustomed to odd wartime substitutions during WWII. Woolton pie, named after the then Minister of Food, was a meatless pie of root vegetables, oats and a white sauce, created to combat meat shortages. Though hardly beloved, it kept a nation running.
Even beloved Middle Eastern dishes weren’t immune. In Lebanon during times of siege and rationing, people began to modify classic stews like mujaddara (a dish of lentils and rice) to use bulgur instead of rice, or onions instead of expensive meat. These adaptations were born of scarcity but have since become authentic regional variants in their own right.
Wartime foodways
ANZAC cookies | Pic: Unplash
Sometimes, war doesn’t just modify existing recipes, it forges entirely new symbols of national identity. In Australia and New Zealand, the humble ANZAC biscuit carries with it the weight of history and memory. During the First World War, mothers, wives and sisters baked these sturdy oat-based biscuits to send to soldiers serving overseas. Designed to last the long sea voyage without spoiling, they were made without eggs (using golden syrup as a binder instead) and became a lifeline of sweetness from home.
Today, the ANZAC biscuit is no longer tied only to the battlefield but has become a staple in both countries. Eaten with tea, sold in supermarkets, and baked fresh in family kitchens, it serves as a soft-edged reminder of sacrifice and resilience. Each April, on ANZAC Day, the biscuits are baked and shared anew, a culinary tradition that underscores how war shaped not only the way Australians and New Zealanders look at biscuits, but also how they commemorate service and loss through food.
Ramen revolt
Ramen | Pic: Unplash
Even ramen, now a global darling, owes part of its popularity to post-war adversity. After World War II, Japan faced severe food shortages. The United States supplied vast amounts of wheat flour as aid, which wasn't a Japanese staple at the time. Inexpensive wheat noodles became the foundation of street food for hungry urban populations. Later, in 1958, Momofuku Ando invented instant ramen as a cheap, shelf-stable solution for a country in recovery. What started as an economic necessity is now slurped around the world.
Pho | Pic: Unplash
It’s clear that these dishes are more than just meals. They’re edible time capsules. Layers of history, migration, colonisation, and conflict, served on a plate. They remind us that while war disrupts, it also forces innovation. People find ways to adapt, to preserve tradition, or to craft something entirely new from the unfamiliar and the unwanted.
So, the next time you tuck into a steaming bowl of ramen, or a spoonful of Japanese curry rice, consider the stories stirred into those ingredients. They speak of resilience, survival, and an eternal hunger not just for food, but for identity, continuity, and comfort in the most uncertain of times.
