Guns, Germs, and Steel

Personal Statement​

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From the moment I stir-fried my first ceremonial onion, I was liberated from the tyranny of my Dad’s boring ziti. At first I had been bewildered by the shining new wok, delivered from San Francisco's famous Wok Shop as a gift from my best friend. But I quickly realized I had been ushered into an era of actually learning the culinary arts instead of begrudgingly nibbling on Salisbury steak. As I cooked, I became fascinated with the histories of each recipe I made. Some dishes, like mapo tofu, have well-known legends (although each friend I asked told the story of the pocked-faced grandma a little differently), and I pieced together other histories myself. For example, pad thai became Thailand’s national dish in a bid to reduce rice consumption during a famine, and its fish sauce might be a descendant of Roman Garum after traversing the silk road. Garum’s history is disputed though, and the more I learned about food, the more curious I became about the debates surrounding its impact on cultural forces that shape society. 

 

One argument from Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs, and Steel is that the physical environment (food included) is a key factor in how societies develop. Before potatoes arrived via trade with the Americas, for example, my Irish ancestors lived a sad, ‘taterless existence. 

 

The question this raised for me is to what extent does our globalized world have remnants of that regionalized past? I love spicy food, so I took a look at spices. Spices are more common towards the equator since they serve as antimicrobials and fungus propagates faster in warmer environments. Does that also mean cultures closer to the equator consume more spices?

 

To determine whether there is any relationship between geography and spice consumption, I turned to statistical analysis. I compiled spice consumption per capita for 100+ countries over a five-year span and paired it with the average distance from the equator. A regression returned an R^2 value of 0.13, indicating no relationship between spice consumption and a nation’s proximity to the equator.

 

This raised a new question: is the non-relationship because northern climates have their own spices, or is it because trade has made spice ubiquitous? To test this, I needed to determine whether it was true that spices were primarily equatorial and whether trade impacted spice consumption.

 

I started by investigating trade, using regressions against poverty and GDP as proxies for ability to import. They didn’t yield meaningful R^2 values, however, the two low-consumption outliers, Venezuela and Angola, both have strict import controls, which suggested trade is relevant.

 

Next, I investigated whether spices are more common towards the equator. Google Scholar didn’t turn up any quantitative studies, so I figured I would need to test this hypothesis myself with another regression. The first question: where do I find a list of every spice? Wikipedia listed 200 distinct spices, but how do I know the list is representative? What about multiple spices that are extracted from the same plant? What qualifies as a spice anyway? Most importantly, how do I determine what latitude value to assign to each spice? There wasn’t a consensus on many spices’ origins, or the consensus was vague (how do I convert “West Asia” to a latitude?). 

 

A few hours into an Excel spreadsheet, I realized there was no way I could make a methodologically sound regression since each spice required so much research. Qualitatively, the scholarly consensus is that spices tended to be equatorial. Quantitatively, the world will have to wait.

I didn’t have to wait to appreciate what I had learned: the fact I can obtain coriander for $0.93 per ounce has not just freed me from the scourge of ziti, but has also fundamentally reshaped diets worldwide. Whenever I make a curry, spice up bibimbap, or add hoisin to my pho, I’m playing a small part in a global transformation.