This article explores a cultural history of peppercorn and its famous characterization as a “numbing spice.” It investigates how the quality of “numbing spice” extended from East Asian cosmologies that engaged with peppercorn, also known as mountain pepper or sanshō 山椒 , as a medical, literary, and culinary object. Medieval and early modern encyclopedias in China described how the plant's vivid colors reflected cosmological relationships that promised better health and eternal youth. The plant's desirability represented what I call “numbing aesthetics,” in that its taste was directly tied to its appearance and utility. When burned, boiled, or crushed, forms of peppercorn could treat hemorrhages, hair loss, swollen scrotums, and toothaches. Beautiful peppers were more effective; ugly peppers were less effective. These many types of plants had many kinds of names with origin stories that derived from young girls, young couples, pigs, and frogs. As a social metaphor, pepper dust became a popular metaphor for describing confined concubines. This article later argues that these qualities fell away when biologists attempted to reduce the plant into its active molecular components in the twentieth century. Tokyo-based chemists imperfectly distilled numbing juices from the pepper's bark and fruit to define numbness as a single unit of flavor, even when numbness was not a classical kind of flavor and more closely resembled tingling vibrations. But by becoming a quasi-category of flavor, the molecularization of peppercorn would diminish its long history of cosmological associations that were gendered, practiced, and otherworldly.

After the 1923 Great Kantō Earthquake, Tokyo rebuilt and extended its transportation infrastructure to bring the major areas for residence, business, and pleasure within walking distance, and that sparked a new genre of food writing, the Walker's Guide to Dining ( tabearuki ). First published in 1929, the year of the Great Depression, and continued up to the mid-1930s, the books by different authors that shared the title Walker's Guide documented affordable places to eat and new communities of restaurant customers, while pioneering new ways to write about food. Gaining particular attention in these books for their inexpensive and varied menus and their mixed gender clientele were trending restaurants called shokudō , a term that referred both to diners and dining halls in department stores. The Walker's Guides and the diner / dining hall can be called technologies of taste for the way they assembled diverse culinary experiences and made them legible for a mass market.

In those neighborhoods that epidemiologists identify as “food deserts,” access to food is difficult and limited to unhealthy options, whereas in “food oases,” access to healthy food is easier and widely available. Based on ethnographic fieldwork in Mexican Chicago, this article moves from the deterministic, spatial frameworks of food deserts and food oases toward a meaning-centered framework of residents' creation of food access and acquisition. Many residents feel that, given the metropolitan structure of Chicago, they can access the resources necessary for their gastronomic lives. Further, they do not conceive of food access as embedded in a static environment but as created from their activities and their opportunities for mobility. They treat the wider Chicago metropolis as their community, particularly areas that are easily accessible by car. Immigrants explain that they can find products from their homeland. They report that compared to past decades, the availability of Mexican products is greater today: both a larger variety of products and an increased diversity of outlets that sell these products. These findings suggest that in the case of Mexican Chicago, the dual imageries of food desert and food oasis are inadequate. Residents highlight access to transportation and the presence of stores that cater to a wide variety of eaters.