Did you know that one of the most trendy empires right now (particularly dear to Gen Z, seemingly according to online trends) is the baklava empire? This culinary kingdom stretches from the Balkans to Central Asia, and comprises every country listed in the Wikipedia article on “baklava”.

But even the slightest exposure to the people living within this so-called empire is enough to show that you can’t just walk into Greece and say: baklava is Turkish; or visit Albania and suggest it’s a Bulgarian dish.

Baklava isn’t the only dish sparking controversy in the greater South-Eastern Europe region. Foods like dolma, burek, halva, and dozens of other regional delicacies are more than culinary staples. They’ve become cultural symbols, wrapped up in questions of national pride, identity, and history.

I remember when I was in my early teens, my mum asked in a Tbilisi café if she could get some “normal” coffee – by which she meant the type commonly drunk in Armenia, often called “Armenian coffee”. I asked the waiter if they had Armenian coffee. He looked confused. I pointed at the photo in the menu and he sighed: “Ah, Turkish coffee.”

Needless to say, I was shocked. Hailing from Yerevan, for my teenage self, that little cup of strong coffee was the most Armenian thing in the world. But as I grew older, I learned that many of the foods and drinks I considered uniquely Armenian – from tahn to sujukh – are also claimed, just as passionately, by other countries across the region.

The desire to “own” these foods runs so deep that it occasionally sparks full-on “food wars”. One of the more infamous examples played out between Armenia and Türkiye (unsurprisingly, given the genocidal past when Armenian-American media icon Kim Kardashian posted a photo of lahmajun, a pizza-like dish, with the caption: “Who knows about lahmajun? This is our Armenian pizza.”

Just like wildfire, social media went crazy. Turkish users in particular accused her of “stealing” the dish, widely known as Turkish pizza. At some point, the lahmajun controversy became so serious that some Turkish TV channels broadcast programmes elaborating on the dish's history, arguing for its Turkish origins.

There is a scholarly term for this: gastronationalism. And it’s not just found in social media comment sections or late-night talks – it’s also part of high-level politics. Outraged by the “plagiarism” of dolma (delicious rice wrapped in wine leaves), Azerbaijan’s president Ilham Aliyev decided to settle the matter once and for all, declaring dolma the national dish of Azerbaijan.

But there’s the other side of the coin. Across this wide and complicated region, shared food has a unifying power. The same dolma, burek and hummus that often stir national rivalries have also sparked conversations – even friendships – between neighbours with troubled histories.

In my hometown, Yerevan, one of the oldest and most recognisable anti-war street art pieces reads: “Make dolma, not war.” The slogan “Make hummus, not war” later inspired a documentary promoting peace between Palestinians and Israelis.

It was “Make burek, not war” that really started the trend. It began as a piece of graffiti in Sarajevo, but grew into something much bigger – a slogan waved in protests across the Balkans, a popular meme page on Instagram, and yes, even a line of merch.