The Hong Kong supermarket looked like usual. Last week, when I visited a shop in Manhattan’s Chinatown, a bucket of live crab was stacked precariously next to a bag of sweet pottery starch and a syring-wrapped box of dried shiitake mushrooms. Instant noodles took up two walls. There, I quickly found my beloved, wonderfully strange cheese flavor variety. The aisles were packed with regular staples: black vinegar, bags of vermicheli, and bags of jasmine rice were big enough to stuff the man into his body.
But the label on the product gave something wrong: Chinese productsI read many of them in Mandarin. Almost all of Hong Kong supermarkets are imported from China, and due to customs duties, they can soon become more expensive. President Donald Trump’s 145% tax on goods imported from China affects everything from sofas to socks. Starting tomorrow, the first fashion giant scene and Tem will raise prices. And for some Americans, sticker shocks from tariffs may mean skipping new jeans or squeezing more months from wheezing vacuum cleaners.
However, tariffs are particularly strict with Chinese grocery stores and their customers. Unlike retailers who happen to sell Chinese clothing and gadgets, stores like Hong Kong supermarkets stock Chinese products. because They are made in China. After all, I haven’t come across an American brand that makes cheese-flavored noodles yet. Chinese grocery stores are a lifeline for millions of Americans like me. They are where you can always count on basic ingredients you will never find at Trader Joe or Whole Foods. In the world of tariffs, Chinese grocery stores have become one of the low and boiling horrors from the security space.
Prices have not yet gone up in Hong Kong supermarkets, but customers are ready for hiking. There are more pauses at the price tag. Sigh more. The quilted jacketed aunt makes the producer bin crowded. Their shopping cart tells the story of careful calculations: an occasional eccentric gaze to fresh durian for $13.99 in a bunch of onions instead of two, three pork breads, and cardboard barrels. In the aisle of the dry snack, the shopper next to me was cheating on a jar of salted plums. Anna Chen, a 50-year-old woman who holds an empty green shopping basket, told me that tariffs are in her heart. “I really hope the prices don’t go up,” she said.
They told me Will Wang, the manager of a supermarket in Hong Kong. The store didn’t need to raise prices at this time, he said, but it’s only a matter of time before the tariffs are in effect. “What can we do? It’s not our fault. We have no control over the tariffs, unless we sell at a loss that is not sustainable.” He expects the cheaper products to go up a little, but the big jumps will be in premium products and super-specific varieties. I came up with a hot pot’s favorite, fermented bean curd. A black yoke century egg found in so many connges. And the sea cucumbers were given to all grandparents. When existing stock runs out, shopkeepers face difficult choices. Take costs and risks. Risk of increasing prices and losing customers Some companies with Chinese suppliers I’ve already done it. Seek alternative suppliers and risks Change the flavor that defines the community.
Everyone loses. Shoppers who frequently visit Chinese grocery stores don’t just pay more for food. You cannot replace the Pixian Bean Paste. I hope she doesn’t notice the general “international” aisle of mother’s map tofu. You cannot exchange Xiaoux wine for dry sherry. The alternative only goes before the plates fall apart. One ingredient is missing and eating some sad memory of something else. “Western grocery stores don’t have the groceries they need,” Chen said. “If prices continue to go up, I can’t do anything about it.”
At one point, the workaround becomes a compromise, and the compromise becomes a resignation. These are places where people can maintain the way they have eaten all the time. Many people go to them for continuity, not for novelty. “We’re thinking about stocking up on things like soy sauce and seasonings,” said shopper Fred Wang, who approached near the fish department. He is 34 years old and moved from Beijing to New York eight years ago. He and his wife recently approached Chinatown to improve access to Chinese grocery stores. “I’m definitely worried.”
Chinese grocery stores are under pressure in one or more ways. Not only do we stock many products currently subject to sudden tariffs, we also tend to run at already thin margins. “Small, independent grocery stores, particularly those that cater to ethnic communities, are particularly vulnerable,” said David Ortega, a professor of food economics at Michigan State University. If Trump’s full slate of tariffs comes into effect in a few months, the pain won’t stop at grocery stores in China. Vietnam faces some of the steepest proposed tariff hikes. South Asian grocery stores may see seasonal delicacies like Alfonso mangoes become more expensive if they can get them. (“Crying at H Mart” may soon take on a new meaning.)
If cultural food costs continue to rise, we all feel that. Non-Chinese shoppers often visit these stores. Because they are the only place to carry ingredients in many kitchens now (chilli caps, black vinegar, dumpling wrappers) or at least sell them cheaply. Food media emphasizes reliability as a virtue Promoted ideas that Visit to H Mart or Chinese grocery store on the corner It will help you cook better. The major retailers have picked up popular brands in small Chinese stores such as Kikkoman, Lee Kum Kee and others. Pantry’s favourite Lao Gan Ma Chili Crisp. Ironically, Asian food products are becoming more mainstream, cross-culturally more popular, more popular than ever, tariffs actually question the ability of Americans to buy them. Tariffs shape and strengthen what is affordable, what is available, and what ultimately makes the culture out of reach.
After leaving the Hong Kong supermarket, I headed to Poing Hong, a grocery store on the street. The store had a beautiful smell of herbs and flooring. The little boy leaned down in front of a stack of gin jin lychee jelly and squeezed each one to see which one had the most juice. Two teenagers calculated the number of instant Nordal packs available to purchase. (Answer: less than I like.) I handed me a large box of packaged nuts and grain slapped with a bright yellow sign. On top of that, the price was cancelled and updated with a black pen. Peeled Mungen: Previously a $1.75 bag, now a $1.99 bag. Dried Chestnuts: Previously it was $9.99, and now it’s $11.55. On my way out of the store, I passed a pile of discarded cardboard boxes, all still marked with Chinese shipping labels.