Rice isn’t rice, flour isn’t flour: Are today’s staples still healthy?

As long as people are alive, they cannot do without the basics of daily life—the simple necessities of fire, rice, oil, and salt. Whether in China or abroad, the terms ‘rice’, ‘flour’, and ‘oil’ are ancient, with at least a thousand years of history. Once humanity entered the agricultural era, their literal meanings were fixed: grain with the husk removed was rice; crushed wheat was flour. However, following the Industrial Revolution—and particularly the rise of large-scale industrial food processing and globalised sales networks—these ancient terms, used for millennia, have become mere labels; what is called ‘rice’ is no longer rice, and what is called ‘flour’ is no longer flour.

1. Staples and Supplements in the Industrial Food Production System

The two main staples for Chinese people are rice and flour. In the South, rice is predominant, manifesting as steamed rice or rice noodles; in the North, wheat is king, resulting in flour-based foods like mantou and shaobing. In my childhood, during the era of ‘grain coupons and state-owned grain stores’, the standard ration in the North was mainly ‘ordinary flour’ (pu fen). This was close to what we now call wholemeal flour; it retained the germ and some of the bran and was unbleached. The mantou steamed from it were a pale tea colour—the same colour as today’s wholemeal mantou. Whiter, finer refined flour only appeared in the late seventies; each person received only a few kilograms during festivals. The mantou made from this were snow-white, which is the colour of the mantou sold in shops today.

In terms of taste, refined flour was superior; in terms of price, it was more expensive and harder to acquire. Without your grain coupon quota, there was no point in even discussing it. Back then, using refined flour to steam mantou was seen as an extravagance; it was saved for making dumplings. My dream was to ‘eat refined flour mantou whenever I wanted’, while my mother’s was to ‘eat dumplings every day’—for in her childhood, dumplings were a treat reserved only for the Lunar New Year.

Thanks to the progress of the era and economic development, we now live such lives.

◉ Home-milled wholemeal mantou: appearance, broken open, topped with homemade hibiscus and basil pesto. The colour is far from store-bought and the taste is worlds apart—truly delicious. Photo: Grandma Kouzi
Over a decade ago, on my first trip to Taiwan, my sister asked me to bring home a nutritional supplement for my parents called ‘wheat germ powder’. She claimed this treasure was a miracle cure, perfectly suited to my parents’ needs. I spent half a day searching through Taipei’s Dihua Street, buying several different brands and packages.

I only discovered later that this ‘high-end and sophisticated’ wheat germ powder was actually just the ‘bran’ sifted out during the milling of flour.

Later, I spent two years farming in Yilan, Taiwan, where I made many farmer friends. As a village brewmaster and a practitioner of European-style black kilns, my home was often a hub for eating and drinking. For farmers, food is paramount; whenever there was a feast, everyone followed their noses to the table. In the face of gourmet food, nothing is an excuse for absence—except for one definitive reason: ‘frying rice bran’. Rice germ oxidises and spoils very easily, so it is best milled and fried fresh. Frying rice bran is a painstaking craft, requiring slow heat that can sometimes last an entire day. The toasted rice bran tasted exactly like the wheat germ powder I had travelled so far to buy; it was effectively the same thing, as rice germ and wheat germ are very similar. When I told my farmer friends about my past purchase, they laughed at me for being a sucker. The wheat germ powder on Dihua Street was actually mainland Chinese produce, packaged and sold back to Taiwan. Although wheat is grown in Taiwan, the quantity is negligible, and there is virtually no local wheat germ industry. The most significant contribution of ‘Taiwanese wheat germ powder’ was its packaging—not just the varied designs, but the successful packaging of the *concept*, which was then delivered straight into the minds of gullible consumers.

While farming in Taiwan, I also taught food courses and caught up on some related reading, only to discover that the biggest mistake wasn’t flying to Taiwan to buy mainland goods, but rather the modern health trend of pairing ‘refined flour mantou with wheat germ powder’.

2. Today’s ‘Rice, Flour, and Oil’ are no longer what they once were

China completed its transition from pre-modern to post-modern in sixty years, a period that coincided exactly with my own life. My primary school years were still part of the pre-modern agricultural era; a twenty-minute walk from my school in the town centre led to a nearby production team. Twice a year, the school organised agricultural studies: we gathered wheat ears in summer and picked corn in autumn. My hometown was essentially one large village; every old street had stone rollers and grinders. By then, the ancestral milling tools were rarely used, replaced by electric mills—a single room containing a deafening electric flour machine. Wheat went in, and in two quick bursts, flour and bran came out; the bran went to the chickens. ‘Bran’ is the general term for the sum of the germ at the top of the wheat grain and the surrounding husk. As a bored child, I tried the bran. It tasted unpleasant and was the colour of brown kraft paper, looking like torn scraps of paper. One can imagine the texture of shredded kraft paper.

◉ The internal structure of a grain of wheat. Source: Internet

Small mills cannot produce refined flour. Refined flour is a product of industrial-scale processing in the industrial age, using superior machinery to grind flour finer while removing the ‘unpleasant’ parts invisible to the naked eye. Thanks to the progress of the era and economic development, we can now eat refined flour mantou for every meal.

As a species, humans have undergone a long evolution measured in hundreds of thousands of years. Since the gathering era, we have eaten whole grains; evolution has written the requirements for various nutrients into our genes. In the agricultural era, Europe used windmills and waterwheels, while we used human and donkey power for mills. Whether East or West, rice and flour changed very little over thousands of years.

The Industrial Revolution is merely the final minute of human evolution’s 24-hour day, and the time from the appearance of refined flour to its total dominance was but a few seconds of that final minute. The increasing refinement brought an unprecedented smoothness to the palate, but a body evolved over millions of years cannot adapt, leading to an increase in modern diseases. Thus, ‘wheat germ powder’ arrived on the wings of the information age. A grain of wheat falls into a modern processing system and undergoes two rounds of ‘value-adding’ processing: first, the bran is removed to create refined flour; then, the bran is roasted for aroma, ground for texture, and packaged with lofty claims.

Taking wheat as an example, a quick search online reveals: ‘Wheat germ powder is the essence extracted from wheat grains, a nutritional supplement high in protein and Vitamin E, and low in calories, fat, and cholesterol. It contains B-complex vitamins, Vitamin D, unsaturated fatty acids, nucleic acids, folic acid, octacosanol, and more than ten minerals including calcium, iron, zinc (23.4mg/100g), and selenium…’

Searching further into its benefits: ‘It is the best natural, nutrient-rich food for balancing human nutrition and enhancing physical constitution. Wheat germ has therapeutic effects on cardiovascular and cerebrovascular diseases, and is anti-radiation, anti-ageing, anti-tumour, detoxifying for the intestines, and prevents constipation while lowering blood sugar and blood lipids; its dietary fibre helps lower serum cholesterol and prevent diabetes. Additionally, wheat germ promotes the development of beneficial intestinal flora…’

Every packaged version of wheat germ powder emphasises ‘essential nutrients for the human body’. Why go to all this trouble to strip away the essence during milling, only to sell it back to us?

◉ Nutritional comparison between wholemeal flour (green), refined flour (red), and fortified flour (yellow). Source: Internet
◉ Nutritional comparison between brown rice and polished white rice. Source: Internet
Today’s ‘rice, flour, and oil’ are no longer the ‘rice, flour, and oil’ of the past. We still eat rice and flour, and those terms used for millennia remain, but the food we put into our mouths has silently changed. The staples that have sustained human life for thousands of years—rice and flour—have become ultra-processed foods.

3. Rice and Flour as Ultra-Processed Foods

We must eat to survive, and the food we choose determines the quality of our lives. In an era of scarcity, the priority was simply to be full; in an era of abundance, eating *well* has become what matters.

Increasingly concerned with food safety, modern consumers have begun to be wary of “ultra-processed foods” in their daily diets. A recent Foodthink article introduced the classification system proposed by Brazilian nutritionist Carlos Monteiro, which places rice and flour in the “unprocessed or minimally processed” category. Indeed, rice and flour in their purest form—the staples of the agricultural age—were once minimally processed foods. However, the rice and flour we buy from supermarkets today have effectively become ultra-processed foods.

Tracking the industrialised food chain, Michael Pollan published The Omnivore’s Dilemma in 2006, warning people to be vigilant about “ultra-processed foods”: “If your grandmother wouldn’t recognise it as food, or if it contains more than five ingredients and substances you cannot pronounce, it is likely an ultra-processed food.”

A web search for “legally permitted additives in flour processing” yields results such as: chemical substances used to improve the properties of flour, enhance processing performance and food quality, primarily including dough conditioners, bleaching agents, and preservatives; their use strictly follows national standards (such as GB 2760-2024). A search for “legally permitted additives in rice processing” reveals: rice additives refer to specific compounds permitted during processing, including sodium starch phosphate (a thickener), sodium diacetate (a preservative), and deacetylated chitosan (a thickener/coating agent).

◉ Compound wheat flour treatment agents have been added to this specialised wheat flour. Source: Internet
“Rice” and “flour”—words that have endured for millennia—now carry different meanings. They have not only undergone excessive refining and separation, but they have also become a “buy one, get a bundle of extras” deal. To ensure long-term storage and transport, they are laden with “supplementary additions” that are necessary for logistics but detrimental to health, quietly transforming them into ultra-processed foods.

In the agricultural era, grain stores consisted of paddy rice with husks or whole wheat grains. The intact seed coat was not just an outer layer; it was a suit of armour that shielded the grain from infestation and prevented oxidative spoilage. Once processed, the grain loses this innate protection and becomes susceptible to moisture and oxidation. In the age of industrial production and global sales, additives have become the standard operating procedure. Consequently, in the process of turning paddy and wheat into rice and flour, they undergo excessive extraction and excessive addition. The words remain the same as they were thousands of years ago, but rice is no longer rice, and flour is no longer flour.

In fact, even if we look at the definition of “ultra-processed foods” in Carlos Monteiro’s system—“foods with complex ingredients, subjected to deep industrial processing, often containing industrial components such as emulsifiers, flavour enhancers, and artificial aromas, with long shelf lives and convenience, but far removed from the original ingredients”—the rice and flour in modern processing and sales systems meet almost all the criteria. The only exception is the last one: they retain an appearance similar to the original ingredients.

According to China’s national standard for wheat flour implemented in 2023 (GB/T 1355-2021), wheat flour is explicitly required to be free of food additives and ingredients; those containing additives are classified as “specialised flour”. This is undoubtedly good news, but as the standard is not mandatory, I still refuse to buy commercial steamed buns or noodles, and I avoid store-bought bread and pastries. I cannot be sure if they are made with specialised flour, nor can I be certain if borax or similar substances were added during the cooking process. More importantly, I can make these things myself, and my versions differ greatly in appearance and taste from those bought in shops. Whether you choose to view rice and flour as ultra-processed foods is entirely up to you. I’ve made my choice; feel free to make yours. If some choose to believe in flour and flour products… well, God bless those with faith.

I must state: I do not hate the modern world nor do I blindly worship the past. In 1800, the average global life expectancy was 37; by 2000, it was 63.9. Progress is a blessing for all mankind; indeed, the fact that I have lived into my sixties is itself a result of that progress.

I must also state: if I were a large-scale grain processor requiring long-distance transport and prolonged storage, I would use additives too.

Four: Wanting it All

I often hear people advise: if you enjoy the convenience of the modern city, you must accept the problems that come with it; you cannot have it both ways.

But there will always be people like me—gluttonous and ambitious—who insist on having convenience, health, *and* delicious taste. Is it possible?

Modern people are clever; we can always find a way to have convenience, health, delicious food, and happiness all at once.

As I look back, I am grateful to the era for my survival, and grateful to myself for my health. At forty, I struggled with various sub-health issues; at sixty, I am actually better. The physical problems I once had were practically the standard kit for the modern city dweller. I credit the change to spending two years farming in Taiwan in my fifties. There is no secret: eat the right things and do the right things.

In Hsinchu, Taiwan, there is a niche restaurant called “Mairuixin” that specialises in homemade sourdough bread. They grind their own flour from organic wheat and use low-temperature sourdough fermentation. It is, in essence, a modern version of the bread ovens found beside the windmills or watermills of medieval European farms. The founder had studied in Europe, and one of them and I became mentor and pupil—he taught me about bread, and I taught him about brewing wine.

Mairuixin’s primary mission is not to sell meals or bread, but to promote home baking. As long as you have a fridge, an oven, and a domestic flour mill, you can do it yourself. For those who find kneading tedious, a stand mixer will do; the only raw material needed is organic wheat.

One kilogram of flour makes one wholemeal loaf, and a domestic mill can be picked up for a hundred or so yuan on Taobao or Pinduoduo. Because the flour is not highly refined and the bran affects the texture, it requires long-term low-temperature fermentation—24 to 48 hours in the fridge. The resulting bread is slightly coarse but chewy and becomes more fragrant the more you chew it.

I have forgotten the names of the people who ran Mairuixin, but I clearly remember what they said: perhaps one day Mairuixin will be gone, but the act of making your own bread will certainly continue.

Mairuixin’s techniques are open for anyone to learn. By 2019, hundreds of people were using their methods. Only a few core members opened shops; the vast majority were office workers concerned about their health. Hsinchu is a high-tech hub in Taiwan, and the top talents there are called the “Hsinchu tech elite”. They usually bake once a weekend to last for seven days. Making one loaf takes nearly the same time as making several, and so various “bread mutual aid groups” formed—sharing bread and building human connections.

If you find “Mairuixin” too troublesome, there is an even easier way: reject foods with names you cannot pronounce, and reject “blindly buying”.

For modern city dwellers who must rely on purchasing food, those who can should use trusted platforms like North Organic, or choose carefully at supermarkets and online. Aim for simple ingredient lists where you can name the raw materials. Choose a steamed bun over a custard bun, or bread and cake. Some regional staples in China—such as corn grit rice in the Northeast, millet rice in the Northwest, or the large pancakes from my hometown in Shandong—are closer to the original grain and come highly recommended.

◉ Bean soup. Photo: Grandma Kouzi

I have always believed that “additive-free” is more important than “organic”. Pollan reminds us to prioritise whole foods with recognisable names—such as peanuts, edamame, corn, sweet potatoes, pumpkin, and potatoes themselves. I highly recommend buying a variety of miscellaneous grains and beans to cook porridge with brown rice; you can pre-make large batches, freeze them in the fridge, and take them out as needed. I previously wrote for Foodthink, “If You Can’t Cook a Bowl of Bean Soup, How Can You Claim a Title of Nobility?”. This way of eating is the “bean rice” heavily promoted by fitness bloggers; there are many benefits to using this as a substitute for refined-flour buns, noodles, or white rice, which I invite you to research for yourselves. An unexpected reward from this article: a friend’s wife suffered from severe morning sickness in early pregnancy, and bean porridge helped her get through her hardest days.

◉ I am very happy that mixed bean porridge had this “effect”

*Editor’s note: Grandma Kouzi’s next piece will be about oils.

Foodthink author

Kouzi

Farmer and trekker, village brewmaster. Full-time foodie, part-time farmer, amateur writer.

 

 

 

Editor: Xiao Dan