My sister and I were strolling down Larkin Street in San Francisco recently when there wafted a pungent, salty aroma in the air. I was about to name the dish, but the couple walking ahead of us beat me to it. “Hmm, I smell fish sauce,” said a blond woman who looked to be in her mid 20s. “Yup,” agreed her male companion with tattoos on his arms. “With lots of pepper— and a little burnt.”

We had reasons to laugh. First, he was right on the nose. Second, when we first came to San Francisco from Vietnam more than three decades ago, my grandmother made catfish in fish sauce and our Irish neighbors complained about “a toxic smell.” Mortified, we apologized and kept our windows closed whenever Grandma prepared some of her favorite recipes.

Many years passed. Grandma’s gone. But if she were still here, she would appreciate knowing that what was once considered unsavory (or even toxic) has become today’s classic. For in California, private culture has a knack for spilling into the public domain.

Or put it this way: The Californian palate had shifted along with the state’s demographic, where one in four is now an immigrant. Californians were the first to give up blandness to savor the pungent lemongrass in our soup, and to develop that penchant for that tangy burnt of spicy chili. It came as no surprise to us that Cheez-Its came out with “Hot & Spicy” crackers flavored with Tabasco sauce and Kettle’s potato chips has that “Spicy Thai” flavor.

Latin and Anglo America came to an epic collision here, then gold made the state famous around the world, and the rest of the world rushed in and created, perhaps for the first time, a prototypical global village. Since then layers upon layers of complexity—food, architecture, religions, animals, plants, music, languages— have been piling onto the place, making it in many ways postmodern even before the rest of the world struggled to enter the modern era.

Take the sign that hangs on the Sun Hop Fat #1 Supermarket on East 12th Street in Oakland. It says, “American-Mexican-Chinese-Vietnamese-Thailand-Cambodia-Laos-Filipino-Oriental Food.” I read all those hyphens as complex bridges and crossroads that seek to marry otherwise far flung ideas, styles and tastes.

After all, creativity is fertile when nourished in the loam of cultural diversity and cultivated with openness. In an age of enormous options, one can’t help but learn to refine one’s taste buds to reconcile with the zings and zests of the world. It is why these days, whenever I make grandma’s favorite dishes, I keep my windows open wide.

Excerpt from forthcoming essay on California Magazine.