Business
Momofuku responds to chili crunch backlash: 'We wanted a name we could own'

Imagine walking into a grocery store and seeing a single brand of each item. Identical squeeze bottles of “Ketchup.” One company’s “Mustard.” One brand of “Salsa.” Just one maker’s “Hot Sauce.” What a bland world it would be.
If Momofuku has its way, the only “Chili Crunch” on store shelves will bear the name Momofuku.
Momofuku, founded by chef David Chang, acquired the rights to use “chile crunch,” spelled with an “e,” last year from Chile Colonial LLC, a Denver company that registered the trademark in 2015 with the United States Patent and Trademark Office after making a Mexican-inspired chile crunch sauce since 2008. Then on March 29, Momofuku filed a trademark application for the term “chili crunch,” spelled with an “i,” and started sending cease and desist orders to multiple businesses selling chili crunch products, the Guardian first reported.
A jar of Momofuku chili crunch.
(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)
Social media backlash immediately followed. Actor Simu Liu, who serves as the chief content officer for MìLà, a food and beverage company that makes frozen dumplings and chili crunch, challenged Momofuku to a blind taste test on Twitter last week: “Winner keeps the name, loser (it’ll be you) backs off.”
In a statement to The Times, a spokesperson for Momofuku said the company has seen multiple chili crisp products rebranded as chili crunch over the last year, and that the trademark was never intended to “stifle innovation in a category that we care deeply about.”
“When we created our product, we wanted a name we could own and intentionally picked ‘Chili Crunch’ to further differentiate it from the broader chili crisp category,” the spokesperson wrote in an email. “We worked with a family-owned company called Chile Colonial to purchase the trademark from them. They have defended the trademark previously against companies like Trader Joe’s.”
One of the voices critical of Momofuku threatening legal action against other chile sauce businesses was Fly by Jing chef and entrepreneur Jing Gao. She started bottling Sichuan chili crisp in 2018, and is often credited as the catalyst for the mainstreaming of chili crisp. She is also an investor and advisor in Homiah, one of the brands that received a cease and desist letter.
Gao’s own company, as multiple outlets reported, filed to trademark “Sichuan Chili Crisp” in 2019 only to see its application dismissed in 2020.
“The ‘chile crunch’ trademark should also not have been granted,” wrote Gao in a Substack newsletter titled “On Trademark Bullies.” “It is a descriptive term for a cultural product, one that has existed in Chinese cuisine for hundreds of years.”

A jar of Fly by Jing Sichuan Chili Crisp by Jing Gao. Gao is credited with starting the current chili sauce craze with the introduction of her chili crisp in 2018.
(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)
What the newsletter and other stories did not mention , however, is that last week, on April 3, Fly by Jing filed again to trademark “Sichuan Chili Crisp,” according to the U.S. Patent and Trade Office. Then on Monday, Gao said in a statement to The Times that she requested to withdraw the application.
Gao said Fly by Jing reapplied for “Sichuan Chili Crisp” as well as “Chengdu Crunch” “to safeguard against the potential that we need to defend ourselves against a larger power that may be threatened by our existence. In light of the events of the last two days however, we now believe that there’s been enough awareness raised about the descriptive nature of the term, that the USPTO will reconsider the chili/chile crunch trademarks, and we felt comfortable with filing a request to abandon the application for our product’s name, which we have already done as of Saturday.”
“Even if we were granted the trademark for Sichuan Chili Crisp, which we have now abandoned, Fly By Jing would not have used it to intimidate small businesses,” wrote Jing.
Yet if Fly by Jing had been granted a trademark, the company would be responsible for enforcing it, as outlined by the United States Patent and Trademark Office. By not protecting your trademark, you could lose it.
If I had my way, neither term would be trademarked.
David Tran, founder of the Huy Fong Foods Sriracha sauce, never sought to exclusively own the term “Sriracha.” Instead, he trademarked his signature rooster logo and bottle.
I reject the notion that someone could exclusively own something so ingrained in my culture, a food I consider an intrinsic part of my identity. These trademarks will limit who can profit off a food with a connection to entire cultures. It would be like someone trying to trademark salsa macha and salsa verde. Wait, inexplicably somebody did trademark salsa verde, signaling a serious problem with the USPTO lacking the knowledge to accurately or fairly determine what’s descriptive or confusing when it comes to certain foods.
I, like many Chinese Americans, feel a sense of pride and ownership over the condiment typically made with garlic, other alliums, chiles and oil. Whether you call it crisp, oil, crunch or sauce, it’s a condiment that’s integral to the cuisines, cultures and experiences of Asian Americans around the world.
Michelle Tew, founder and CEO of Homiah foods, called receiving her cease and desist letter a “punch in the gut.”
“Homiah’s Sambal Chili Crunch product is personal and based on a family recipe from my Granny Nonie dating back to countless generations of Nyonya heritage in Penang, Malaysia,” Tew wrote in a statement on LinkedIn. “I was shocked and disappointed that a well-known and respected player in the Asian food industry would legally threaten me — a one-woman show operating on a much smaller scale — from selling a product that is part of my family’s history and culture.”
The move to trademark “chili crunch,” whether intentional or not, will only serve to whitewash an entire genre of chile sauces. Although some of the sauce companies have strong financial backing — according to Forbes, Momofuku raised $17.5 million in funding last year with $50 million in sales, MìLà recently raised $22.5 million and Fly by Jing raised 12 million last year — many of these products are made by small AAPI-owned companies.
All deserve a piece of the more than $3 billion hot sauce industry in the United States. And that number is expected to nearly double in the next decade, according to a market report by Fortune Business Insights.

A jar of chile sauce can be found on most tables at restaurants serving dumplings in the San Gabriel Valley.
(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)
Melody and Russ Stein’s pizza company Pi00a (pronounced pie-oh-ah) started selling jars of chili crunch when they launched a ghost kitchen in Koreatown last year with their children, Taysia and Rylan. Pi00a is a Deaf- and family-owned business, selling Neapolitan pizzas with Asian influences and a mission to provide jobs for the hard of hearing.
For a soppressata pizza, Melody came up with her own version of chili crunch, something “sweet and spicy” that goes with the Italian dry salume, she said over the phone with her daughter as interpreter. “People liked it and started asking for jars of it,” and Pi00a now sells about 100 jars a week through its online business and 40 retailers.
“We just started our small business, it costs a lot of money to rebrand. It’s very difficult to absorb any added expense. We just hope [Momofuku] realizes the impact this has on the community and they drop the trademarks.”
Kansas City chef James Chang, who makes a chili crunch of his own, wrote in an Instagram post referencing the cease and desist letters, “While I have not received one yet it’s only a matter of time. … For someone that has railed against how ethnic aisles in grocery stores do not have enough minority-owned brands [David Chang] is doing just the goddamn same. Instead of creating a community he wants to create a monopoly.”

A collection of chile oil, crisp and crunch.
(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)
You can find a jar of chile sauce that’s half oil, half chile-and-garlic sediment on the tables at most restaurants serving dumplings in the San Gabriel Valley. Many make the sauce themselves.
Before it was a trendy condiment found at every superette (and even Costco), there were half-empty jars of Lao Gan Ma spicy chili crisp with crust around the lids in my fridge and on my family dinner table. My Chinese grandmother and uncle introduced me to Lao Gan Ma spicy chili crisp in the late ‘90s. It’s a sludge-like combination of dried chiles, crispy onions, MSG and fermented soybeans. For years I called it chili crunchy. I could never remember the name, and simply asked for more of that “chili crunchy stuff with the stern lady.”
The sauce was created by Tao Huabi in Guizhou, China, in 1984. Hers is the face on every bottle.
Nearly a decade ago, I brought Lao Gan Ma to a hot sauce taste-off with the late Jonathan Gold and Kogi BBQ chef Roy Choi. The chili crunchy stuff with the stern lady on the bottle was the clear winner.
“Sauce invented by our ancestors, our version perfected for 30+ years … ,” wrote the makers of Bowl Cut chili crisp on Instagram. “No one should own a trademark for the description of a sauce that’s been around forever.”
Chili crunch belongs to everyone.
Deputy Food editor Betty Hallock contributed to this report.

Business
Help! I Couldn’t Take My Tall-Ship Voyage, and I Want My Money Back.

Dear Tripped Up,
Last summer, I booked a five-day sailing trip with Tall Ship Experience, a company based in Spain. For 1,350 euros, or $1,450, I would be a volunteer on the crew of the Atlantis, sailing between two ports in Italy. But eight days before, I had a bad fall that resulted in multiple injuries, including eight stitches to my face that doctors said I could not expose to sun or water. The Tall Ship Experience website clearly states that I could cancel for a full refund up to seven days before the trip. But the company revealed it was just an intermediary and the Dutch organization actually running the trip, Tallship Company, had different rules, under which I was refunded 10 percent. I offered to take credit for a future trip, to no avail. Finally, I disputed the charges with my credit card issuer, American Express. But Tall Ship Experience provided a completely different set of terms to Amex, saying I canceled one day in advance. The charges were reinstated. Can you help? Martha, Los Angeles
Dear Martha,
This story reads like a greatest-hits playlist of travel industry traps: a middleman shirking responsibility, terms and conditions run amok, a credit card chargeback gone wrong, and the maddening barriers to pursuing justice against a foreign company. However, the documentation you sent was so complete and the company’s website so confusing that I was sure Tall Ship Experience would quickly refund you.
Tallship Company did not respond to requests for comments, but did nothing wrong. It simply followed its own terms and conditions that Tall Ship Experience, as a middleman, should have made clear to you. When you canceled, Tallship Company sent back a 10 percent refund to Tall Ship Experience to then send to you.
That’s why I was surprised that the stubborn (though exceedingly polite) Tall Ship Experience spokeswoman who responded to me on behalf of the Seville-based organization argued repeatedly that although she regretted your disappointment, Tall Ship Experience was not at fault. At one point she suggested you should have purchased travel insurance, even as the company scrambled to adjust and update its website as we emailed.
Before the changes, the site contained two distinct and contradictory sets of terms and conditions: one for customers who purchased via the website’s English and French versions, and another on the Spanish version. (Confusingly, both documents were in Spanish.)
The English/French version — the one you had seen — promised customers a full refund for trips canceled more than seven days in advance. The Spanish one is vastly more complex, offering distinct cancellation terms for each ship. The Atlantis offered customers in your situation only 10 percent back.
Enter the stubborn spokeswoman: “The terms and conditions in Spanish correctly reflected the cancellation policy of the ship in the moment the client made the reservation,” she wrote via email. “We are conscious that at the time, the English version of the terms was not updated, which may have generated confusion. However, the official terms of the reservation were applied correctly.”
In other words, customers should somehow know to ignore one contract and seek out another on a different part of the site, both in a language they may not read.
But I am no expert in Spanish consumer law, so I got in touch with two people who are: Marta Valls Sierra, head of the consumer rights practice at Marimón Abogados, a law firm based in Barcelona; and Fernando Peña López, a professor at the Universidade da Coruña in A Coruña.
They examined the documentation and each concluded independently that Tall Ship Experience had violated basic Spanish consumer statutes. When I passed along their convincing points to the spokeswoman and alerted her that you were considering taking the company to Spanish small-claims court, she finally said it would refund you the remaining €1,215.
I felt a bit sheepish about exerting so much pressure on this small company — actually, an arm of the nonprofit Nao Victoria Foundation, which operates several replicas of historic ships — but the company should have taken much more care when it set up its website, Ms. Valls Sierra told me.
“If in your terms and conditions you say that up until seven days before departure you have the right to cancel,” she said in an interview, “and a consumer comes and says, ‘I want to cancel,’ you have to cancel their trip and return their money. They can’t use ‘Sorry, we forgot to put it on one web page, but we put it on another web page’ as an excuse.”
It is a principle of consumer law, she added, that confusing or contradictory contracts are interpreted in favor of the consumer.
The other troubling issue with the website is that you had no way of knowing that your trip was not operated by Tall Ship Experience. There was no such mention I could find on the website, which relies on marketing copy like this: “On board you will learn everything you need to know that will allow you to become one of our crew.”
Dr. Peña López, the law professor, wrote me in an email that “Tall Ship Experience is obligated to inform the consumer about the service it provides in an accessible and understandable manner, clearly indicating whether it is an intermediary.” He added that Tall Ship Experience “clearly” presented itself as the ship’s operator in this case.
As I mentioned, Tall Ship Experience did begin updating its site almost as soon as I got in touch, calling itself a “marketplace” for experiences and posting the correct terms and conditions (in the correct languages) on its English and French pages.
But Tall Ship Experience agreed to a refund only after I sent the company a compilation of the two experts’ legal analyses. “We are dedicated to creating experiences aboard unique boats, and not to legal matters,” came the spokeswoman’s response. “Regardless of which party is correct in this case, we would like to refund the full amount. We look forward to putting this to rest and to focus on continuing to improve customer experiences.”
You also said that American Express had let you down, by taking the company’s word over yours when you contested the charge. It is true that the document Tall Ship Experience sent to Amex (which forwarded it to you, who forwarded it to me), is wildly inaccurate, including only the terms favorable to the company and saying you canceled only one day in advance.
A spokeswoman for American Express emailed me a statement saying that the company “takes into account both the card member and the merchant perspectives.” But travelers should not mistake credit card issuers for crack investigators who will leave no stone unturned in pursuit of travel justice. A chargeback request works best when the problem is straightforward — you were charged more than you agreed to pay, or you never agreed to pay at all. Asking your card issuer to do a deep dive into terms and conditions is a much longer shot.
And as we’ve seen before (and might be seeing in this case) such chargeback requests often anger the companies involved to the point that they refuse to deal with you further.
If all else had failed, as I told you before the company gave in, you could have requested a “juicio verbal,” Spain’s version of a small-claims-court proceeding, via videoconference. It would not have been easy, said Dr. Peña López. Cases under €2,000 do not require a lawyer, but they do require you to have a Foreigner Identification Number, to fill out forms in legal Spanish (A.I. might help) and to find an interpreter to be by your side.
When I finally told you — in our 39th email! — you’d get a refund, you told me you had been “almost looking forward to a Spanish small-claims experience.” I admire your spirit, although I suspect it would have been quickly broken by bureaucratic and linguistic barriers.
If you need advice about a best-laid travel plan that went awry, send an email to TrippedUp@nytimes.com.
Follow New York Times Travel on Instagram and sign up for our Travel Dispatch newsletter to get expert tips on traveling smarter and inspiration for your next vacation. Dreaming up a future getaway or just armchair traveling? Check out our 52 Places to Go in 2025.
Business
In dizzying reversal, Trump pauses tariffs on most Mexican products
MEXICO CITY — In a dizzying turn, President Trump said Thursday that the U.S. would temporarily reverse the sweeping tariffs it imposed just days ago on most Mexican products.
In a post on Truth Social, Trump said he would delay for one month the imposition of 25% taxes on Mexican imports that fall under a free trade agreement that he negotiated during his last term.
His remarks follow comments from U.S. Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick, who on Thursday said in a television interview that Trump was “likely” to temporarily suspend 25% tariffs on Canada and Mexico for most products and services, widening an exemption that was granted Wednesday only to vehicles.
Lutnick told CNBC that the one-month delay in the import taxes “will likely cover all USMCA-compliant goods and services,” a reference to the U.S.-Mexico-Canada trade agreement, the North America free trade pact Trump negotiated in his last term. Lutnick said around half of what the U.S. imports from Mexico and Canada would be eligible.
Lutnick said the reprieve will last only until April 2, when the Trump administration has said it will impose reciprocal tariffs on countries to match the ones they have on U.S. exports. Later, he said that if Canada and Mexico don’t do enough to stop fentanyl from entering the United States, the 25% tariffs could be reapplied in a month as well.
On Tuesday, the U.S. began placing duties of 25% on imported goods from Mexico and Canada, with a 10% rate on Canadian energy products. It also began imposing a new 10% tax on all imports from China.
Trump has said the tariffs are punishment because the three countries haven’t done enough to stop the flow of immigrants without proper documentation and drugs into the United States — and are an attempt to lure manufacturing back to the United States.
China and Canada responded forcefully, both imposing retaliatory tariffs on U.S. goods. Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum had said that Mexico would also respond with counter tariffs, and had planned to announce them Sunday at a public rally in Mexico City’s central square.
In Canada, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau said he welcomed news that the U.S. would delay, but said Canada’s imposition of retaliatory tariffs will remain in place for now. “We will not be backing down from our response tariffs until such a time as the unjustified American tariffs [on] Canadian goods are lifted,” he said.
Trudeau told reporters that the U.S. and Canada are “actively engaged in ongoing conversations in trying to make sure these tariffs don’t overly harm” certain sectors and workers.
Business
Trump’s Cuts to Federal Work Force Push Out Young Employees

About six months ago, Alex Brunet, a recent Northwestern University graduate, moved to Washington and started a new job at the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau as an honors paralegal. It was fitting for Mr. Brunet, 23, who said he had wanted to work in public service for as long as he could remember and help “craft an economy that works better for everyone.”
But about 15 minutes before he was going to head to dinner with his girlfriend on the night before Valentine’s Day, an email landed in his inbox informing him that he would be terminated by the end of the day — making him one of many young workers who have been caught up in the Trump administration’s rapid wave of firings.
“It’s discouraging to all of us,” Mr. Brunet said. “We’ve lost, for now at least, the opportunity to do something that matters.”
Among the federal workers whose careers and lives have been upended in recent weeks are those who represent the next generation of civil servants and are now wrestling with whether they can even consider a future in public service.
The Trump administration’s moves to reduce the size of the bureaucracy have had an outsize impact on these early career workers. Many of them were probationary employees who were in their roles for less than one or two years, and were among the first to be targeted for termination. The administration also ended the Presidential Management Fellows Program, a prestigious two-year training program for recent graduates interested in civil service, and canceled entry-level job offers.
The firings of young people across the government could have a long-term effect on the ability to replenish the bureaucracy with those who have cutting-edge skills and knowledge, experts warn. Donald F. Kettl, a former dean in the School of Public Policy at the University of Maryland, says that young workers bring skills “the government needs” in fields like information technology, medicine and environmental protection.
“What I am very afraid of is that we will lose an entire generation of younger workers who are either highly trained or would have been highly trained and equipped to help the government,” Mr. Kettl said. “The implications are huge.”
The administration’s downsizing could have a lasting impact, deterring young workers from joining the ranks of the federal government for years, Mr. Kettl said.
About 34 percent of federal workers who have been in their roles for less than a year are under the age of 30, according to data from the Office of Personnel Management. The largest single category of federal workers with less than a year of service are 25- to 29-year-olds.
The federal government already has an “underlying problem” recruiting and retaining young workers, said Max Stier, the president of the Partnership for Public Service. Only about 9 percent of the 2.3 million federal workers are under the age of 30.
“They’re going after what may be easiest to get rid of rather than what is actually going to make our government more efficient,” Mr. Stier said.
Trump administration officials and the billionaire Elon Musk, whom the president has tasked with shrinking the federal government, have defended their efforts to cut the work force.
“President Trump returned to Washington with a mandate from the American people to bring about unprecedented change in our federal government to uproot waste, fraud and abuse,” Harrison Fields, a White House spokesman, said in a statement.
Mr. Trump has vowed to make large-scale reductions to the work force, swiftly pushing through drastic changes that have hit some roadblocks in court.
Last week, a federal judge determined that directives sent to agencies by the Office of Personnel Management calling for probationary employees to be terminated were illegal, and the agency has since revised its guidance. Still it is unclear how many workers could be reinstated.
The abrupt firings that have played out across the government so far came as a shock to young employees.
They described being sent curt messages about their terminations that cited claims about their performance they said were unjustified. There was a frantic scramble to download performance reviews and tax documents before they were locked out of systems. Some said they had to notify their direct supervisors themselves that they had just been fired.
On the morning of Feb. 17, Alexander Hymowitz sat down to check his email when he saw a message that arrived in his inbox at 9:45 p.m. the night before. An attached letter said that he had not yet finished his trial period and was being terminated from his position as a presidential management fellow at the Agriculture Department. It also said that the agency determined, based on his performance, that he had not demonstrated that his “further employment at the agency would be in the public interest.”
Mr. Hymowitz, 29, said he was dumbfounded. “My initial thought was, obviously something is wrong,” he said. “How could I get terminated for performance when I’ve never had a performance review?”
Mr. Hymowitz, who had worked on antitrust cases and investigations in the poultry and cattle markets for about six months, said he was not given many further instructions. The next day, he decided to walk into the office and drop off his work equipment. “I just assumed that’s what people do when they get fired,” he said.
Around 8 p.m. on Feb. 11, Nicole Cabañez, an honors attorney at the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, found out that she had been terminated after she realized she could not log into her work laptop. Ms. Cabañez, 30, worked in the agency’s enforcement division for about four months, investigating companies that violated consumer financial laws.
“I was prepared to help make the world better,” Ms. Cabañez said. “It’s honestly very disappointing that I never got that chance.”
During her first year at Yale Law School, Ms. Cabañez said she originally planned to work at a large law firm, where she would have defended companies and made a lucrative income after graduation. But she said she wanted to work in public service to help people get relief through the legal system.
Ms. Cabañez said she was now applying for jobs with nonprofits, public interest law firms and local governments. But she said she worried that the job market, especially in Washington, would be “flooded with public servants.” She said she could not file for unemployment benefits for three weeks because her agency had not sent her all of the necessary documents until recently.
The impacts have stretched beyond Washington, reaching federal workers across the country, including in Republican-led states.
At 3:55 p.m. on Feb. 13, Ashlyn Naylor, a permanent seasonal technician for the U.S. Forest Service in Chatsworth, Ga., received a call from one of her supervisors who informed her that she would be fired after working there for about nine months. Ms. Naylor said she initially wanted to stay at the agency for the rest of her career.
“It was where I have wanted to be for so long, and it was everything that I expected it to be from Day 1,” Ms. Naylor said.
Ms. Naylor, 24, said she felt a mixture of anger and disbelief. She said her performance evaluations showed she was an “excellent worker,” and she did not understand why she was fired. Although she said she was devastated to lose her job, which primarily involved clearing walking trails in the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest, she was not sure if she would return to the agency in the future.
“It would be really hard to trust the federal government if I were to go back,” Ms. Naylor said. She said she was considering enrolling in trade school and possibly becoming a welder since she is still “young enough” to easily change her career.
Although some said their experiences have discouraged them from pursuing jobs with the federal government again, some said they were intent on returning.
Jesus Murillo, 27, was fired on Valentine’s Day after about a year and a half working as a presidential management fellow at the Department of Housing and Urban Development, where he helped manage billions of dollars in economic development grants. After standing in countless food bank lines and working in fields picking walnuts to help his family earn additional income growing up, Mr. Murillo said he wanted to work in public service to aid the lowest income earners.
“I’ve put so much into this because I want to be a public leader to now figure out that my government tells me that my job is useless,” Mr. Murillo said. “I think that was just a smack in the face.”
Still, he said he would work for the federal government again.
“For us, it’s not a partisan thing,” Mr. Murillo said. “We’re there to carry out the mission, which is to be of service to the American public.”
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