10 foods considered fancy by working-class families but normal to the rich

I always say: living close to wealth teaches you not just how the rich dress or travel—but what they eat (and don’t eat) without batting an eye.

When I moved into a neighborhood where well-heeled families walked their dogs, met friends at boutique cafés, and sipped rare wines without blinking, I began to notice an invisible culinary divide.

Over the years, I compiled a list of foods that, to working‑class families, feel fancy, even indulgent or aspirational—but to the rich, they are just normal, everyday fare or baseline.

Here are ten of those foods, along with the stories behind how they came to sit so differently in our minds.

1. Caviar (or premium fish roe)

To me, early on, caviar was something I’d seen in glossy magazine spreads or in scenes from films where someone orders “the good stuff.” It seemed decadent, untouchable. In my social circle growing up, the idea of fish eggs for breakfast or even as a garnish felt like luxury theater.

But among richer circles, fish roe—especially high‑grade caviar—can be as common as smoked salmon. It’s just another brunch item, a layer in a layered dish, part of charcuterie boards.

The investment is offset by habit, relationships with purveyors, import deals. Over time, I came to see caviar not as a showstopper, but as seasoning—something to layer in conversations, tastes, and texture.

2. Foie gras / duck liver

In the circles I frequented as a younger adult, foie gras felt like a theatrical indulgence—the kind of dish you order to celebrate a job promotion or anniversary. It is rich, opulent, and carries cultural baggage (especially in places where it’s controversial).

But among the wealthy, foie gras is part of the repertoire. It lands on weekend menus, paired with fruit compotes or brioche. It’s served in small portions, but not out of rarified showmanship—just because that’s how they eat.

The difference isn’t just access; it’s the psychic barrier. When you grow up with it as “normal,” it stops feeling exotic.

3. Truffles (or truffle‑infused oils & shredded truffle)

Truffles were, to me, the ultimate “one night only” luxury. The idea of paying extra for fungus seemed absurd. In many working‑class families, truffle oil is a novelty; a bottle sits unused in the pantry, once purchased for a date.

But in wealthier households, real truffles or shaved truffle are a kitchen staple during “the season.” They slide over pasta, risotto, eggs. They are the kind of thing a chef friend might gift, or that’s delivered fresh from a contact. The cost becomes amortized across the meals you serve—and your flavor expectations change.

4. Wagyu / Kobe beef

I remember the first time I was offered Wagyu steak at a gathering. I hesitated. It seemed like such an extreme thing: rare breed, imported, ultra marbled.

It still feels “extra” in many circles. But in out-of-sight kitchens of the wealthy, Wagyu, Kobe, or high‑grade heritage beef isn’t just a special order—it’s standard for steak dinners or barbecues, depending on region.

What surprised me more: they don’t always call attention to it. The meat is just the baseline. What’s curious is that many people who think they know steak have never truly tasted one done well; to some insiders, “normal” beef can feel bland after a few tastings of high grade.

5. Cured meats & charcuterie boards (premium hams, prosciutto, Iberico)

In many working-class homes, “cold cuts” might mean turkey slices from the supermarket, bologna, or basic ham. A platter of prosciutto, Iberico, or jamón serrano is often reserved for celebrations or entertaining.

But in households accustomed to travel, gourmet food gifting, or food importers, a well-stocked charcuterie board is just part of the pantry.

It’s the kind of thing that sits in the fridge, gradually eaten in slices with cheese, bread, fruit, without fanfare. It’s everyday indulgence—normal, not ostentatious.

6. Oysters or fresh shellfish

Oysters always felt like a treat, something you order on your one extravagant date or on a whim when someone is trying to impress. In many communities, they are perceived as delicate, fragile, expensive.

Yet in coastal wealthy homes, oysters appear in casual dinners or weekend lunches. Shellfish markets deliver fresh options. They might accompany champagne, but also a simple white wine or citrus.

The expectation is freshness and ready access. So what feels like splurge to many is just part of the rotation in affluent pantries.

7. Exotic mushrooms (morel, chanterelle, matsutake)

In my childhood, mushrooms meant button mushrooms or perhaps portobello or oyster mushrooms from the grocery. The idea of paying a premium for foraged morels or matsutake or chanterelle felt whimsical, extravagant.

But in refined culinary households, foraged mushrooms are seasonal staples. They get folded into sauces, risottos, or eggs. A small bowl for one meal, maybe delivered from a specialist.

The rich often have access to networks or foragers that ordinary buyers don’t. So the exotic becomes normalized.

8. Artisan or imported cheeses

A wedge of Brie or a chunk of cheddar might be everyday in many households. But expensive blue cheeses, aged goat cheeses, farmhouse bries from small producers, or artisan imports feel like indulgence. Tasting flights, cheese boards—they feel like luxury.

In wealthy food circles, they are the foundation. You’ll open a cheese board casually before a meal. You’ll eat cheese with crackers mid‑day, talk about terroir and aging. You’ll be disappointed by mass‑produced cheese. The expectations shift.

9. Saffron & other rare spices

Buying saffron—even a few strands—feels exotic, almost ritualistic, in many homes. In working-class cooking, you might use turmeric, paprika, chili, but saffron feels reserved for special recipes or show dishes.

But in households accustomed to fine cooking or travel, saffron is part of the spice rotation—used in paella, risotto, biryani. You keep high‑quality saffron, sometimes a little each purchase. The cost is accepted as part of a gourmet pantry.

10. Artisanal chocolate, single-origin / bean-to-bar delights

Chocolate is everywhere, but the premium versions—bean-to-bar, small batch, single origin, with high cocoa percentages—feel delightfully extravagant to many. You might reserve them for gifts, dark nights, or small splurges.

But in food‑cultured circles, these chocolates are part of casual desserts, cheese pairings, or daily rituals. You expect cocoa nuance. You disdain generic supermarket bars. A beautiful chocolate bar lives in the fridge for mid‑afternoon enjoyment, not just a treat.

Why the divide?

When I reflect on why these foods feel different to working-class families versus the rich, I notice common threads:

• Barrier of exposure: If you never see or taste something until it's part of a “fancy” moment, your mind classifies it as exceptional. For those with repeated exposure, it becomes unremarkable.

• Cost amortization: Wealthy families don’t see the sticker shock the same way. Buying in bulk, importing, relationships with purveyors, or seeing food as part of culture lessens psychological resistance to cost.

• Taste calibration: Once you taste ultra-fine versions, the contrast with average versions becomes stark. Many affluent eaters build their sensibilities so that mediocre versions feel dull.

• Cultural capital and storytelling: Eating rare foods becomes entwined with story, identity, prestige. But also part of everyday narrative. The rich often embed these foods into their family traditions, travel, seasons.

• Supply chains and access: Those with connections—friends, suppliers, importers—get access others don’t. What is exotic for many is standard for those with such networks.

Final thoughts

I’ve seen it in my own life. I spent years hesitating to order wagyu when dining, thinking people were judging. Now I ask for high-grade meat.

I’ve grown used to charcuterie on ordinary nights. I serve truffle at small dinners—gently shaved, not theatrically placed. Some of my friends from my past find it odd or over the top; those who grew up in these circles nod in recognition.

Yet I believe there’s a gift here: knowing that many things we see as luxuries are simply barriers of mindset, access, or habit—not inherent impossibilities.

Maybe part of the richer life is rethinking what we accept as “normal.” Maybe part of cultivating taste is lowering shame around wanting things beyond the minimum.

If you ask me which of these ten you could try first, I’d say: find the smallest dose.

A few strands of saffron in a risotto. A slice of a fine cheese at lunch. A small portion of genuine truffle. Let your palate adjust. Let your mind shift.

Because here's the thing: once a food becomes “normal” in your life, it stops being about display.

It becomes about pleasure, nuance, texture, and surprise. And that’s where richness lives—not in volume, but in depth.