This Midwestern City Stands Out for Its Remarkable Diversity

Most people can easily name a few highlights of Minneapolis–St. Paul: the late artist Prince, the Mall of America, and the infamous winters. However, the region's rich cultural diversity might not be as widely recognized.

Minnesota boasts large communities with roots in Scandinavia, Germany, Ethiopia, India, and Mexico. The Twin Cities host the largest Somali population in the U.S. and have the highest urban concentration of Hmong individuals, linked to Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, and China. Chef Sean Sherman, known as the Sioux Chef and hailing from the Oglala Lakota Nation, has brought attention to the area's Native American community through his acclaimed restaurant, Owamni.

We spoke with members of three different diaspora groups in the Twin Cities: Hmong American pastry chef Diane Moua, Swedish American doctor John Litell, and Somali American performance artist Ifrah Mansour. For insights on exploring the area, check out our travel recommendations.

The Hmong Community

Diane Moua

As the daughter of Hmong refugees, pastry chef Diane Moua has received five James Beard Award nominations, making her the first Hmong American woman to achieve this honor. After spending seven years leading pastry programs at renowned restaurants like Spoon and Stable in Minneapolis, Moua aims to launch her own establishment in 2023.

“Hmong culture places a strong emphasis on family; we remain close within our clans. One of our elders, my grandfather, initially settled in Providence, Rhode Island, after arriving from Laos with our family, who were sponsored following the Vietnam War. When he later relocated to Wisconsin, my parents joined him. They purchased a farm in Junction City, where we were the only Asian family. The language barrier was challenging, and we faced hostility; dead calves were left in our driveway, fish were thrown at our door, and our mailbox was vandalized.

As a teenager, I struggled to find my identity—trying to embrace American culture at school while returning to a traditional home where English was rarely spoken. My parents were also strict: If we weren’t studying, we were picking bushels of cucumbers or taking care of animals. We never had the luxury of just hanging out with friends due to the endless chores.

Marrying young was my escape from farm life. I became a mother at 18 and moved to Minnesota, where my [now ex-] husband’s family resided. I quickly learned to be independent. My mother-in-law worked at the sushi kiosk at Lunds & Byerlys in Chanhassen. The meat section dazzled me, and the pastry area was filled with cakes stacked upon cakes. I was truly amazed.

During my childhood, dessert was simply fruit or an apple pie from McDonald's. On special occasions, my family might whip up naab vaam, a coconut-tapioca treat, or pound sticky rice to dip in honey. However, there’s no Hmong word for my current profession: how could my parents explain that their daughter 'plates desserts'? But when I became a finalist for the James Beard Award in 2018 and took them to Chicago for the ceremony, they realized, ‘Oh, this is a whole new world.’ They were immensely proud, and from that moment, their expectations changed. They saw that I could have a successful career in the food industry.

Though I didn’t value it back then, I’m grateful for my farm upbringing; my parents’ tough love instilled in me a strong work ethic. I’ve also had the fortune to work alongside amazing chefs in Minnesota, such as Adrienne Odom, Tim McKee, and Gavin Kaysen. My dad has always encouraged me to forge my own path. For a recent Mother’s Day pop-up, I created passion-fruit pavlova and brown sugar boba torte. I’m finally embracing my creativity, exploring Southeast Asian flavors. Transforming naab vaam into a plated dessert fascinates me.

The Hmong community here is so vibrant that you sometimes forget you’re in Minnesota. The HmongTown Marketplace offers a fantastic array of authentic pork curry noodles, rice dishes, and fresh papaya salads. It’s affordable, delicious, and there’s often a long line on weekends.

In conversations with other young professionals, we’re all navigating our identities and what being Hmong means to us. Thinking about Sunisa Lee [the Olympic gymnast from St. Paul] brings tears to my eyes. I’m incredibly proud of her for putting us on the map. It feels wonderful to be recognized and for others to know we exist.”

The Nordic community

Dr. John Litell

Originally from Sweden, Dr. Litell is the eldest child of two American expatriate journalists and now works as a critical care physician. Since 2018, he has been a board member of the American Swedish Institute in Minneapolis. In addition, he received the 2020 Peirene Stevns Translation Prize for his first literary translation, the English edition of Andrea Lundgren’s book Nordic Fauna (Peirene Press, 2021).

“My paternal grandparents are both Norwegian, while my maternal grandparents are Danish, Norwegian, and a bit Swedish. I identify as fully Scandinavian. I was born in Danderyd, a suburb just north of Stockholm. Our house was right across from a small lake, much like those found here in Minneapolis. I spent countless hours exploring the woods, paddling canoes, and lying on the dock trying to catch fish for our cat.

My parents divorced when I was around six, and my mother decided it was best to relocate closer to family in Wisconsin. The American Swedish Institute (ASI) became a significant connection for us, offering familiar sights and sounds, especially during the holidays. Through ASI, my mother discovered a summer camp organized by Concordia Language Villages. There, children adopt Swedish names, use Swedish currency, enjoy Swedish cuisine, and sing Swedish songs. This experience deeply connected me to our heritage.

My partner, Britt, was also born in Sweden to American parents, and her heritage is actually more Swedish than mine. I speak Swedish with our daughters; when my five-year-old began replying in Swedish, it felt like a pinnacle moment for me as a parent. I would love for us to live in Sweden for a while, but in the meantime, I'm doing everything possible to foster their interest in the language, culture, and traditions. We listen to Swedish radio, watch Swedish children's shows, and they attend Swedish school at ASI.

Engagement with the outdoors tends to be much stronger in Scandinavia than in the U.S. We are lucky to have this network of green and blue spaces throughout the Twin Cities, making it easy to access parks, lakes, and woods since they are all interconnected. Even during the colder months, there are plenty of activities to enjoy; the Loppet Foundation, which oversees the Trailhead at Theodore Wirth Regional Park, excels in maintaining its cross-country ski trails.

Sauna culture is also a big part of our lives. I have colleagues who are passionate about their backyard setups, but sauna love runs so deep in the Twin Cities that owning one isn’t necessary. We recently enjoyed a wonderful sauna experience on the rooftop of the Hewing Hotel and had fantastic moments with the 612 Sauna Society Cooperative. Their mobile sauna is run by knowledgeable individuals who provide a warm and welcoming orientation—no pun intended.

I don't want to romanticize Swedish culture too much; it has its own challenges, such as the rise of political extremism and the complexities of embracing diversity in a historically homogenous society. Over time, I've seen the ASI evolve from a nostalgic, tradition-based social club into a vibrant museum and cultural hub that highlights the significance of migration in our community and beyond, particularly through art. We focus on being a local resource rather than just a Scandinavian organization for those with white skin.

The Somali community

Ifrah Mansour

This multimedia performance artist, a 2022 Bush Fellow and Somali refugee, had her work showcased in the Minneapolis Institute of Art’s recent I Am Somali exhibition, the first significant museum display in the Midwest highlighting contemporary Somali artists. Mansour’s solo play, How to Have Fun in a Civil War, was performed at the Minnesota State Fair and the Guthrie Theater before touring London in 2022.

“I was about six years old when my family left Somalia. The civil war was traumatic; there was a funeral in our house almost daily. First, we fled to my grandmother’s farm in southern Somalia. What stands out to me—and what inspired me to create How to Have Fun in a Civil War—is that we managed to enjoy our childhood even while bombs were dropping. The kids would play hide-and-seek in those vast fields. I owe it to my grandmother, who found ways to maintain our innocence and ensure that violence and war didn’t rob us of our joy. We then spent several years in the Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya, awaiting U.S. sponsorship.

The first wave of Somalis arrived in Minnesota in the early 1990s, coinciding with the outbreak of the war. By the time my family got here in 1998, the community had already established businesses and could hire newcomers. We joke about how that first Somali who chose Minnesota should be punished. [Laughs] Why not Texas or California? I grew up in sandals and enjoyed the beach; we even slept outdoors at times. The thought of not seeing your toes for two-thirds of the year was so alien to us. So, why are all these tropical folks here? It’s all about the strength of community—knowing people who can help you land a job, buy an affordable car, or find good housing.

As immigrants, we observed the struggles our parents faced without formal education. Most of us pursue financially stable careers; few dare to follow their passions. I thought nursing was my path—until college, when I started working at Mixed Blood Theatre in Minneapolis as a community liaison for local Somalis. Watching African American actors bring stunning stories to life on stage made me realize I looked forward to my job more than my science classes. I would even skip study sessions to catch a performance. It was a daunting choice to commit to this, but I feel the arts chose me, not the other way around.

The Somali community perceives theater as something distinctly American, not Somali. During my time at Mixed Blood, some elders expressed that theater is haram, or forbidden. Yet, while I was teaching them English, they would recite poems from Somali theaters! Some elders opposed my passion so much that I had to keep it hidden to avoid ridicule or attempts to sway my mind. However, every time I had the chance to step onto the stage, I felt truly seen—like I was finally living authentically.

Minnesota’s arts scene is vibrant and innovative. I've been part of the MayDay Parade and the Northern Spark festival. I cherish the small yet powerful Little Africa Festival in St. Paul [held every August]. And if there’s an initiation rite for artists, it’s definitely the [late summer] Minnesota State Fair. That crowd is tough! People are often in food comas; if you're fortunate, they might wander your way for a moment. There I was, barefoot in the heat, performing a civil war show from a child's viewpoint, thinking, Is anyone listening? But a few were, and that was truly magical. We may differ politically, but our shared love for food, music, and culture remains strong.

Many of my peers couldn’t make this choice. It feels selfish, like, How can you entertain with puppets while your community is struggling? You should find a better job and send money home! I still wrestle with these feelings, but I recognize my purpose—to bring value to my culture. Our stories become a lifeline, a parachute, allowing others to see themselves reflected in them.”