If I didn’t think he’d lecture me about sodium content, I’d love to take Michael Moss out for a congratulatory beer.
Moss
is an investigative reporter for the New York Times, and author of the
book “Salt Sugar Fat,” a manifesto about the evils of the processed food
industry. Those three ingredients are among my favorite things in
existence, next to heavy metal and puppies, but that’s precisely what
the big food conglomerates are banking on: They pump up their products
full of heart-clogging grime because that’s what hooks us. We’re like
smokers addicted to nicotine, only tobacco kills us marginally faster
than wafer cookies, and doesn’t taste as good. Until Phillip-Morris
unleashes their new line of wafer cookie products, at which point I may
start eating cigarettes.
There are skeptics, sure. They roll their eyes at what they interpret as
a conspiracy theory. Then they eat a cheese-covered doughnut and wash
it down with Yoohoo.
But Moss – who counts current and former food
industry executives among his sources – bases his findings on
first-person accounts and oodles of scientific research. What the
research reveals is pretty clear: Junk food is addictive. And we already
kinda know that, don’t we? We constantly use the language of addicts
when we talk about food. “Oh my goodness, I can’t stop eating these!” “I
was going to stop at three, but I have no self control!” “You can’t eat
just one, can you?” Cake and
chips are a metal pipe and a dank alley away from being crack.
If all that sounds a bit hyperbolic, it’s because most people aren’t
privy to some of the shadier practices at the companies that make
chocolate-covered pretzel sticks, syrup-filled marshmallow hot-dogs, or
whatever else is stopping our hearts these days. It’s tempting to merely
shrug one’s shoulders and assert that bad eating habits are a matter
only of choice, that obesity is an epidemic simply because people lack
good sense and self-control. That a good many folks lack self control is
obvious – stop into any roadside diner south of the Mason-Dixon line,
and the burgers there swell to the size of a healthy baby – but that’s
not the whole story.
See, employed at these big food corporations are men and women in lab
coats. When you’re wearing a lab coat, chances are you’re one of three
things: A doctor, a scientist, or someone at a Halloween party dressed
as a doctor or scientist. Working at companies like Kelloggs and General
Mills are several of these lab-coat-bedecked individuals, and they’re
not checking Count Chocula’s blood pressure.
They’re using the science of chemistry to determine what they call the
“bliss point” of your favorite sugary treats. That’s the point where a
food becomes so irresistibly tasty that you just have to have more of
it. Which means you purchase more of it. Which means food executives get
to buy silk pajamas for their Shi Tzus.
Years ago, I was young boy living just up the hill from a fast food
restaurant. On clear days, when I was outside riding a bike or playing
catch, a wind would occasionally blow in from the west and carry with it
the glorious smells of French fries and beef patties. Now, when you’re a
kid, you don’t have a lot of money. Lawn-mowing cash and allowance
savings comprise the bulk of your portfolio. So when a friend was
visiting, and we had a hankering for something quick and cheap, where do
you think we went? At a five-minute walk, the burger joint seemed like
the obvious choice.
They taught us nutrition in school, but a child of 8 or 9 doesn’t really
internalize the importance of such a message – especially with the
smells of greasy goodness filling his nostrils. A kid, a parent, anyone can fall into a cycle of bad
choices given the right circumstances. Which was why, from 9 to about
13, I was hopelessly obese.
Yep. With two chafing thunderthighs and a pair of sweatpants that could shelter a Brazilian soccer team.
Growing
awareness of a proper diet – and a growth spurt that shot me up about a
foot in four years – helped. But for months, I delayed my impending
lifestyle change with a mantra familiar to anyone who’s tried to quit
smoking: “Tomorrow. I’ll enjoy myself for one last day, and then I’ll
quit tomorrow.”
Only, at some point, tomorrow has to become today.
And how many
people have faced that dilemma needlessly? Personal responsibility is
important, but at some point we need to start asking businesses to be
responsible as well. Which probably means a health warning similar to
ones found on packs of cigarettes. And a ceasefire on all these new food
“innovations,” like cheese-stuffed pizza crust, and icing-filled
doughnuts topped with M&Ms and bacon. Actually, I just made that one
up myself. You’re welcome, Tim Horton’s.
Look, if it’s someone’s birthday, I’ll eat cake. I’ll even toss back a
couple of cookies on occasion. Every once in a while, that’s okay. But
the big food players don’t inflate their margins on every once in a
while. They’ve got this down, literally, to a science.
So hoist your beer, Mr. Moss. For pulling back the curtain, you’ve earned it – just keep in mind those empty calories.
Come to think if it, I’ll order you a light.
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