Tom Philpott

The Oceans Are On the Verge of Mass Extinction. Here's How to Avoid It.

| Fri Jan. 23, 2015 7:00 AM EST
Who cranked the heat up and added acid?

We land-based creatures live in the midst of a massive extinction crisis, just the sixth one over the past half billion years. What about the oceans? A much-discussed, wide-ranging recent Science study (paywalled) has good news: Sea critters are currently faring much better than their land counterparts, which are going extinct at a rate 36 times higher. (That number is likely exaggerated, the authors note, because scientists have done a much better job of cataloging land critters than sea critters.)

Tackling the over-fishing problem will be no mean feat, given the expected rise of the human population to 9 billion by 2050, but it's probably doable.

But the report also brings horrible news: Between over-fishing and habitat destruction (think acidification, coastal development, warming, coral destruction, dead zones from fertilizer runoff, etc.), the oceans may be on the brink of their own extinction catastrophe. (The New York Times' Carl Zimmer has more details here; Vox's Brad Plumer has a good analysis here.) Today's marine extinction rates look eerily similar to the "moderate" land-based ones just before the Industrial Revolution, the authors warn. "Rates of extinction on land increased dramatically after this period, and we may now be sitting at the precipice of a similar extinction transition in the oceans."

What to do? Tackling the over-fishing problem will be no mean feat, given the expected rise of the human population to 9 billion by 2050, but it's probably doable. One place to start is smarter fish farming. Globally, about half of seafood consumed comes from farms, but much of it actually harms the oceans. Salmon farms, for example, rely on sucking up mass quantities of wild fish for feed—it takes at least three pounds of anchovies, sardines, menhaden, and other "forage fish" to deliver a pound of farmed salmon (not to mention the waste problem created when you confine thousands of big fish loose together).

And Asian shrimp farms—source of nearly 90 percent of the shrimp consumed in the US—have been plunked down atop what had been highly productive coastal ecosystems called mangrove forests. According to the United Nations, as much as a third of the globe's mangroves have been destroyed since 1980—and shrimp and other forms of aquaculture account for more than half that loss.

But there are ways to improve fish farming. Filter-feeding species like oysters and clams—which get their nutrients by filtering out plankton and other stuff suspended in the water—require no feed and can enhance coastal ecosystems. And there are farming systems (both ancient and new-fangled) that combine several species and even land-based crops to generate lots of high-quality food with few inputs and little waste. Finally, my colleagues Maddie Oatman and Brent Brownell have documented a successful effort to farm top-quality trout—normally a fish-eating fish—with vegetarian feed made mainly of (non-gross) food waste. Maddie's article here; video below.

 

Then there's that oft-repeated, little-heeded advice to choose seafood low on the trophic scare—that is, fish and other sea critters that eat plants and plankton, not other fish. Oysters, clams, and mussels are all good examples. And instead of choosing farmed salmon, go with the little fish that gets fed to them. To that end, here are two recipes for sardines—trust me, they're delicious.

Now, as tricky as it will be to cut back on overfishing by convincing fish farmers to mend their ways and consumers to change their habits, the even bigger challenge will be to stop trashing the place all of these critters call home. Habitat degradation, according to the Science authors, is the main trigger for the extinction wave we're now seeing on land, and is probably the biggest threat to cause a similar catastrophe at sea. "If you cranked up the aquarium heater and dumped some acid in the water, your fish would not be very happy," Malin L. Pinsky, a marine biologist at Rutgers University and an author of the report, told The Times' Zimmer. "In effect, that's what we’re doing to the oceans." Of course, both warming and acidification are the direct result of our fossil fuel habit—the same force that's generating potentially catastrophic climate change up here on land. There's no saving the oceans without solving that problem.

Advertise on MotherJones.com

Why Are the Feds Abusing Research Animals?

| Wed Jan. 21, 2015 7:00 AM EST
Do I look like a catfish to you?

The ace New York Times food/agriculture reporter Michael Moss has an excellent long piece on the US Meat Animal Research Center, a US Department of Agriculture-run institution that, Moss writes, has "one overarching mission: helping producers of beef, pork and lamb turn a higher profit." As a result of its laser focus on that task, Moss shows, the center has routinely subjected animals to cruel conditions since its inception in 1964, unchecked by the Animal Welfare Act, which exempts farm animals used in research. The article is littered with images of calves born mangled, newborn lambs abandoned to die in the cold overnight, and piglets crushed by their mothers—all the routine result of federally funded experiments.

What strikes me is the cold, industrial vision of livestock farming embodied by the research center: animals as inert commodities to be manufactured as cheaply as possible, like microchips or screws. Physiology becomes a production process to be hacked for the convenience of producers. Cows only give birth to one calf at a time? Inefficient and unacceptable! Moss draws out the grotesque tale of a project designed to change that, spearheaded by the center's founding director, Keith E. Gregory. Back in 1981, Moss reports, Gregory published a paper comparing the cow's modest reproductive powers with those of the prolific catfish, which churns out "more than 1,000 times its weight in offspring."

Thus launched a long effort to make cows more catfishlike: Engineer them (using conventional breeding techniques) to birth twins, not one-offs. And it succeeded—sort of. By 2000, Moss reports, cows in the experiment were birthing twins 55 percent of the time vs. the normal rate of 3 percent. But…

Some 95 percent of the females born with male siblings had deformed vaginas. Many of the twins died during birth as their eight legs became tangled. Even calves born singly had trouble getting out: The mothers had been bred with such large wombs, to accommodate twins, that the calf could not get enough traction. And the breeding increasingly yielded triplets, with 12 legs to get tangled.

As a result, he writes, "16.5 percent of twins and triplets were dying, a rate more than four times that of single calves."

Still, the center thought it had handed the beef industry a great gift—at a beef conference, center officials "acknowledged the high death rates, yet argued that the math still worked in ranchers' favor," because, "the combined weight of surviving twin cows was nearly 50 percent more, on average, than for conventional cows."

Instead of trying to turn cows into catfishesque baby-making machines, USDA could figure out best practices for diversified livestock ag.

Ironically, the idea of cows tweaked to birth twin calves creeped out Big Beef, an industry not normally known for turning squeamish in pursuit of profit. The idea never caught on among cattle ranchers, and the program petered out in 2013. "The surviving cows were sold, though the center is still trying with little success to sell the bulls' semen," Moss writes. Your tax dollars at work! The piece teases out similarly vexed efforts to jack up pigs' birth output. One initiative that did succeed, according to Moss, was a program to breed pigs to be much leaner—creating flavor-challenged pork and sows that are "so low in fat that one in five females cannot reproduce," Moss writes.

Now, a lot of people will read Moss' exposé and conclude that the US Meat Animal Research Center must be defunded and closed. But publicly financed ag research is vital to maintaining a resilient, plentiful food supply in era of climate chaos and ecological crisis in farm country. Federal ag research funding has been flat in recent years, and a rising tide of agribusiness cash has played an increasingly dominant role in setting the research agenda, especially in the meat field.

But there's no reason that federal livestock research should exist purely to boost the profits of the big meat packers, which rely on highly specialized farms called concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs) that stuff thousands animals tightly together. It has been well established that diversified farms, ones that produce meat as well as crops, are more ecologically sound (PDF) than specialized ones.

But now that diversified farms have largely been driven out of business over the past several decades, few farmers (or the bankers they rely on for financing) are willing to take the risk of, say, periodically rotating beef cows into fields now dominated by corn and soybeans, even though such a system would likely sequester carbon and rebuild depleted soil. And that's where the US Meat Animal Research Center could come in. Instead of spending years and untold resources trying to turn cows into catfishesque baby-making machines, they could do on-the-ground research to figure out best practices for diversified livestock ag. Don't slaughter federal livestock research; nurture it so that it grows into something that benefits the public—while also respecting animal welfare.

Craft Beer Uses 4 Times As Much Barley As Corporate Brew

| Tue Jan. 20, 2015 7:00 AM EST

For decades, US beer lovers have denounced corporate-made brew as watered-down swill. Just how diluted is the product peddled by the two enormous dinosaurs that dodder over the US beer market, InBev (maker of Bud) and MillerCoors? In a delicious new report, the US Department of Agriculture has numbers.

Most beers, industrial or craft, get their substance—what experts call body, or mouth feel, as well as any sweet and toasty flavors—from malted barley. (Malting is the process of germinating barley grains, which frees up their sugars for fermentation.) The USDA researchers crunched data on the US barley and beer markets, and found that craft brewers on average use four times more barley per barrel of beer than the giants do.

An environmental case for watered-down beer exists, but it's as weak and uninteresting as the resulting beer itself.

Which makes craft beer seem like a bit of a bargain. A six-pack of Miller Lite retails for about $5.50 in Texas, while typical craft beers go for about $10 per six—not even twice the price for four times the barley (and flavor). (Craft beers also tend to contain much more of the other main ingredient in beer, hops). In essence, Big Beer (like Big Almond) has hit upon a profitable strategy for reselling tap water at a high markup.

Now, one way to look at it is: Isn't watery beer easier on the environment? You know: Less barley embedded in each beer means less fertilizer for barley production, less pesticides, etc. That's really a version of an old industry saw—the solution to pollution is dilution. But there's no evidence that people consume fewer resources per beer-drinking session when they consume corporate beer than they do when they drink craft. Let's say Person A knocks back four easy-drinking Miller Lites and Person B is satisfied after two malty, substantial Dale's Pale Ales. The beer snob may have consumed more overall barley, but she has two fewer empties to show for her pleasure. In addition to less energy embedded in fabricating and recycling fewer cans or bottles, that also means less space in trucks, coolers, etc. An environmental case for watered-down beer exists, I guess, but it's as weak and uninteresting as the resulting beer itself.

At any rate, the report confirms a trend I've been writing about for a while (and enjoying even longer): Craft beer is undergoing a boom, even as corporate beer weathers a long, slow decline. Between 1993 and 2013, the researchers find, the amount of beer churned out by craft brewers expanded by a factor of nine, growing by an average rate of nearly 14 percent annually. Corporate swill? Output has dropped by an average of 0.6 percent annually over that period. Craft still accounts for only about 7.8 percent of beer produced the in the US—meaning there's plenty of room for additional growth.

The researchers conclude that the craft beer renaissance could boost domestic barley production—total US harvested barley acres peaked at about 11 million in in the 1980s and have since fallen well below 5 million acres. (For comparison, US farmers typically plant about 90 million acres of corn and 80 million acres of soybeans.) About a quarter of US barley is used as animal feed; the great bulk of the rest gets malted for beer. (Malted barley is also used for Scotch-style whiskey, which is made here only in small amounts—our native brown spirit, bourbon, is based mainly on corn.) Overall US malt demand has fallen since the early 1990s as Big Beer has shifted to lighter styles and seen demand for its products drop. But the craft renaissance has begun to offset and could eventually reverse the trend of falling malt demand, the USDA researchers conclude.

Currently, the malted barley industry is global in scope and dominated by a handful of companies (PDF), including Cargill. But alongside the craft-brew explosion, small, locally oriented malt houses are springing up nationwide, providing a link between brewers and nearby farmers. And that could be a good thing for the environment. If US farmers incorporated a "small grain" like barley into the dominant corn-soy rotation, it would break insect, disease, and weed cycles, drastically reducing reliance on toxic pesticides, a 2012 study conducted at Iowa State University found. I'd drink to that.

Tom's Kitchen: Pasta Fagioli With Winter Vegetables and Bacon

| Sat Jan. 17, 2015 7:00 AM EST

Pasta makes a great showcase for a season's bounty—and not just in spring, despite the famed dish spaghetti primavera. I recently found myself in possession of some excellent butternut squash and collard greens from Austin's Boggy Creek Farm, as well as gorgeous bacon from the throwback butcher shop Salt and Time. So, sweet (squash), pungent (collards), smoky/umami (bacon): elements of a great dish. To round it out, I decided to add white beans to the mix, using a method I recently picked up from the Los Angeles Times' Russ Parsons: Without any soaking, you cook the beans in a covered pot in an oven heated to 350 degrees F. Within two hours, I had perfectly tender, flavorful beans to bolster my pasta. (You can also just open a can, of course.) Grate a little Parmesan cheese and open a bottle of sturdy red wine, and you've got a dinner satisfying enough to overwhelm the winter blues.

Vegetarians can forgo the bacon and cook the collard greens in olive oil along with a rehydrated and chopped-up chipotle pepper, maintaining the smoke while adding a blast of heat.

Pasta Fagioli With Winter Vegetables and Bacon

1 large or two small butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1 inch pieces (a tricky task, but easily accomplished with a sharp knife and proper technique, laid out here)
Some extra-virgin olive oil
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
4 or 5 slices of bacon, preferably from pastured hogs, cut into half-inch chunks
3-4 cloves of garlic, smashed, peeled, and minced
1 large bunch of collard greens, stemmed and chopped
1 pound of pasta (I used Bionaturae whole wheat spaghetti)
1 1/12 cups cooked white beans (Russ Parsons' no-soak method here; you can also substitute 1 can of beans)
Plenty of fresh-ground black pepper
1 bunch parsley, chopped, and crushed chili flakes, to garnish
A chunk of Parmesan or other hard cheese, for grating.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Dump the squash cubes onto a baking sheet and give them a few glugs of olive oil, a good pinch of salt, and a lashing of black pepper. Using your hands, toss them to coat them evenly with oil, and then arrange the cubes in a single layer. Bake them, turning once or twice, until they are tender and beginning to brown, about 40 minutes or so.

Meanwhile, put a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat and add the bacon. Cook it, stirring often, until it is brown and crisp. Remove the bacon from the skillet with a slotted soon, setting it aside. With the bacon fat still in the skillet, add the garlic. Cook it for a few seconds, stirring often, and add the chopped collards. Using a spatula or tongs, toss them well, coating them with fat and garlic. Add a pinch of salt and a dash of water. Turn heat low and cover the skillet, and let the collards cook, stirring occasionally, until they are tender.

When the squash and collards are both well underway, cook the pasta using the low-water method. Reserve about a cup of the cooking liquid before draining the pasta.

In a large bowl, combine the squash, collard greens, beans, and the cup of pasta cooking liquid. Dump the hot pasta over, and gently combine everything using a tongs or two big spoons. Add the parsley, a pinch of chili flakes, and several grinds of pepper, and taste for salt, correcting if necessary. Pass the Parmesan and a grater at the table.

What Does "Cage-Free" Even Mean?

| Wed Jan. 14, 2015 7:00 AM EST

What kind of farm do you imagine when you think of organic or cage-free eggs? Images of hens frolicking in lush meadows?

That kind of farming exists, but such conditions aren't mandated by organic code—not explicitly anyway. According to the USDA regulations, animals raised organically must have "year-round access ... to the outdoors, shade, shelter, exercise areas, fresh air, clean water for drinking, and direct sunlight, suitable to the species, its stage of life, the climate, and the environment." Those rules are open to a wide variety of interpretations.,

Ten times over the course of a year and a half, under cover of night, a group of radical animal-rights activists snuck into the facilities of a large operation called Petaluma Farms, a major west-coast supplier to Whole Foods and Organic Valley, according to The New York Times. The Petaluma egg complex produces both certified-organic and non-organic "cage free" eggs, the main difference between the two standards being that organic eggs must come from hens fed only organic feed.

The video shows birds with blisters, missing feathers, one clearly caked with shit.

The group, Direct Action Everywhere, seems to find all animal farming abhorrent—a point driven home in the video's first third, wherein several group members denounce the killing of animals. Later, footage taken from within the Petaluma facilities shows lots of birds wallowing tightly together, often amidst what looks like significant buildup of their own waste. The narrators use words like "stench, " "filth," and "misery" to describe the scene; and show several birds in obvious bad health—birds with blisters, missing feathers, one clearly caked with shit—along with birds that appear to be in decent shape. The crew dramatically rescues one pathetically injured bird, handing her over the fence, one activist to another, and whisking her to a vet in Berkeley, who declares her in dismal shape.

In a media statement, Petaluma owners Judy and Steve Mahrt wrote that "The video in no way reflects our practices or the overall health of our flocks." As for outside access, the statement adds the company maintains "sun porches for outdoor access while protecting from predators and disease." All the filming in the video takes place at night, when most domesticated chickens go inside, anyway. So the video doesn't tell us anything about the birds' outdoor access.

Pressed for details, the company referred me to the below video. At about the 2:38 mark, there's a depiction of one such sun porch—it's a raised, triangular space jutting off the side of the building, made of chicken wire. By the company's own admission, then, the birds never touch the ground outside—their "outdoor access" seems to conform to the letter of organic code, if not the spirit of organic farming conjured in the heads of consumers.

This is not Petaluma's first PR problem. Michael Pollan famously used it as an example of industrial-organic farming in Omnivore's Dilemma, observing that its meat-poultry buildings "don't resemble a farm so much as a barracks," and that the birds were conditioned to never make use of their access to outdoors. As for the company's egg operation, Judy's Family Farm, Pollan never got a look: "The company was too concerned about biosecurity to let a visitor get past the office."

Last year, Petaluma settled a lawsuit brought by the Animal Legal Defense Fund over the depiction of the lives of its hens on its packaging. As part of the agreement, in which Petaluma did not admit to wrongdoing, the company agreed to modify its egg cartons "by removing the illustration of hens on a green field and removing the language that Plaintiff alleged could lead consumers to mistakenly believe the eggs come from hens with significant outdoor access." Previously, the inside of the cartons claimed that "these hens are raised in wide-open spaces in Sonoma Valley, where they are free to roam, scratch, and play."

A "sun porch" at a Petaluma Farms facility—the "access to outdoors" required by organic code. Screenshot from the video, above, provided by Petaluma Farms

So what's to be taken away from the Direct Action Everywhere video? I see it as an important but problematic look behind the veil of what Pollan has deemed "supermarket pastoral"—the gauze of marketing that cloaks the often-harsh realities of large-scale organic farming.

Yet compared to the vast Iowa facilities that triggered a half-billion-egg salmonella recall in 2010 (the Food and Drug Administration's stomach-turning post-outbreak inspection report can be found here), the Petaluma houses captured on tape by Direct Action Everywhere actually look pretty good. When you confine thousands of birds into a building and manage several buildings, problems like the ones caught on tape by DAE are going to arise. I'd feel better about Petaluma if it represented standard practice for industrial egg production, and not the rarefied status implied by organic certification.

Former Pepsi Lobbyist Will Help Overhaul School Lunch Program

| Tue Jan. 13, 2015 7:00 AM EST

Some political functionaries creep sheepishly through the revolving door that separates government from the industries it regulates—you know, maybe wait a few years between switches.

Not Joel Leftwich. Since 2010, he's held the following posts, in order: legislative assistant to longtime Senate agriculture committee stalwart and agribusiness-cash magnet Sen. Pat Roberts (R-Kansas); program manager in the federal lobbying department for agrichemical giant DuPont; deputy staff director for the Senate Agriculture Committee; and director of lobbying for PepsiCo. Now, after the Republican takeover of the Senate and Robert's ascension to the chair of the Agriculture Committee, Leftwich is switching sides again: He's going to be the ag committee's chief of staff.

Leftwich's most recent former employer, PepsiCo, touts Cheetos as a wholesome snackfood for kids.

And all just in time for the Congress to perform its once-every-five-years overhaul of federal nutrition programs, including school lunches and the Women, Infants and Children (WIC) food-aid initiative. Back in 2010, President Obama signed a school lunch bill, generated by a Democratic-controlled Congress, that banished junk-food snacks from schools and stipulated more fruits and vegetables in lunches. Leftwich's once-and-current boss, Sen. Roberts, has been a persistent and virulent critic of those reforms.

As for Leftwich's most recent ex-employer, Pepsi—whose junk-food empire spans from its namesake soda to Lays and Doritos snacks—its take on the issue of school food is embodied in this flyer, uncovered by my colleague Alex Park. It touts Cheetos as a wholesome snack for school kids. PepsiCo showers Washington in lobbying cash—note how its expenditures jumped in 2009 and 2010, when the last school lunch reauthorization was being negotiated in Congress.

In other revolving-door news: Mike Johanns of Nebraska recently retired from the Senate, where, from his perch on the ag committee, he joined Sen. Roberts in pushing the agribusiness agenda and sopping up industry campaign donations. Before that, he served as USDA chief for President George W. Bush. Now? Days after his retirement comes news he will serve on the board of directors of agribusiness giant John Deere—a position that pays at least $240,000 per year in compensation and stock, Omaha.Com reports. But don't worry: "Johanns stressed that he won’t be doing any direct lobbying of his former Capitol Hill colleagues or their aides on behalf of the company."

Advertise on MotherJones.com

I Used to Be a Snob About Fake Meat. I Was Dead Wrong.

| Wed Jan. 7, 2015 7:00 AM EST
Just like chicken

Two years ago in the New York Times Magazine, the great food writer Mark Bittman made the case for fake meat. "Isn’t it preferable," he asked, "to eat plant products mixed with water that have been put through a thingamajiggy that spews out meatlike stuff, instead of eating those same plant products put into a chicken that does its biomechanical thing for the six weeks of its miserable existence, only to have its throat cut in the service of yielding barely distinguishable meat?"

The argument is powerful. Factory-farmed meat doesn't taste like much, yet generates all manner of wreckage, from antibiotic-resistant pathogens to fouled water and air to horrific working conditions and what amounts to systematized animal torture. Indeed, why not just eat some soybeans tarted up to look and taste like meat instead?

Well, the falafel revolution I tried to foment has not materialized.

At the time I scoffed at Bittman's alternative. I deplored the ingredients list of the chicken substitute he had profiled—soy protein isolate, pea protein, carrot fiber, etc.—as an example of what Michael Pollan has called "nutritionism": fracturing perfectly excellent whole foods like peas and carrots into components and reassembling them into something less nutritionally valuable. "You're almost certainly better off eating carrots and edamame—young soybeans that actually can be eaten by people—than you are ingesting mashed-up isolated components of them," I sniffed, and then went on to suggest that everyone interested in eating less meat turn to tried-and-true, minimally processed high-protein vegetarian foodstuffs instead.

Well, the falafel revolution I tried to foment has not materialized. And now, another piece by an esteemed food writer—Rowan Jacobson, author of American Terroir: Savoring the Flavors of Our Woods, Waters, and Fields—has caused me to rethink my position.

In a much-shared article in Outside, Jacobson profiles a company called Beyond Meat, which plans to debut a product called Beast Burger later this month. Where other companies, including Beyond Meat, have made substances that closely enough resemble chicken, Jacobson reports, the Beast Burger will represent the first respectable facsimile of beef.

It wasn't some flavor or texture breakthrough that prompted my reconsideration. Despite the lofty promise in the article's subtitle ("the juicy flavor and texture of the real thing"), what Jacobson actually tastes when he bites into a Beast Burger doesn't exactly pique the appetite—unless you have a thing for '70s-era school-cafeteria cuisine:

Is it as delicious as a quarter-pound of well-marbled, inch-thick USDA Choice? Hell no. Good ground beef, lovingly grilled at home and served piping hot, packs a juicy succulence that this Beast lacks. In flavor and texture, the current Beast reminds me of the Salisbury steak of my youth—not exactly something to celebrate, but not terrible, either.

In an excellent 2013 piece on Beyond Meat and other faux-animal-product purveyors, Mother Jones' Sydney Brownstone had a similar reaction to the company's chicken strips: "Without any sauce or fixings, the strips' flavor resembled that of a grilled Chick-fil-A breast abandoned in a cup holder for a few days."

Nor do I find the people behind these companies particularly appealing. Both Jacobson and Brownstone portray the shakers and movers driving the new-wave meat alternatives as Silicon Valley-funded, jargon-spouting techsters—the kind I look to for a clever smartphone app, not for lunch.

So why am I abandoning my opposition to fake meat? Jacobson drives home a point that's been made before, but it's starting to convince me:

Why turn plant proteins into burgers and dogs? Why not just eat them as peas and soybeans and seeds? To which I say: taco, chimichanga, empanada, crepe, pierogi, wonton, gyoza, stuffed roti, pupusa, pastie, pig in a blanket, croque monsieur, pastrami on rye. Culture is a lump of flesh wrapped in dough. If you want to save the world, you'd better make it convenient.

Companies like Beyond Meat will never be able to introduce pea protein powder into one end of a machine and extrude a convincing substitute for seared steak or roasted chicken from the other. But maybe they can replicate the way most people actually experience meat: As part of some heavily seasoned, hyperprocessed concoction. Brownstone's devastating description of her experience eating that fake chicken product involved bare strips. But tweaked with "Southwest-style" seasonings, she reports, "they really did taste startlingly similar to what I remember from my pre-vegetarian days."

Most people don't want to eat just beans.

While I still maintain that you'd be better off just eating beans than hyperprocessed beans made to simulate meat, I can acknowledge that most people don't want to eat just beans—and that these products are likely nutritionally superior to the factory-farmed meat they aim to replace. And Jacobson supplies evidence that such products are already luring meat eaters away from meat at fast-food joints. "When Chipotle added shredded-tofu Sofritas to its burrito options at a few California restaurants in 2013, sales outstripped expectations," he reports. "Half the Sofritas buyers, Chipotle found, were meat eaters."

Part of me still recoils against accepting highly industrial transformations as the solution to anything food-related. And I consider animals, even cows, to be a vital element of truly sustainable and productive farming. I'd still love to see huge swaths of Midwestern corn and soy country be converted to pasture for grass-munching, soil-building beef cows. Meanwhile, though, our vast meat industry lurches on, sucking in tremendous amounts of resources and churning out all manner of destruction, along with meat that isn't much more appealing to me than Salisbury steak-like "beef" or "chicken" strips that savor of days-old Chick-fil-A.

All of which brings me back to that 2012 Bittman piece—the one I dismissed at the time. Why, he asked, turn to Tyson and other gigantic meat companies to "use the poor chicken as a machine to produce meat when you can use a machine to produce 'meat' that seems like chicken"—and much more efficiently? According to Jacobson, it takes 36,000 calories worth of corn and soybeans to produce 1,000 calories of feedlot beef. It's obviously preferable just to shove that feed into a processor, tweak it a bit, and produce something beeflike. Especially if, as Jacobson, Brownstone, and Bittman all seem to think, people will eventually embrace such substitutes (even if I won't—I'll still process my own beans, and eat a little well-raised meat).

If these Silicon Valley tech bros can "disrupt" Big Meat into oblivion, I now say, "bon appétit." I could live happily enough in world in which factory-farmed meat is replaced by factory-tweaked bean products, while pastured-based animal farming still flourishes alongside it.

Antibiotic Failure Will Kill 10 Million People a Year by 2050

| Tue Jan. 6, 2015 7:00 AM EST

If your goal is to ruin the effectiveness of antibiotic drugs, I can think of two efficient ways. One would be to wildly overprescribe them—say, to people suffering from a cold virus, even though antibiotics work their magic on bacterial pathogens, not viral ones. The other would be to feed daily, low doses of them to animals confined by the thousands in vast indoor facilities. In both cases, you're creating ideal conditions for bacteria to evolve to survive the drugs we throw at them: A percentage of bacteria withstands the chemical onslaught, and passes genes on to ever-heartier next generations.

Unhappily, both of those practices—overprescription to people and routine use on animal farmshave been in play pretty much since the emergence of antibiotics after World War II. And so we have entered an age of widespread antibiotic resistance—on our way to what Thomas Frieden, of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, has called a "post-antibiotics era."

What would that be like? In a great 2013 piece, the journalist Maryn McKenna laid out all the ways we quietly rely on antibiotics to control and minimize infections in high-stress but routine situations—everything from cesarean sections to car accidents. And in a new report, the UK government has come out with some startling global projections. Currently, the report finds, 700,000 people die annually from pathogens that have developed resistance to antibiotics, a figure the report calls a "low estimate." If present trends continue, antibiotic failure will claim 10 million lives per year by 2050, the report concludes. That's more carnage than what's currently caused by cancer and traffic accidents combined.

The economic toll will also be mind-boggling. By 2050, the report estimates, antibiotic resistance will be incurring $8 trillion in annual expenses globally. That's equal to nearly half of the total output of the US economy in 2014—an enormous hemorrhaging of global resources.

The report, the first in an ongoing review of antibiotic resistance ordered by British Prime Minister David Cameron last summer, focuses narrowly on impacts. Future ones will discuss potential solutions. Here's a start: Convince the US meat industry, which now sucks in 80 percent of the antibiotics consumed in the country, to wean itself from its reliance on routine antibiotic use.

The 9 Best Cookbooks of 2014

| Sat Dec. 20, 2014 6:09 PM EST

Another year, another spate of brilliant cookbooks. Here are the ones that made the biggest impression on me, in no particular order.

Bitter: A Taste of the World's Most Dangerous Flavor, with Recipes, by Jennifer McLagan. In 2005, nearly a decade before "bone broth" emerged as a craze, McLagan came out with Bones, a delicious defense of a culinary resource people normally discard. Three years later, when people like me were still mostly shunning the lard jar, she produced the equally excellent Fat, which she called an "appreciation of the misunderstood ingredient." McLagan, perhaps the most idiosyncratic and underrated cookbook author of our time, has now trained her powers on the stuff that makes you grimace the first time it hits your palate: radicchio, dandelion greens, hops, brassicas, chicory, citrus zest, coffee, etc. "Without bitterness we lose a way to balance sweetness," she instructs. "Food without bitterness lacks depth and complexity." Bitter brims with luminous mini-essays on the science and philosophy of taste, and delivers dozens of straight-ahead recipes that teach us to tame and celebrate the most challenging of the five basic flavors.

Great gift for: People with adventurous palates.
Killer dish: Dandelion salad with hot bacon and mustard dressing.
Dish I'm dying to try: Pork chop (bone-in, fat lined) in coffee and black currant sauce.

Bar Tartine: Techniques & Recipes, by Nick Balla and Cortney Burns. Based on a single meal several years ago, I've always assumed San Francisco's Bar Tartine—sister to the justly venerated Tartine Bakery—specialized in simple bistro food. So I wasn't overly excited when this substantial, beautifully produced tome arrived. But rather than deliver yet more versions of steak frites or coq au vin, the book reads like a manifesto written by radical gourmet homesteaders—one of the weirdest and most compelling cookbooks I've picked up in years. I got lost in the rabbit warrens of the opening "projects kitchen" section, where the authors lay out in detail all the stuff they make from scratch. "Our dairy program began humbly—with yogurt, sour cream, and kefir—and evolved to include all the products we currently use: blue cheese, pepper Jack, gouda, triple creams, feta, and fresh cheeses such as mozzarella, goat cheese, and farmers cheese," the authors declare. Whoa. Ever wondered how to make your own kefir butter? Balla and Burns have you covered. I had never heard of "black garlic" before. Turns out, "holding garlic at 130 F for two to three weeks renders the cloves as black as tar." Is that a good thing? "All of the characteristic sharpness disappears and is replaced with a molasses-like sweetness and an aroma reminiscent of licorice." Then there's the spice mixes. Forget, say, homemade curry powder. Think "charred eggplant spice," a powder that "tastes like the pure flavor of earth and smoke" (other elements: charred, dehydrated chile peppers, huitlachoche—a corn fungus—and green onions.) Surprisingly simple (but never obvious) recipes follow the opening section's wild innovations. I predict this book will be seducing and flummoxing me for years. Also, I've got to get myself back to Bar Tartine.

Great gift for: Anyone with radical gourmet homesteader tendencies; and jaded home cooks in search of inspiration.
Killer dish: Chilled beet soup with coriander & yogurt.
Dish I'm dying to try: Someday? Smoked potatoes in black garlic vinaigrette with ramp mayonnaise.
 

Plenty More: Vibrant Vegetable Cooking from London's Ottolenghi, by Yotam Ottolenghi. Have we reached peak Ottolenghi? That was my question when I cracked the latest from the ubiquitous London chef, whose classics Plenty and Jerusalem seem to grace the shelves of most everyone I know, and won a spot in my 2012 best-of list. Known for his colorful, vibrant, vegetable-centered Mediterranean fare, the London-based, Israeli-born chef has been profiled in The New Yorker and interviewed on every foodie podcast. Does he have anything more to say? Hell, yes. Plenty More ventures farther afield from the author's native Mediterranean region than his other works, copping techniques and ingredients from Thailand, Iran, India, and more. It draws you in with the delectable photography, and keeps you hooked with irresistible combinations: oranges and dates; beets with avocado and peas; leeks with goat cheese and currants; and so on. Ottolenghi isn't a vegetarian, but he's a wizard of vegetables, and a master at conjuring up hearty meals by combining them with grains and legumes.

Great gift for: Anyone who thinks vegetarian food is boring; anyone who likes to cook and eat.
Killer dish: Pea and mint croquettes.
Dish I'm dying to try: Fried umpa (an Indian semolina porridge) with poached eggs

Honorable mentions

In Afro-Vegan: Farm Fresh African, Caribbean & Southern Flavors Remixed, the Bay Area writer/chef/activist Bryan Terry pulls off a mean feat: He uses stylish, spicy vegan fare—light on tofu and heavy on grains, greens, and legumes—to lure readers into recognizing the "centrality of African-diasporic people in defining the tastes, ingredients, and classic dishes of the original modern global fusion cuisine—Southern food." Terry's argument is unassailable—as convincing as his gorgeous peanut stew with winter vegetables and cornmeal dumplings.

• Despite the ongoing gluten-free fad, bread is having its day, as are books on baking. No home baker will want to miss In Search of the Perfect Loaf, in which the food politics writer and editor Sam Fromartz visits the epicenters of the global baking renaissance—Paris, Berlin, San Francisco, etc.—talking to its main characters and committing an epic and appealing nerd-out (with recipes) in service of home-cooked leavened dough. In Josey Baker Bread, San Francisco's most celebrated young baker (yes, his name and vocation are identical) shows us how the pros do it.

• San Francisco's The Slanted Door is a fancy restaurant that applies Vietnamese techniques and condiments to Northern California's bounty. The Slanted Door, by chef-owner Charles Phan, is a surprisingly unfussy guide to working the restaurant's magic at home.

• For the drinkers on your list, American Spirit is a spirited guide to what author James Rodewald calls the nascent "craft distilling revolution." At the center of Rodwald's book is a scandal. Because of loose labeling laws, most of the "artisanal" liquor on the market involves clever businesspeople "rebottling something that had been made at a larger distiller and calling it their own." Rodewald profiles the (still relatively few) mavericks who actually are producing their own hooch—and teases out the considerable challenges of making great whiskey and other spirits on a small scale in an industry dominated by liquor giants and false marketing.

• After reading Rodewald, you'll want to sip something stiff. Death & Co.a sumptuous cocktail manual from the instant-legend East Village speakeasy of the same name—delivers dozens upon dozens of ideas for taking the edge off in high style. I can't imagine a more comprehensive snapshot of the mixology craze.

The Best Food Books of 2014, Part 1

| Wed Dec. 17, 2014 7:00 AM EST
A veritable feast of letters.

The publishing industry may be in the midst of a long, slow decline, but it's churning out a cornucopia of food books—and 2014 has been another banner year. In this post, I'll look at my favorites on the politics/culture front; here, I take on the cookbook beat.

• The Big Fat Surprise: Why Butter, Meat, and Cheese Belong in a Healthy Diet, by Nina Teicholz. This is the most provocative and assumption-shredding food book I've read in years. With exhaustive reporting and lucid science explication, Teicholz drives home her central thesis: that dietary fat, even (if not especially) the saturated kind, is actually good for us. But that's not even her most impressive feat. She also rips the halo from the so-called Mediterranean Diet (which she distinguishes from the actual diets consumed by Mediterranean dwellers), exposing it as one part sound science and three-parts olive oil industry-funded (you read that right) hokum. (I'm still reeling from the revelation that olive oil is a relatively recent addition to the Italian and Greek diets.) And she shows why the food industry's recent rush away from trans fats—whose evils she herself helped establish in a 2004 Gourmet article—may actually be a net negative for public heath. (Partial spoiler: Unlike trans fats, which are artificially hardened vegetable oils, liquid vegetable oils generate lots of "toxic oxidative breakdown products" when they're held at high heat for an extended time—as they are in fast food industry's fry bins.) All in all, a must read.

• Defending Beef: The Case for Sustainable Meat Production, by Nicolette Hahn Niman. A longtime critic of industrial agriculture and a lawyer by training, Niman mounts a lawyerly case for pasture-based beef production. She does so from an interested position. She's the wife of Bill Niman, one of the nation's most celebrated grass-based ranchers. But critics who want to dismiss Niman's advocacy on economic-interest grounds have to grapple with the mountains of evidence she brings to bear. The main ecological question that haunts grass-fed beef involves climate change. Cows emit methane, a greenhouse gas far more potent than carbon, when they burp, which is often. But by grazing, they also promote healthy, flourishing grasslands, which suck carbon from the atmosphere and store it in soil. In doing so, they convert a wild vegetation that people can't digest into a highly nourishing foodstuff. So on balance, do cows contribute to or mitigate climate change?  The conventional view holds that the burps win. Niman casts more than reasonable doubt on that verdict. Citing loads of research, she argues that enteric emissions (methane from burps) are likely overstated and can be curtailed by breeding and techniques like abundant salt licks, and more than offset by the carbon-gulping capacity of intensive grazing (where farmers run dense herds through a pasture for a short time, and then give the land plenty of time to recover). She also shows that healthy pastures also provide plenty of other benefits, including habitat for pollinating insects and birds, which are declining rapidly as industrial grain farming—mostly for grain to feed confined animals—expands. Reading Niman alongside Teicholz makes you want to grill a steak—or, better yet, a fatty and nutrient-dense beef liver.

The Chain: Farm, Factory, and the Fate of Our Food, by Ted Genoways. If Defending Beef delivers a compelling vision for how meat can and should be produced, Genoways exposes—perhaps more clearly than any writer since Upton Sinclair—its massive human toll in an era of corporate dominance. Building on two long features published in Mother Jones (here and here), he lays out in withering detail the horrific conditions faced by workers in factory-scale slaughterhouses after decades of union busting and a relentless push to speed up the kill line. Having laid out the unsavory tale of the rare neurological disorder that overtook workers at a Spam factory in Minnesota in the mid-2000s, Genoways shifts to the plight of animals raised cheek-by-jowl in factory-like conditions, tended by workers under severe pressure to make them conform to their environment. Abuse—beating with sticks, kicking, etc.—is routine, Genoways shows; and the meat industry uses its considerable political clout to promote laws that ban efforts to expose it. Niman exhorts her readers to choose their meat "wisely and well"; Genoways reminds us of just how tricky that task is.

 

• The Meat Racket: The Secret Takeover of America's Food Business, by Christopher Leonard. How did the meat industry amass such power? To answer that question, the veteran agribusiness journalist Christopher Leonard teases out the rise of Arkansas-based Tyson Foods, which evolved after the Great Depression from a small country business to the globe's largest meat company. Today, it slaughters and packs about a quarter of the beef consumed in the United States, and a fifth of the pork and the chicken. Tyson developed the highly lucrative model that would come to dominate US meat production: grab hold of the profitable bits of the supply chain (selling feed and meat) and foist the risky bits (actually raising animals) onto farmers working under contract. As Tyson and other meat companies scaled up, they enticed farmers to scale up, too—taking on huge crushing debt burdens to build massive high-tech barns, keeping them subject to the whims of the big processors. Leonard has written the best account I know of on the serf-like conditions faced by farmers who operate under the heel of the meat giants.

• American Catch, by Paul Greenberg. Most recent books on the state of the oceans suggest we're eating too much seafood—that overfishing strains fish populations and contributes to their impending collapse. They're probably right in global terms, but in American Catch, the excellent fish writer Greenberg shows that we Americans, at least, are eating too little of it—and that our fish-averse ways are contributing to ecological degradation, not just in the oceans that surround us, but also on land, particularly in population-dense regions like New York City and the Gulf Coast. In rollicking prose worthy of a novelist—Greenberg's vocation before he took up seafood as his great topic—he spins out a compelling argument that goes like this: Despite the 3.8 billion acres of ocean that lie in US territory along more than 94,000 miles of coastline, we eat just 15 pounds of seafood per capita annually (vs. about 200 pounds of meat and poultry)—and 91 percent of that paltry amount is imported. As a result, we have little incentive to maintain our coasts as robust ecosystems. And so we pave over vital marshlands and salt flats, leaving coastal cities vulnerable to the ever-harsher storms promised by climate change. And we foul coastal waters with agricultural runoff and the pollution from near-shore oil drilling, sacrificing an abundant source of wild, healthy food. American Catch will leave you craving a couple dozen US-grown oysters—and a beer to help ease your pain at the folly he describes.

• The Third Plate: Field Notes on the Future of Food, by Dan Barber. Barber, a celebrated chef known for his obsession with farm-to-table cooking, offers a serious critique of the very trend that he rode to fame—and a vision for what comes next. The farm-to-table restaurant movement started in the 1970s, when chefs began to realize that decades of industrial agriculture had sapped ingredients of flavor. So they began to seek out more interesting produce from the few surviving small-scale farms, and helped spark a revival of agriculture focused on quality and flavor, not just volume and gross profit. But those innovative chefs never revised their vision of what Barbers labels the "first plate": a big chunk of corn-fed beef meat with a few vegetables on the side. "The steak was now grass-fed, the carrots were now a local, heirloom variety, grown in organic soil," he writes. "But inasmuch as it reflected all of the progress American food has experienced in the past decade, the striking thing about the second plate was that it looked nearly identical to the first." Using his considerable storytelling skills and his wide travels as fodder, Barber makes the case for a "third plate": a "new cuisine, one that goes beyond raising awareness about the provenance of ingredients and—like all great cuisines—begins to reflect what the landscape can provide." That is, a much more farm-centered, regionally adapted vision of the restaurant—one that puts what's being harvested at the center of the plate, not necessarily big, fancy cuts of meat. Bringing a Wendell Berry-like ecological vision to the role of the chef, Barber has produced a delicious read.