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What caught my eye was not just the ashtray sitting forlornly on the
yard-sale table. It was the sign that marked it "vintage,'' as if we
needed to label this relic of mid-century America.
Ashtrays that once graced every airline armrest, coffee table, and
office have gone the way of spittoons. Today the car's cigarette
lighter is used to juice up the cellphone. Ask any restaurant for the
smoking section, and you'll be shown the doorway.
What caught my eye was not just the ashtray sitting forlornly on the
yard-sale table. It was the sign that marked it "vintage,'' as if we
needed to label this relic of mid-century America.
Ashtrays that once graced every airline armrest, coffee table, and
office have gone the way of spittoons. Today the car's cigarette
lighter is used to juice up the cellphone. Ask any restaurant for the
smoking section, and you'll be shown the doorway.
If I had to pick the year attitudes changed, it would be 1994, when
seven CEOs of Big Tobacco came before Congress and swore that nicotine
wasn't addictive. A lobby too big to fail and too powerful to oppose
began to lose clout. Smokers are no longer seen as sexy and glamorous
but as the addicted dupes.
I don't know that we will ever have such a dramatic moment in the
annals of Big Food. But I have begun to wonder whether this is the
summer when the (groaning) tables have turned on the obesity industry.
Now that two-thirds of Americans are overweight, the lethal effects
of fat are catching up to those of cigarette smoke. We regularly hear
the cha-ching of obesity costs in the healthcare debate. And we are
beginning to see that Overweight America is not some collective
collapse of national willpower, but a business plan.
A measure of the moment is "Food Inc.,'' a documentary chronicling
the costs to the land, worker, and customer of a food industry that's
more grim factory than sylvan farm. A system that makes it cheaper to
buy fast food than fresh food.
A more personal measure is David Kessler's bestseller, "The End of
Overeating,'' which is both a thinking person's diet book and an
investigation into an industry that wants us to eat more. The former
head of the FDA had crusaded against smoking, but found himself
helpless before a chocolate chip cookie. So this yo-yo dieter set out
to discover what exactly we're up against.
Kessler is a scientist, not a conspiracy theorist. He takes you to
an industry meeting where a food scientist on a panel called "Simply
Irresistible'' offers tips on "spiking'' the food to make people keep
eating.
We eat more when more is on the plate. We eat more when snacks are
ubiquitous, when flavors are layered on and marketed as
"eatertainment.'' As one food executive admitted to Kessler,
"Everything that has made us successful as a company is the problem.''
Sometimes it seems that our consumer society sets up the same
conflict again and again. Sophisticated marketing campaigns hard-sell
everything from sex and cigarettes to the 1,010-calorie Oreo Chocolate
Sundae Shake at Burger King. And we're told to stay abstinent or
tobacco-free or skinny by resisting them. We are even promised
"Guiltless Grill'' entrees at Chili's that can weigh in at almost 750
calories and are only guilt-free when compared with the Texas cheese
fries that tip the scales at 1,920 calories.
The analogy between Big Tobacco and Big Food is imperfect. You can't
quit eating or wear a food patch. We are also quite torn between "size
acceptance'' and criticizing fat as a health risk.
But if the campaign against smoking provides a model, it's in the
effort to label restaurant foods and expose the tactics of Big Food.
It's also recasting the folks who bring us bigger food as obesity
dealers. As Kessler writes, "The greatest power rests in our ability to
change the definition of reasonable behavior. That's what happened with
tobacco - the attitudes that created the social acceptability of
smoking shifted.'' Are we the addicted dupes of the Frappuccino?
The honchos at McDonald's may never confess how the Big Mac made us
bigger, and the food scientists at Frito-Lay may not explain why we
"can't eat just one'' potato chip. But maybe this will be the year when
an entree of chicken quesadillas with bacon, mixed cheese, ranch
dressing, and sour cream - 1,750 calories - begins to look just a
little bit more like an ashtray.
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What caught my eye was not just the ashtray sitting forlornly on the
yard-sale table. It was the sign that marked it "vintage,'' as if we
needed to label this relic of mid-century America.
Ashtrays that once graced every airline armrest, coffee table, and
office have gone the way of spittoons. Today the car's cigarette
lighter is used to juice up the cellphone. Ask any restaurant for the
smoking section, and you'll be shown the doorway.
If I had to pick the year attitudes changed, it would be 1994, when
seven CEOs of Big Tobacco came before Congress and swore that nicotine
wasn't addictive. A lobby too big to fail and too powerful to oppose
began to lose clout. Smokers are no longer seen as sexy and glamorous
but as the addicted dupes.
I don't know that we will ever have such a dramatic moment in the
annals of Big Food. But I have begun to wonder whether this is the
summer when the (groaning) tables have turned on the obesity industry.
Now that two-thirds of Americans are overweight, the lethal effects
of fat are catching up to those of cigarette smoke. We regularly hear
the cha-ching of obesity costs in the healthcare debate. And we are
beginning to see that Overweight America is not some collective
collapse of national willpower, but a business plan.
A measure of the moment is "Food Inc.,'' a documentary chronicling
the costs to the land, worker, and customer of a food industry that's
more grim factory than sylvan farm. A system that makes it cheaper to
buy fast food than fresh food.
A more personal measure is David Kessler's bestseller, "The End of
Overeating,'' which is both a thinking person's diet book and an
investigation into an industry that wants us to eat more. The former
head of the FDA had crusaded against smoking, but found himself
helpless before a chocolate chip cookie. So this yo-yo dieter set out
to discover what exactly we're up against.
Kessler is a scientist, not a conspiracy theorist. He takes you to
an industry meeting where a food scientist on a panel called "Simply
Irresistible'' offers tips on "spiking'' the food to make people keep
eating.
We eat more when more is on the plate. We eat more when snacks are
ubiquitous, when flavors are layered on and marketed as
"eatertainment.'' As one food executive admitted to Kessler,
"Everything that has made us successful as a company is the problem.''
Sometimes it seems that our consumer society sets up the same
conflict again and again. Sophisticated marketing campaigns hard-sell
everything from sex and cigarettes to the 1,010-calorie Oreo Chocolate
Sundae Shake at Burger King. And we're told to stay abstinent or
tobacco-free or skinny by resisting them. We are even promised
"Guiltless Grill'' entrees at Chili's that can weigh in at almost 750
calories and are only guilt-free when compared with the Texas cheese
fries that tip the scales at 1,920 calories.
The analogy between Big Tobacco and Big Food is imperfect. You can't
quit eating or wear a food patch. We are also quite torn between "size
acceptance'' and criticizing fat as a health risk.
But if the campaign against smoking provides a model, it's in the
effort to label restaurant foods and expose the tactics of Big Food.
It's also recasting the folks who bring us bigger food as obesity
dealers. As Kessler writes, "The greatest power rests in our ability to
change the definition of reasonable behavior. That's what happened with
tobacco - the attitudes that created the social acceptability of
smoking shifted.'' Are we the addicted dupes of the Frappuccino?
The honchos at McDonald's may never confess how the Big Mac made us
bigger, and the food scientists at Frito-Lay may not explain why we
"can't eat just one'' potato chip. But maybe this will be the year when
an entree of chicken quesadillas with bacon, mixed cheese, ranch
dressing, and sour cream - 1,750 calories - begins to look just a
little bit more like an ashtray.
What caught my eye was not just the ashtray sitting forlornly on the
yard-sale table. It was the sign that marked it "vintage,'' as if we
needed to label this relic of mid-century America.
Ashtrays that once graced every airline armrest, coffee table, and
office have gone the way of spittoons. Today the car's cigarette
lighter is used to juice up the cellphone. Ask any restaurant for the
smoking section, and you'll be shown the doorway.
If I had to pick the year attitudes changed, it would be 1994, when
seven CEOs of Big Tobacco came before Congress and swore that nicotine
wasn't addictive. A lobby too big to fail and too powerful to oppose
began to lose clout. Smokers are no longer seen as sexy and glamorous
but as the addicted dupes.
I don't know that we will ever have such a dramatic moment in the
annals of Big Food. But I have begun to wonder whether this is the
summer when the (groaning) tables have turned on the obesity industry.
Now that two-thirds of Americans are overweight, the lethal effects
of fat are catching up to those of cigarette smoke. We regularly hear
the cha-ching of obesity costs in the healthcare debate. And we are
beginning to see that Overweight America is not some collective
collapse of national willpower, but a business plan.
A measure of the moment is "Food Inc.,'' a documentary chronicling
the costs to the land, worker, and customer of a food industry that's
more grim factory than sylvan farm. A system that makes it cheaper to
buy fast food than fresh food.
A more personal measure is David Kessler's bestseller, "The End of
Overeating,'' which is both a thinking person's diet book and an
investigation into an industry that wants us to eat more. The former
head of the FDA had crusaded against smoking, but found himself
helpless before a chocolate chip cookie. So this yo-yo dieter set out
to discover what exactly we're up against.
Kessler is a scientist, not a conspiracy theorist. He takes you to
an industry meeting where a food scientist on a panel called "Simply
Irresistible'' offers tips on "spiking'' the food to make people keep
eating.
We eat more when more is on the plate. We eat more when snacks are
ubiquitous, when flavors are layered on and marketed as
"eatertainment.'' As one food executive admitted to Kessler,
"Everything that has made us successful as a company is the problem.''
Sometimes it seems that our consumer society sets up the same
conflict again and again. Sophisticated marketing campaigns hard-sell
everything from sex and cigarettes to the 1,010-calorie Oreo Chocolate
Sundae Shake at Burger King. And we're told to stay abstinent or
tobacco-free or skinny by resisting them. We are even promised
"Guiltless Grill'' entrees at Chili's that can weigh in at almost 750
calories and are only guilt-free when compared with the Texas cheese
fries that tip the scales at 1,920 calories.
The analogy between Big Tobacco and Big Food is imperfect. You can't
quit eating or wear a food patch. We are also quite torn between "size
acceptance'' and criticizing fat as a health risk.
But if the campaign against smoking provides a model, it's in the
effort to label restaurant foods and expose the tactics of Big Food.
It's also recasting the folks who bring us bigger food as obesity
dealers. As Kessler writes, "The greatest power rests in our ability to
change the definition of reasonable behavior. That's what happened with
tobacco - the attitudes that created the social acceptability of
smoking shifted.'' Are we the addicted dupes of the Frappuccino?
The honchos at McDonald's may never confess how the Big Mac made us
bigger, and the food scientists at Frito-Lay may not explain why we
"can't eat just one'' potato chip. But maybe this will be the year when
an entree of chicken quesadillas with bacon, mixed cheese, ranch
dressing, and sour cream - 1,750 calories - begins to look just a
little bit more like an ashtray.