I am the daughter of a health food fanatic whose admonitions about what to eat manifested in my early attraction to all food junky. Later in life, I became a bit of a food snob, shopping regularly at the farmers’ market for the freshest and most delicious fruits and vegetables I’ve ever tasted. My love of both good food and sharp analysis came to shape my career as an academic. Food became the object of my analyses, but always with an eye toward contradiction. I’ve written several books and articles exploring how capitalism constrains needed food system transformations, bringing me to my latest fascination with the tech sector.
I wrote
The Problem with Solutions: Why Silicon Valley Can't Hack the Future of Food
While several books have been written about the horrors of industrial livestock production, none have moved me more than Blanchette’s Porkopolis.
With unforgettable stories and startling photographs, Blanchette details how workers perform all manner of intimate tasks to make industrial pigs reproduce and stay alive. I also love how he flips common-sense ideas of efficiency on their heads, showing how industrial meat production is anything but wasteful. Every bit of those pigs is used somewhere to the extent you wish they weren’t.
I have taught this book three times in my politics of food classes, and it never fails to blow my students away.
In the 1990s a small midwestern American town approved the construction of a massive pork complex, where almost 7 million hogs are birthed, raised, and killed every year. In Porkopolis Alex Blanchette explores how this rural community has been reorganized around the life and death cycles of corporate pigs. Drawing on over two years of ethnographic fieldwork, Blanchette immerses readers into the workplaces that underlie modern meat, from slaughterhouses and corporate offices to artificial insemination barns and bone-rendering facilities. He outlines the deep human-hog relationships and intimacies that emerge through intensified industrialization, showing how even the most mundane human action,…
I am a huge fan of Freidberg’s writing. Sure, she’s an academic (so is everyone on my list), but her turns of phrase are unusually witty and—well, fresh.
I love this book because it examines our current obsession with fresh food and shows how much technology has been employed to make it so, starting with the refrigerator! But that’s not all. Freidberg provides enjoyable histories of how beef, eggs, fruit, vegetables, milk, and fish have all been engineered and marketed to give the appearance of freshness.
That rosy tomato perched on your plate in December is at the end of a great journey-not just over land and sea, but across a vast and varied cultural history. This is the territory charted in Fresh. Opening the door of an ordinary refrigerator, it tells the curious story of the quality stored inside: freshness.
We want fresh foods to keep us healthy, and to connect us to nature and community. We also want them convenient, pretty, and cheap. Fresh traces our paradoxical hunger to its roots in the rise of mass consumption, when freshness seemed both proof of and…
In my next pick, Romero draws on previously unexplored archives to tell stories of pesticides never told before, most notably how industrial waste was utilized to make chemicals that could kill all that got in agriculture’s way.
I love how he renders ironic the closed-looped systems so championed by environmentalists—or the use of warfare chemicals on fields that grow our foods. It is indeed strange that we use chemicals designed to kill the food that we eat to live.
The toxicity of pesticides to the environment and humans is often framed as an unfortunate effect of their benefits to agricultural production. In Economic Poisoning, Adam M. Romero upends this narrative and provides a fascinating new history of pesticides in American industrial agriculture prior to World War II. Through impeccable archival research, Romero reveals the ways in which late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century American agriculture, especially in California, functioned less as a market for novel pest-killing chemical products and more as a sink for the accumulating toxic wastes of mining, oil production, and chemical manufacturing. Connecting farming ecosystems to technology…
Against the backdrop of today’s obsessions with homemade, artisanal bread, Bobrow-Strain uses the most prosaic of foods—the industrially produced loaf of white fluff—to ask hard questions about race, class, gender, war, and modernity itself.
With so many food books falling into food porn mode, I can really appreciate a book that reminds me that the technologies of stripping wheat of its bran and germ were founded on ideas of racial purification. There’s plenty to chew on in this book.
The story of how white bread became white trash, this social history shows how our relationship with the love-it-or-hate-it food staple reflects our country’s changing values
In the early twentieth century, the factory-baked loaf heralded a bright new future, a world away from the hot, dusty, “dirty” bakeries run by immigrants. Fortified with vitamins, this bread was considered the original “superfood” and even marketed as patriotic—while food reformers painted white bread as a symbol of all that was wrong with America.
So how did this icon of American progress become “white trash”? In this lively history of bakers, dietary crusaders,…
Though out of print, I’ve returned to this book over and over again. Sure, it’s scholarly and theoretical (albeit also inclusive of some fascinating history), but no other book has helped me better understand how technology has developed around agriculture, shaping not only what farmers do but also who makes money from food and farm production.
The book is also remarkably prescient. Writing in the late 1980s, the authors were spot on in describing the new processes of food engineering that would become the dreams of today’s Silicon Valley techies. Here, I refer to those who think fabricating food out of microorganisms is the solution to the most pressing problems of the contemporary food system. I beg to differ.
This book provides an interpretation of the industrialization of agriculture, and proposes a new analytical framework for interpreting this transformation and the development of the contemporary food system. This analytical framework provides a critique of agricultural modernisation theories, while the authors introduce new concepts of "appropriationism" and "substitutionism" to propose an interpretation which overcomes the invitations of traditional approaches. The authors use this new theoretical framework to reconstruct the evolution of agricultural industrialization since the mid-19th century and to reinterpret the dynamics of social structures, the state and technology in shaping the modern food system.
If you’ve ever watched HBO’s Silicon Valley or worked in Silicon Valley, you know how techies approach their work: with a great deal of hubris that their invention will change the world. My research on the agri-food tech sector brought me into this “ecosystem.”
I learned how little techies knew about past interventions in food and agriculture but remained assured that they had the right solutions to the food system’s biggest problems. I also saw how their model of divining solutions bereft of knowledge infiltrated US culture (think Shark Tank). I wrote this book as a kind of swan song to my career as an academic researching various efforts to transform food production and distribution. Warning: it is pretty cheeky.
I come by my interest in history and the years before, during, and after the Second World War honestly. For one thing, both my father and my father-in-law served as pilots in the war, my father a P-38 pilot in North Africa and my father-in-law a B-17 bomber pilot in England. Their histories connect me with a period I think we can still almost reach with our fingertips and one that has had a momentous impact on our lives today. I have taken that interest and passion to discover and write true life stories of the war—focusing on the untold and unheard stories often of the “Average Joe.”
October 24, 1944, is not a day of national remembrance. Yet, more Americans serving in World War II perished on that day than on any other single day of the war.
The narrative of No Average Day proceeds hour by hour and incident by incident while focusing its attention on ordinary individuals—clerks, radio operators, cooks, sailors, machinist mates, riflemen, and pilots and their air crews. All were men who chose to serve their country and soon found themselves in a terrifying and otherworldly place.
No Average Day reveals the vastness of the war as it reaches past the beaches in…
October 24, 1944, is not a day of national remembrance. Yet, more Americans serving in World War II perished on that day than on December 7, 1941, when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, or on June 6, 1944, when the Allies stormed the beaches of Normandy, or on any other single day of the war. In its telling of the events of October 24, No Average Day proceeds hour by hour and incident by incident. The book begins with Army Private First-Class Paul Miller's pre-dawn demise in the Sendai #6B Japanese prisoner of war camp. It concludes with the death…
