Maybe it’s a sign of aging; maybe it’s a sign of the times. Whatever the reason, I’ve begun to lose patience with the American preoccupation with “improving” food products to the point of tastelessness. It seems that good is never good enough. Manufacturers are always looking to cut their costs and extend the shelf life of their goods. Occasionally that quest works to the consumer’s benefit, but often it creates a noticeably inferior product.
A case in point: Recently I went to my local grocery store. On the way in, I noticed at the opposite entrance the unmistakable display of cookies sold as an annual fund‑raising project for a national youth organization that shall remain nameless. I love these cookies—okay, all cookies—and I made it a point to leave by that entrance so I could obtain two boxes of my favorite variety, the chocolate‑covered peanut butter ones. I’ve eaten this particular cookie for years and have a distinct memory of how delicious it once tasted. Sadly, that product of my memory is no more. Today’s analog has a chocolate coating that is waxy to the point of failing to melt in the mouth, where once it was smooth and creamy. The “peanut butter” component contains no peanut butter flavor or texture, and while it was once a sizeable dollop of peanut butter crème, it is now a dime‑sized, dime‑thin layer of hard brown paste. I’ve eaten rice cakes I enjoyed more. I have purchased my last box of fundraiser cookies.
This is certainly not the only food product that has morphed beyond recognition over the years, just the one that most recently drew my vitriol. I’ve also sworn off my life‑long favorite smoked sausage, my favorite frozen fruit pie and my once‑loved brand of dill pickles.
One of my long‑time preferred hamburger joints used to make real, homemade, slice‑the-potatoes‑here French fries. Now they serve frozen potato product that comes in a plastic bag. When I commented to the manager, he assured me that the change was due to customer preference. I find that hard to believe. I haven’t been back there since.
I know that if your factory cranks out millions of boxes of crackers a year, saving a half a penny per box by ingredient substitution makes good financial sense. If your customers truly cannot tell the difference, then why not do so? But where is the sense in minimizing cost and maximizing shelf life if it turns your product into something your customers will no longer buy?
Maybe it’s just me. Maybe today’s young people are so accustomed to organic chemical concoctions and synthetic foodstuffs that they really have no concept of how actual food is supposed to taste. Maybe genuine ingredients and home‑cooked flavor are part of a rapidly fading past that will never be again.
Such a loss.