Originally published in print December 2021

 

I never imagined I’d have woken up one morning to ponder my climate-anxiety driven existential crisis about the future of food. I never imagined I’d have to ask myself if I was completely and utterly mistaken about the concept of food. And yet, here I am, empathising with the planet as I would another human. 

 

We are all aware we live trend-led lives, and the effect of that on food and the way we look at food has been gradual and altogether a little mysterious. Terms like homogeneity, mass mono-cropping and greenwashing are great, but where are the billboards, the signs, the television adverts telling us that our convenience supermarket shopping habits have us wasting a third of all food produced globally? That less than two percent of Irish farms are organic, like… really? I read somewhere that variety and creativity are key to getting out of the climate-food fear. We should forage. We should buy beans and pulses, buy unprocessed sugar, and buy bread made without additives. We should eat foods that are seasonal, and that are grown locally and ethically. 

 

One of my favourite things to bring up when I talk about food ethics is avocados. Avocados are an absolute fascination, because no one seems to know if they actually like avocados, or if society simply persuaded them that avocados are incredible. Apparently it did, because in the US, when the ‘avocado trend’ hit, the price for just one wholesale box increased by over fifty dollars. And no one seems to discuss the fact that a lot of that money goes to the cartels. Which, in perspective, probably increases an avocado’s ‘cool’ factor. What is going on here? 

 

I then found myself in the fruit and vegetable aisle of the supermarket. It was blackberry season. Great, I told myself, buying seasonal, a win. Then I read the label. Imported. Amazing. One 100g box of blackberries is 100g of carbon dioxide if it’s imported by boat. Let’s not discuss the consequences if it’s flown in. I’m not going to lie, this is where I got freaked out. How do I shop ethically? How do I shop knowing what I know? Can I ever buy climate-guilt free? 

 

As a society, we overproduce while simultaneously underestimating our capacity to protect our biodiversity with the food we have. At the end of the twentieth century, there were twelve plant species and five animal species supporting a huge 75% of global supply, despite 3000 edible plant species existing. 

 

Now this is where the mindset change came. Although it’s not an awfully happy statistic, there is something hopeful in it. There are thousands of plants here in Ireland that we aren’t even using, that we don’t even know about. There is room for the future of food to blossom if we step back from processed products, produced to ‘keep’ with things that hurt our digestive systems, our gut health, our lives. There now exists such an open-minded approach to food in society. And it’s not about being a foodie, nor about the ‘pretty dish’ that looks adventurous. it’s about stepping out into nature and reconnecting with food in a fresh way. 

 

Little steps are everything and they can feel like nothing. Little steps to recognise what the planet can offer before it slides into an irreparable state can stop people going to bed hungry, stop them chucking food out, stop them promoting food that isn’t technically even food? 

 

A slice of supermarket white bread is made with thirty seven additives. Centuries ago, bread was made with only three ingredients. It is  not with scientific discovery or development that they’ve realised such food is better for us – in fact, the opposite is true. They’ve taught us to ignore the natural potential of food in favour of a longer shelf life. Food knows what it’s doing, but only if it’s real food.  

 

So after my existential crisis, I decided that we all have the power to rework in our minds how we think about food. Because the future of food, and therefore  the future of the planet, is quite literally in our hands. All we have to do is listen.