But the matter is a bit more complex than it might seem. Consider why we use packaging in the first place. In addition to protecting food from its microbial surroundings, packaging significantly prolongs shelf life, which in turn improves the chances of the food actually being eaten.
According to the Cucumber Growers’ Association, just 1.5 grams of plastic wrap extends a cuke’s shelf life from three to fourteen days, all the while protecting it from “dirty hands.” Another study found that apples packed in a shrink-wrapped tray cut down on fruit damage (and discard) by 27 percent. Similar numbers have been found for potatoes and grapes. Again, while it seems too simple a point to reiterate, it’s often forgotten: the longer food lasts, the better chances there are of someone consuming it.
True, if we all produced our own food, sourced our diet locally, or tolerated bruised and rotting produce, prolonging shelf life wouldn’t matter much. But the reality is decidedly otherwise. The vast majority of food moves globally, sits in grocery stores for extended periods, and spends days, weeks, or even years in our pantries. Thus, if you accept the fact that packaging is an unavoidable reality of our globalized food system, you must also be prepared to draw a few basic distinctions. (If you don’t accept that fact, well, there’s probably no point in reading further.)
First, when it comes to food waste, not all materials are created equal. Concerned consumers look at wrapped produce and frown upon the packaging, because it’s the packaging that’s most likely destined for a landfill. But if you take the packaging away and focus on the naked food itself, you have to realize that the food will be rotting a lot sooner than if it weren’t packaged and, as a result, will be heading to the same place as the packaging: the landfill. Decaying food emits methane, a greenhouse gas that’s more than twenty times more potent than carbon dioxide. Packaging—unless it’s biodegradable—does not. If the landfill is connected to a methane digester, which in all likelihood it isn’t, you can turn the methane into energy. Otherwise, it makes more sense to send the wrapping (rather than the food) into the environmentally incorrect grave.
Second, when it comes to saving energy and reducing greenhouse gas emissions, our behavior in the kitchen far outweighs the environmental impact of whatever packaging happens to surround the product. Consumers toss out vastly more pounds of food than we do packaging—about six times as much. One study estimates that U.S. consumers throw out about half the food they buy. In Great Britain, the Waste and Resource Action Programme (WRAP, funnily enough) claims that the energy saved from not wasting food at home would be the equivalent of removing “1 out of every 5 cars off the road.” The Independent reports that discarding food produces three times the carbon dioxide as discarding food packaging.
All of which is to say: if you’re truly eager to take on the waste inherent in our food systems, you’d be better off reforming your own habits at home—say, by buying more strategically, minimizing waste, and eating less—before taking on the institutional packaging practices of disembodied food distributers.
Finally, we could also have an impact by choosing foods that are packaged in a way that reduces waste at home. This point does not apply so much to produce, but a lot of goods are packaged to ensure that we use the entire product. They contain user-friendly features such as capacious openings (milk), transparent appearance (bagged salad), re-sealers (nuts), the ability to be turned upside down (ketchup), and smooth surfaces rather than grooved ones, where food can hide (yogurt). Seems bizarre, but it’s possible that we waste more energy by not scraping the bottom of the barrel than we do by throwing out the barrel when we’re done. Given the high cost of wasting food, the question of design might be more important than the question of necessity.
Waste is an inevitable outcome of production. As consumers, we should certainly see food packaging as a form of waste and seek increasingly responsible packaging solutions. At the same time, though, we must do so without resorting to pat calls to “reduce packaging.” Doing so, it seems, could do more harm than good.
Agnostic Carnivores and Global Warming: Why Enviros Go After Coal and Not Cows
(JAMES MCWILLIAMS)
There’s not a single person who’s done more to fight climate change than Bill McKibben. Through thoughtful books, ubiquitous magazine contributions, and, most notably, the founding of 350.org (an international non-profit dedicated to fighting global warming), McKibben has committed his life to saving the planet. For all the passion fueling his efforts, though, there’s something weirdly amiss in his approach to reducing greenhouse gas emissions: neither he nor 350.org will actively promote a vegan diet.
Given the nature of our current discourse on climate change, this omission might not seem a problem. Vegans are still considered as sort of “out there,” a fringe group of animal rights activists with pasty skin and protein issues. However, as a recent report from the World Preservation Foundation confirms, ignoring veganism in the fight against climate change is sort of like ignoring fast food in the fight against obesity. Forget ending dirty coal or natural gas pipelines. As the WPF report shows, veganism offers the single most effective path to reducing global climate change.
The evidence is powerful. Eating a vegan diet, according to the study, is seven times more effective at reducing emissions than eating a local meat-based diet. A global vegan diet (of conventional crops) would reduce dietary emissions by 87 percent, compared to a token 8 percent for “sustainable meat and dairy.” In light of the fact that the overall environmental impact of livestock is greater than that of burning coal, natural gas, and crude oil, this 87 percent cut (94 percent if the plants were grown organically) would come pretty close to putting 350.org out of business, which I’m sure would make McKibben a happy man.
There’s much more to consider. Many consumers think they can substitute chicken for beef and make a meaningful difference in their dietary footprint. Not so. According to a 2010 study cited in the WPF report, such a substitution would achieve a “net reduction in environmental impact” of 5 to 13 percent. When it comes to lowering the costs of mitigating climate change, the study shows that a diet devoid of ruminants would reduce the costs of fighting climate change by 50 percent; a vegan diet would do so by over 80 percent. Overall, the point seems pretty strong: global veganism could do more than any other single action to reduce GHG emissions.
So why is it that 350.org tells me (in an e-mail) that, while it’s “pretty clear” that eating less meat is a good idea, “we don’t really take official stances on issues like veganism”? Well, why the heck not?! Why would an environmental organization committed to reducing greenhouse gas emissions not officially oppose the largest cause of greenhouse gas emissions—the production of meat and meat-based products? It’s baffling. And while I don’t have a definite answer, I do have a few thoughts on the matter.
Part of the problem is that environmentalists, including McKibben himself, are generally agnostic about meat. A recent article McKibben wrote for Orion reveals an otherwise principled environmentalist going a bit loopy in the face of the meat question. The tone is uncharacteristically cute, even folksy, and it’s entirely out of sync with the gravity of the environmental issues at stake. Moreover, his claim that “I Do Not Have a Cow in this Fight” is a rather astounding assessment coming from a person who is so dedicated to reducing global warming that he supposedly keeps his thermostat in the fifties all winter and eschews destination vacations for fear of running up his personal carbon debt. I’d think the man has every cow in the world in this fight.
So to the real question: How do we explain this agnosticism? The fact that McKibben recently traveled to the White House to oppose the construction of a natural gas pipeline (and got arrested in the process), provides a hint of an answer. I imagine that getting slammed in the clinker after protesting a massive pipeline project is a lot better for 350.org’s profile than staying at home, munching kale, and advising others to explore veganism. In this respect, the comparative beneficial impact of global v
eganism versus eliminating natural gas from Canadian tar sands matters none. What matters is grabbing a headline or two.
Hence the “problem” with veganism and environmentalism. Ever since Silent Spring, Rachel Carson’s exposé of dangerous insecticides, modern environmentalism has depended on high-profile media moments to shore up the activist base. Veganism, however, hardly lends itself to this role. Although quietly empowering in its own way, going vegan is an act poorly suited to sensational publicity. Pipelines and other brute technological intrusions, by contrast, are not only crudely visible, but they provide us with clear victims, perpetrators, and a dark narrative of decline. I think this distinction explains much of McKibben’s—not to mention the environmental movement’s—wobbly stance on meat.
Another reason for the prevailing agnosticism on meat has to do with the comparative aesthetics of pipelines and pastures. When meat-eating environmentalists are hit with the livestock conundrum, they almost always respond by arguing that we must replace feedlot farming with rotational grazing. Just turn farm animals out to pasture, they say. Not surprisingly, this is exactly what McKibben argues in the Orion piece, claiming that “shifting from feedlot farming to rotational grazing is one of the few changes we could make that’s on the same scale as the problem of global warming.”
This all sounds well and good. But if the statistics in the WPF report are to be trusted, the environmental impacts of this alternative would be minimal. So why the drumbeat of support for rotational grazing? I would suggest that the underlying appeal in the pasture solution is something not so much calculated as irrational: pastured animals mimic, however imperfectly, symbiotic patterns that existed before humans arrived to muck things up. In this sense, rotational grazing supports one of the more appealing (if damaging) myths at the core of contemporary environmentalism: the notion that nature is more natural in the absence of human beings. Put differently, rotational grazing speaks powerfully to the aesthetics of environmentalism while confirming a bias against the built environment; a pipeline, not so much.
A final reason that McKibben, 350.org, and mainstream environmentalism remain agnostic about meat centers on the idea of personal agency. For most people, meat is essentially something we cook and eat. Naturally, it’s much more than that. But for most consumers, meat is first and foremost a personal decision about what we put into our body. By contrast, what comes to mind when you envision an old coal-fired power plant? Many will conjure up sooty images of a degraded environment. In this respect, the coal-fired power plant symbolizes not a personal choice, or a direct source of pleasure, but an oppressive intrusion into our lives, leaving us feeling violated and powerless. Environmentalists, I would thus venture, go after coal rather than cows not because coal is necessarily more harmful to the environment (it appears not to be) but because cows mean meat, and meat, however wrongly, means freedom to pursue happiness.
I don’t mean to downplay the impact of these factors. The visibility of pipelines, the romantic appeal of pastures, and the deep-seated belief that we can eat whatever we damn well shove into our mouths are no mean hurdles to overcome. But given that the documented power of veganism to directly confront global warming, and given the fact that emissions have only intensified alongside all efforts to lower them, I’d suggest McKibben, 350.org, and the environmental movement as a whole trade up their carnivorous agnosticism for a fire-and brimstone dose of vegan fundamentalism.
Hey Baby, Is That a Prius You’re Driving?
(SJD)
Remember when keeping up with the Joneses meant buying a diamond-encrusted cigarette case? Such ostentatious displays of wealth during the Gilded Age prompted Thorstein Veblen to coin the term conspicuous consumption.
Conspicuous consumption has hardly gone away—what do you think bling is?—but now it’s got a right-minded cousin: conspicuous conservation. Whereas conspicuous consumption is meant to signal how much green you’ve got, conspicuous conservation signals how green you are. Like carrying that “I’m not a plastic bag” bag, or installing solar panels on the side of your house facing the street—even if that happens to be the shady side.
We recently made a podcast episode about conspicuous conservation; it features a research paper written by Alison and Steve Sexton, a pair of Ph.D. economics candidates who happen to be twins (and who have economist parents, too). The paper is called “Conspicuous Conservation: The Prius Effect and Willingness to Pay for Environmental Bona Fides.”
Why single out the Toyota Prius? Here’s how Steve Sexton explains it:
“The Honda Civic hybrid looks like a regular Honda Civic. The Ford Escape hybrid looks like a Ford Escape. And so, our hypothesis is that if the Prius looked like a Toyota Camry or a Toyota Corolla, it wouldn’t be as popular as it is. And so what we set out to do in this paper is to test that empirically.”
The question they really wanted to answer was this: How much value do people who lean green place on being seen leaning green? The Sextons found that the Prius’s “green halo” was quite valuable to its owners—and, the greener the neighborhood, the more valuable the Prius is.
CHAPTER 8
Hit on 21
©iStock.com/Mr_Vector
One thing the two of us have in common is we never quite grew up. Levitt still clings to adolescent fantasies of being a professional golfer. Dubner still worships the Pittsburgh Steelers with the intensity of an eleven-year-old. And, somehow, we keep ending up together in Las Vegas.
I Hope Phil Gordon Wins the World Series of Poker
(SJD)
The main event of the World Series of Poker is just getting under way at the Rio in Las Vegas. Why do I want Phil Gordon to win?
It’s not just because he’s such a nice guy, or because he’s so smart, or because of his philanthropic endeavors, or even because he’s so tall.
It has to do with the game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, aka Rochambeau.
Levitt and I were in Vegas recently to do research with a bunch of world-class poker players. Part of that research included a sixty-four-player Rochambeau charity tournament that Phil Gordon organized, and which Annie Duke won.
One night, Gordon and his Full Tilt Poker pals threw a big party at Pure, the sleek nightclub at Caesars Palace. It was big and noisy and fun, and I had a long and interesting conversation with Phil Gordon about a number of things. In the end, talk turned to Rochambeau. Words were exchanged and suddenly there was a challenge—me against Gordon, head-to-head in Rochambeau, best of nine throws for $100.
Levitt held the money. Then Gordon, who is about eight inches taller than anyone I know, leans over into my face and says, “I’m starting with Rock.”
And he did. I threw Scissors, so he beat me. Score: 1–0.
But I had something up my sleeve. I started the match throwing a Seamstress—i.e., a three-throw gambit of Scissors, then Scissors, then another Scissors. Gordon, after his initial Rock, threw a Paper, then another Paper. I was up 2–1.
Finally, on the fourth throw, Gordon threw a Scissors. But I had thrown my fourth Scissors in a row, which meant we tied on that throw, leaving the score at 2–1. That’s when Gordon leaned into my face again and said, “You do know that you can throw something besides Scissors, right?”
But my four consecutive Scissors throws—let’s call it a SuperSeamstress—seemed to have shaken him. He recovered to tie it up at 2–2 and took the lead briefly at 3–2, but I tied him, then went up 4–3. He managed to tie me at 4–4 but, never in doubt, I threw one more Scissors and beat him, 5–4. He looked pretty stunned. Poor guy. It turned out that he really hates to throw Scissors.
So why do I want him to win the WSOP? Not because I feel sorry for beating him. Now more than ever, I believe that Rochambeau is a game of luck, and I happened to get lucky against a guy who is a really good poker player.
No, the reason I want Gordon to win is simply so I can tell my grandchildren someday that I beat the WSOP champ at something, even if it was something as meaningless as Rock, P
aper, Scissors.
A FEW MONTHS LATER . . .
Vegas Rules
(SJD)
So Levitt and I were in Las Vegas this weekend, doing some research. (Seriously: it’s for a Times column on Super Bowl gambling.) We had a little downtime and decided to play blackjack. It was New Year’s Eve, at Caesars Palace, about 9 P.M. We sat down at an empty table where the dealer, a nice young woman from Michigan, was very patient in teaching us the various fine points that neither of us knew and which indicated that we were both inexperienced. Keep one hand in your lap; e.g., when you want a card, just flick your cards twice on the felt. When you’re standing, tuck one card under your chip(s). And so on.
At one point, Levitt kind of gasped. He had had twenty-one but somehow had asked for another card. The last card was a two. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to play, or count; he was just distracted—talking to me, he’d later claim—and the dealer had seen him do something, or fail to do something else, that indicated he wanted another card. So here he was with four cards: a face card, a four, a seven, and a two. The dealer looked sympathetic. I vouched for Levitt, told her he wasn’t an idiot and surely wouldn’t have hit on twenty-one intentionally. She seemed to believe us. She said she’d call over her supervisor to see what could be done.
She called the supervisor’s name over her shoulder. I could see the supervisor, and I could see that he couldn’t hear her. Remember, this is a casino on New Year’s Eve; it was pretty noisy. She keeps calling, and I keep seeing that he’s not hearing her, but she won’t turn around to call him. That would mean turning her back on her table full of chips and, even if Levitt was dumb enough to hit on twenty-one, he presumably was smart enough to grab a bunch of chips and run. (Or maybe, she was thinking, he’s actually dumb like a fox and used this hitting-on-twenty-one trick all the time, to get the dealer to turn her back on the table.)
When to Rob a Bank: ...And 131 More Warped Suggestions and Well-Intended Rants Page 13