Alice Waters and Sam Kass sound alarm on climate and the future of food

Alice Waters, the doyen of slow food, says it’s time for urgency — not at the dinner table, but in the “battle for the future of our planet.”

Chez Panisse fans needn’t worry. Waters’ commitment to local, seasonal ingredients, which has made her Berkeley restaurant a global icon of principled, if not inexpensive, dining, is as solid as ever. But, she argues in “A School Lunch Revolution” (Tuesday, Oct. 14) those who intend “to address the intersecting systemic problems of health, education, and climate change” must act now. She calls her contribution to the effort “school-supported regenerative agriculture.”   

Waters isn’t alone in sounding the alarm. Also out this month is Sam Kass’ “The Last Supper: How to Overcome the Future Food Crisis” (Oct. 7). The Obama administration’s chef and nutrition policy adviser warns about “the coming climate catastrophe and the mass famines it will cause.” He also and brazenly promotes food-related technologies from which his Santa Monica-based venture capital firm stands to profit.

Both books are ideologically synced yet very different. Waters’ is a handsome cookbook featuring a handful of essays. Kass dives deep into the science of food production. But the authors agree that while the future of food looks grim, it needn’t be so.

Kass doesn’t think small, and though he’s still relatively new to the VC game, he’s already adept at garnishing an empowering message with a pinch of existential dread. 

“This is a fight not to save the planet but to save ourselves,” he writes. “And getting our food right is the first, best, and maybe last hope of that.”

Accordingly, he wants to reorient “the core values of Americans’ food culture” to produce enough for everyone to eat healthy meals, while slowing the rate of global warming. Climate change — as he demonstrates in an edifying chapter on corn, coffee and seafood — has decimated many farms and fisheries.

“The message should be this: If you enjoy this food and want to continue eating it, you should also care about climate change,” he writes. 

Kass wants Washington to combat food waste by changing overly cautious food sell-by dates, prevent “manipulative labeling” of dubiously “healthy” products, revisit policies that favor “long-distance supply chains” and bolster farmers’ efforts “to adopt climate-resilient practices.” He has some expertise on these matters, having worked on Obama-era legislation that provided more free meals to schoolchildren.

His book’s closing section is reserved for the sort of bold, visionary ideas that might, in Kass’ telling, “overcome the future food crisis.” Unfortunately, it’s difficult to weigh their merits as presented here because Kass isn’t a neutral bystander. As he acknowledges, “I have invested in or worked with” some of the firms he highlights. He adds, “I realize there’s a risk in this book of coming off as boosterish and self-serving” — which is exactly what happens. 

On their face, the carbon-sequestering and seed-breeding firms he mentions sound like they’re developing consequential new methods of tackling climate change. But given that Kass has a dog in the fight, it’s hard for a reader to distinguish between salesmanship and scientific breakthrough.

To read both books is to realize that “regenerative” has replaced “organic” as the byword of ethical food culture. But what is regenerative agriculture? 

“No one has a clear definition,” writes Kass, who nonetheless uses the term several times. 

To Waters, it’s farming that prizes “stewardship” and has an eye toward “future generations,” using practices that support “soil’s natural ability to hold and sequester carbon.”

Her book is a sort of brand extension of the long-running Edible Schoolyard Project, a hands-on, food-centric curriculum at Martin Luther King Jr. Middle School in Berkeley. Waters established the nonprofit in 1995 and continues to help lead it. Accompanied by recipes, Waters’ essays are brief but compelling, pointedly affirming the durability of her methods. 

Just a few decades ago, before the dominance of factory farms, “Americans mostly ate food that was in season and locally produced,” she writes.

Waters urges schools to develop relationships with nearby farms, and indeed, many have followed her lead. There are now thousands of similar programs around the world. But its rabble-rousing title notwithstanding, her book isn’t a how-to for implementing systemic change. Instead, it’s a warm, beautifully photographed paean to ripe July tomatoes, “versatile whole-grain” bread and “tender napa cabbage.”

These books won’t inspire revolutions. But they’re constructive contributions to an important conversation about issues that concern everyone. Amid incessant crises in virtually every aspect of American public life, that’s something to admire. 

Kevin Canfield is a freelance writer.