But as Civil Eats’ reporting has shown, the food and agriculture system is full of examples of how farmers, ranchers, fishers, chefs, restaurants, grocery stores, and consumers are addressing climate change, with strategies that sequester carbon, slash emissions, save water, reduce plastics, and open new markets.

Farmers, for example, are experimenting with the wild seed relatives of domestic crops that may be able to withstand extreme weather. Researchers have also discovered that kelp growing alongside mussels and oysters can act like a sponge, soaking up excess nutrients while increasing critical oxygen levels in surrounding waters. And lawmakers and the U.S. Department of Agriculture are crafting policies that support local food systems and regenerative agriculture.

Here are some of the most important and promising climate solutions stories we published this year.

As Saltwater Encroaches on Farms, Solutions Emerge From the Marshes
In the Mid-Atlantic, sea level rise due to climate change is already changing what farmers can grow.

These State Lawmakers Are Collaborating on Policies that Support Regenerative Agriculture
Progressive state legislators often find themselves in a David-and-Goliath battle against the conventional ag industry. One organization is equipping them with resources to support producers using regenerative practices instead.

Investment Is Flowing to US Grass-fed Beef Again. Will It Scale Up?
Rupert Murdoch’s Montana ranch is at the center of an effort to get grass-fed beef into mainstream grocery stores; others are using investments to build new markets entirely.

At Climate Dinners Hosted by Chefs Sam Kass and Andrew Zimmern, The Meal Is The Message
To create awareness and inspire action, their carefully curated meals feature coffee, chocolate, and other foods that will become costlier and more difficult to produce due to climate change.

Micro Solar Leases: A New Income Stream for Black Farmers in the South?
EnerWealth Solutions wants to bring the benefits of renewable energy to Black farmers and landowners in the Carolinas.

Can Taller Cover Crops Help Clean the Water in Farm Country?
In Minnesota, a local water quality program might serve as a model for incentivizing the next steps in regenerative farming.

Regenerative Beef Gets a Boost from California Universities
The U.C. system is using its purchasing power to buy grass-fed meat from local ranchers for its 10 universities and five medical centers.

Fungi Are Helping Farmers Unlock the Secrets of Soil Carbon
By tapping into underground fungal networks, farmers are learning how to build lush, spongy soil that supports healthy plants and stores carbon underground.

Florida Banned Farmworker Heat Protections. A Groundbreaking Partnership Offers a Solution.
The Fair Food Program offers the strongest, legally binding protocols to keep people safe when politicians fall short.

Vineyards Are Laying the Groundwork for a Regenerative Farm Future
A new study finding that regenerative practices build more soil carbon in vineyards points to a path for the industry to create broader models for agriculture.

Seeds From Wild Crop Relatives Could Help Agriculture Weather Climate Change
The hardy wild cousins of domesticated crops can teach us how to adapt to a hotter, more unpredictable future.

New School Meal Standards Could Put More Local Food on Students’ Lunch Trays
USDA’s nutrition standards aim to support farmers by increasing the number of schools getting fresh fruits, vegetables, and meats from nearby farms.

Changing How We Farm Might Protect Wild Mammals—and Fight Climate Change
Nearly a quarter of U.S. mammal species are on the endangered species list. Researchers say farming with biodiversity in mind may help stave off further decline.

Climate Solutions for the Future of Coffee
Farmers, researchers, and coffee devotees are refocusing on agroforestry and developing hardier varieties and high-tech beanless brews to save our morning cup of Joe.

Can Seaweed Save American Shellfish?
Seaweed farms on both coasts are beginning to take hold, tapping into decades of painstaking science, and could help shellfish thrive in waters affected by climate change and pollution.

Zero-Waste Grocery Stores in Growth Mode as Consumers Seek to Ditch Plastic
Food packaging is a significant contributor to the plastic pollution crisis. These stores offer shoppers an alternative.

Rescuing Kelp Through Science
Breakthrough genetic research at a Massachusetts lab could save the world’s vanishing kelp forests—and support American kelp farming, too.

The post 17 Food and Ag Approaches to Tackling the Climate Crisis appeared first on Civil Eats.

“Anything you do on a boat is a long day,” says Scott. Especially if you’re a kelp farmer, trying to make the most of a short, 12-week season. That day, they’d been out to their 4-acre farm and back twice, harvesting a total of 6,300 pounds. The wind had whipped the rubbery, golden-brown kelp fronds across Sheena’s face as she hand-cut the seaweed from the lines raised up from the water onto the deck.

She and Scott had worked quickly to stuff the kelp ribbons into giant bags. Now those bags were ready to be offloaded into a waiting truck and driven 100 miles southwest to their processor, Atlantic Sea Farms (ASF), near Portland, where many of the state’s kelp companies are based. Maine is the heart of America’s farmed seaweed industry, supplying half its harvest—well over a million pounds—last season.

Largely developed in Asia, seaweed farming is a new venture on American shores. One type in particular, kelp—a large brown algae with many species, including sugar kelp— has been hailed as an ecologically beneficial, nutritious superfood that can be farmed on both U.S. coasts—and could help fight climate change. These remarkable characteristics have helped the seaweed industry attract roughly $380 million in investments since 2018, from government, venture capital, and nonprofits.

However, that’s a drop in the bucket compared to the global $9.9 billion market. And, according to farmers and kelp companies, the U.S. investment doesn’t yet address a range of logistical issues that challenge—some might even say threaten—the success of seaweed production.

A Highly Perishable Food

But for small farmers like himself, he says, kelp farming “wouldn’t be possible for us if we didn’t have a good business to deal with.” Atlantic Sea Farms, the largest seaweed aquaculture business in the country, has solved several challenges that seaweed farmers face in Maine and other states.

Transportation is one. For Lord, trucking kelp to Portland would be cost- and time-prohibitive. Obtaining the reliably productive, inexpensive kelp seed for the farm is another. But as part of the ASF co-op, he is one of 40 farmers that the company provides with kelp seed string—nylon or cotton strings inoculated with kelp spores—at the beginning of the season, in early winter. Farmers grow these out in the water, strung between buoys, until the fronds reach maturity in springtime. Then they sell the harvest to ASF, which picks up the kelp on the dock.

The second problem: Compared to other ocean harvests like oysters, lobster, or fish, kelp is infinitely more complicated to get onto store shelves. After reaching maturity, it must be harvested within three months, before the water becomes too warm and the seaweed begins to degrade. Harvested kelp is also incredibly perishable. Immediately after leaving the water, it begins to ferment, so must be chilled and processed to extend its shelf life—through freezing, fermenting, pickling, or drying—within a few days. And that requires space and expensive, specialized equipment that can resist the corrosive effects of salt water.

To date, leading American kelp companies–including ASF and Ocean’s Balance, also in Maine—have poured millions into equipment like industrial freezers and dehydrators. Coastal Enterprises, a nonprofit and lender in Maine, says that most of their loans to the kelp industry are for working capital operations and equipment. Other states with less-developed but emerging kelp businesses—like Alaska, Connecticut, and New York—need processing help even more urgently.

According to a recent paper by Connecticut Sea Grant, a national network of university programs dedicated to marine resources, kelp’s “use as a food product in Connecticut and in other parts of the U.S. is limited, because there is a need for post-harvest and marketing infrastructure.”

Maine: Building a Vertically Integrated Business

“This is the moment that they become inventory. Every bag has an individual tag that says the Julian date, weight, farm, kelp type, and farmer,” says Liz McDonald, seaweed supply director at ASF. Driving her 18-wheeler across New England to reach partner farmers, McDonald lives out of Airbnbs for the majority of harvest season and is a familiar sight at small docks and quaint harbors across the coast.

Once the Lords’ bags are all on board, McDonald drives nearly three hours to ASF’s building in Biddeford, Maine, tucked off I-95 next to defunct railway track. At the loading dock, workers immediately haul the bags of seaweed from the truck, moving rapidly and efficiently. During kelp harvest season, the scene is a little like the Olympic Village during the Games: Everyone’s been training for this singular stretch of time.

The Biddeford facility includes a fermentation room, closed to outsiders, as it contains proprietary machines; storage freezers; a packing room; a cultivation room for breeding kelp; a kitchen for recipe development; and offices upstairs for the marketing and communications teams.

“It’s not Instagram beauty like, ‘Look at this beautiful kelp harvest,’” says Briana Warner, CEO of ASF. But she’s visibly proud of the space, beaming as she gives me a tour of the newly built $2 million processing center. At every turn, the air is filled with the briny, spicy smell of the company’s signature Sea-Chi, a seaweed-based kimchi made with fresh kelp.

Atlantic Sea Farms CEO Briana Warner. (Photo credit: Greta Rybus)

A former diplomat specializing in economic development, Warner knows that her company’s success is built on nitty-gritty details. “The reality is: Machines break. Every machine downstairs we had to create from scratch, because it doesn’t even exist in Asia . . . because they’re eating dried kelp,” she explains. “Every safety protocol, we’ve had to come up with.”

Early on in Warner’s tenure as CEO, the company almost went under due to processing issues. In February 2020, a deal ASF had reached to supply Maine-grown kelp to Sweetgreen, in a collaboration with celebrity chef David Chang, evaporated as the pandemic shut down the chain’s business. Back then, ASF had limited storage space and needed somewhere to store 240,000 pounds of kelp pouring in from its farms when the deal fell through. Warner tapped into her network of Maine businesses, and Bristol Seafood, a fish wholesaler based out of Portland, came to the rescue.

“They froze almost every bag of kelp,” says Warner, getting teary. Bristol gave her a bill for $3,000—far less than the true cost of their services—at the end of the season.

The event was clarifying for Warner. She plunged into fundraising for an ASF processing center and worked on consumer marketing. Now, the company has four products in every Whole Foods in the country, foods in national supermarket chains like Sprouts and Albertsons, and 20 ingredient partners like Thorne and Navitas.

For the 2023–2024 season, they harvested a record-breaking amount of kelp: 1.3 million pounds. “You can’t have this incredibly positive impact on the environment, on the food chain, on our partner farmers . . . unless you run a really good business,” Warner says.

ASF’s dedication to infrastructure also pays off for the consumer. When a shopper buys one of the company’s burgers, they can look up where the kelp grew, who harvested it, and when. This is a markedly different situation than with seafood writ large, where one-third of grocery store labels have been found to be wrong.

Traceability is the cornerstone of a larger shift toward the blue economy, a movement among coastal and ocean nations that equally supports workers’ rights, environmental concerns, and sustainability goals. It is a huge selling point for the millions invested in American-grown kelp.

For seaweed growers outside Maine, the logistics still have a long way to go.

Alaska: Dealing With Distance

Federal officials also bet on Alaska’s rapid transition to seaweed farming. In 2022, the U.S. Department of Commerce’s Economic Development Administration (EDA) announced $49 million to jump-start the state’s seaweed and shellfish industry, with a quarter of those funds earmarked for Alaska Native communities.

But for farmers and companies, the kelp boom hasn’t quite happened yet. In 2016, one of the first seaweed companies to open after legalization here went on a hiring spree and immediately started putting buoys into the water. According to former employees, they were expecting to hit 1 million pounds of harvested kelp in a few years. Instead, they’ve significantly reduced operations since then, although they do maintain a farm in Alaska. As for the EDA’s 2022 funding, it is still being allocated, and to an industry that’s just beginning to take shape.

Alaska’s mammoth size presents the biggest hurdle: At 663,268 square miles, it’s much larger than any other state and even most countries. Kelp-producing regions can be thousands of miles away from one another. Many of these coastal communities aren’t connected by road, and the only way to haul kelp from farm to processor is by boat. Even after kelp is made into a final product, it still has to be shipped to Seattle, 2,000 miles south.

“We’ve looked at chartering an Alaska Airlines plane,” says Lia Heifetz, laughing. Heifetz is the co-founder of Barnacle Foods, a vertically integrated kelp company known for its Bullwhip Kelp Hot Sauce. She isn’t kidding; in its early days, her company explored flying thousands of pounds of fresh kelp from Kodiak to its headquarters and processing facility in Juneau, a distance of 500 miles. Heifetz admits that the plan wasn’t cost effective—and came with quite a carbon footprint—so they dropped the idea.

Now in its eighth year of business, Barnacle Foods works only with farms within a 70-mile radius. The company still ships everything by boat, relying on commercial fishing vessels, thanks to relationships with fishers that Heifetz has built over the years. To process their kelp, Barnacle has slowly constructed a 3,000-square-foot production floor and additional warehouse. While Heifetz wouldn’t disclose how much they’ve invested in the facility, she points out that one machine, a “capper” for jars, cost $40,000. Other equipment includes container freezers, container refrigerators, and two forklifts.

“Some level of primary processing or stabilization needs to happen at any port [where] there’s a kelp farm,” she says, adding that a single processing company—and there are only a few others in the state—is unlikely to be able to serve thousands of miles of coastline.

Farmers and kelp companies say that a cohesive strategy at the state level, particularly around what types of kelp products to initially focus on—food, fertilizer, or bioplastics, for example—could help farmers and kelp companies build infrastructure more efficiently.

As the $49 million in federal EDA funds are being dispersed through the Southeast Conference’s Alaska Mariculture Center, up to $10 million will go toward infrastructure-related projects; other funds include the Native Regenerative fund, aimed at providing money for permitting, equipment, and lease fees for Native Alaskans; a Kelp Climate fund operated by GreenWave, a kelp nonprofit; and the Saltonstall-Kennedy Grant, which can help address processing issues.

An additional challenge for Alaska kelp processing is the cost of energy, which varies widely. Each coastal community is isolated, often operating on its own electrical grid and using a variety of energy sources. Juneau has hydropower, which means Barnacle Foods has relatively low electricity costs, according to Heifitz. In other parts of Alaska, diesel generators can be the only source of electricity, a high-cost option that could deter some types of processing, like freezing.

Because of these expensive bottlenecks, farms have to make money in creative ways. “Most of the profit is coming from having farms double as grant-funded research,” says Brianna Murphy. A former commercial fisher, Murphy and her co-founder, Kristin Smith, created Mothers of Millions in 2021 to do just that, funded by a $30,000 grant from the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

Their mobile kelp hatchery, built on a repurposed fishing vessel, means they can navigate straight to farms with spore-laden kelp ready for propagating, instead of waiting for the kelp to come by cargo plane and then working frantically to revive it. Murphy and Smith are kind of a one-stop shop for seaweed farmers: They also offer on-water processing capabilities, shredding harvested kelp directly from the water.

There’s no shortage of interesting and valuable kelp-farming projects in Alaska, including the Native Conservancy’s kelp program, founded to support Indigenous people in starting their own farms. (Native Conservancy founder Dune Lankard was recently featured in the PBS docuseries Hope in the Water for his traditional Eyak kelp cakes.)

Over the next several years, as the EDA grants begin to bear fruit, Alaska could edge closer to realizing the farming potential of its thousands of miles of coastline.

New York: Starting from Scratch

One determined New York oyster grower came up with her own solution.

“This is my bay, a tiny piece of a world that is besieged on every side with climate change and pollution,” says Sue Wicks, the founder of Violet Cove Oysters. Each day, Wicks motors 20 minutes from her house to her 2-acre farm on the Great South Bay, using a Pickerell clamming boat that was designed specifically for this body of water.

“With this little spot, I feel an opportunity, a space to do something tangible,” she says, looking out at her acreage, oyster cages bobbing in the distance as she checks the growth on her kelp lines. She plucks off a furl of young sugar kelp and chews it, enjoying its briny sweetness.

Sue Wicks’ sugar kelp in its initial drying phase. (Photo courtesy of Sue Wicks)

A former Women’s National Basketball Association star, Wicks became an oyster entrepreneur after retiring from professional sports, inspired to work on the waters that her family has fished for more than 10 generations.  Her ancestors could harvest shellfish by hand, but wild stocks have plummeted in Wicks’ lifetime, a consequence of warming waters and nitrogen pollution. After witnessing the decline of her families’ livelihood and pastimes—the traditions of clamming, oystering, fishing, and scalloping—she wanted to restore the waters that surrounded her house and hometown. In 2019, she began growing seaweed as part of a research project with Stony Brook University.

After receiving the state’s first commercial kelp farming lease for the 2023–2024 season, Wicks began construction on New York’s first processing center, a dehydrator. Supported by Lazy Point Farms, a New York-based nonprofit, the center cost around $50,000 to build, says Wicks, and is part of a public-private partnership with Suffolk County and the nearby town of Brookhaven. She’s already started using it for this season’s haul.

Wicks first dries her kelp near the water, on racks in the open air, where it shrinks to 20 percent of its original size. Then she moves the racks to a shipping container equipped with a heater exhaust fan and dehumidifier to finish drying completely. Everything is powered by solar, bringing the whole process as close as possible to net-zero emissions.

The shipping container can be converted into a mobile unit, she says, and it’s easily replicated. As for the dried seaweed, Wicks is experimenting with a hot sauce and a seasoning mix, in collaboration with Lazy Point Farms and available through the nonprofit’s website.

“We don’t have working waterfronts on Long Island anymore, and that makes it very difficult,” says Wicks. She hopes her processing center encourages other oyster growers to try kelp farming, since it gives them a way to create their own shelf-stable product, right after harvest. “The fisheries are part of our heritage. It is who we are. Our biggest success is getting other farmers in the water.”

This series was produced in partnership with the Pulitzer Center’s Ocean Reporting Network.

The post The Hard Work of Bringing Kelp to Market appeared first on Civil Eats.

https://civileats.com/2024/07/30/shelf-life-peeks-into-the-nooks-and-crannies-of-the-cheesemakers-world/ https://civileats.com/2024/07/30/shelf-life-peeks-into-the-nooks-and-crannies-of-the-cheesemakers-world/#respond Tue, 30 Jul 2024 09:00:39 +0000 https://civileats.com/?p=57066 Stillwagon’s strange philosophical musings on curd set the tone for Shelf Life, a new documentary about the parallels between cheese aging and human aging. Produced by Robyn Metcalfe and directed by Ian Cheney (whose films include King Corn and The Search for General Tso), Shelf Life premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival in June, where […]

The post ‘Shelf Life’ Peeks Into the Nooks and Crannies of the Cheesemaker’s World appeared first on Civil Eats.

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“Milk is one of the simplest things in nature,” says Jim Stillwagon, an eccentric cheesemaker standing in his cluttered kitchen somewhere in the Pyrenees. “When a child vomits on your shoulder, those are the earliest vestiges of cheese.”

Stillwagon’s strange philosophical musings on curd set the tone for Shelf Life, a new documentary about the parallels between cheese aging and human aging. Produced by Robyn Metcalfe and directed by Ian Cheney (whose films include King Corn and The Search for General Tso), Shelf Life premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival in June, where it won the award for Best Cinematography in a Documentary Feature.

Filmed in more than six countries over three years, Shelf Life takes us inside the work spaces of artisan cheesemakers and specialists to observe them at their craft: through the halls of underground cheese vaults in Vermont. Under the microscope with a cheese microbiologist in California. Behind the scenes of the World Cheese Awards in Wales. Into a children’s classroom in Japan for a cheese-making lesson. And to the cheese-laden dining-room table of an award-winning cheesemonger in Chicago (see “Five Questions for Alisha Norris Jones,” below).

Cheesemaker Jim Stillwagon in his kitchen somewhere in the Pyrenees. (Photo courtesy of Wicked Delicate Films)

Wonderfully diverse in scope, we even get to visit an archeologist’s dig site in Egypt to learn about cheese in the afterlife, observe a traditional hand-pulled cheese practice in Tbilisi, Georgia, and descend into the shadowy basement stacks of a cheese librarian in Switzerland. Metcalfe calls this remarkable cast of characters “the poets of the cheese business.”

Shelf Life captures the vast and complex universe of cheese, acknowledging its place in the food system without getting into its politics—even when there’s a lot to say: The global cheese market is estimated at around $187 billion, according to one report, but this monetary worth comes with a sizable carbon footprint. According to a joint study by the Environmental Working Group and the firm Clean Metrics, dairy-based cheese is the third-highest contributor to greenhouse gas emissions, trailing behind beef and lamb.

Some have advocated for vegan cheese as a potential solution to environmental troubles. But dairy-based cheeses play an important role in local economies and culinary traditions worldwide, enriching people’s stories and ways of life—something Shelf Life celebrates.

Although film is a relatively new medium for Metcalfe, her connection to the food industry goes back to her grandfather, Roy Diem, who worked with entrepreneur Bob Wian to build the first Bob’s Big Boy. Metcalfe grew up spending time at the restaurant, famous for its double-decker hamburger. She went on to study historical food systems at Boston University, where she earned her Ph.D., and taught modern European food history at the University of Texas, Austin. At one time, she conserved rare breeds of livestock in Maine.

Metcalfe has authored several books on the food supply chain, including Food Routes: Growing Bananas in Iceland and Other Tales from the Logistics of Eating (featured in Civil Eats’ 2019 summer book guide). She also founded Food+City, a nonprofit storytelling platform that delves into how cities are fed, and the Food+City Challenge Prize, a pitch competition funding food-tech startups around the world.

We spoke with Metcalfe recently about why she made the documentary, the future of vegan cheese, and how aging builds character both in cheeses and humans.

What inspired you to make a documentary about cheese—and why now?

The first urge to pursue this subject came from an unanswered question I had as I finished a book called Humans in Our Food. My interest in food, oddly, is not so much about the food; it’s about the systems that bring the food to the table. Often, they feel industrial and disconnected from humans.

One of my curiosities was, what are the food stories we’re not hearing? Who’s missing and unseen? I sensed that it was the people building pallets, working in food service, driving trucks, packing, and all of that stuff. I wondered if what we imagine about them is true—for example, that they’d all rather be doing something else. Or that they’re working for very little money, are pretty much exploited, kind of a sad picture, and not very smart. Some people think, “Well, if you were really smart, you would not be doing that work.”

What I did [for the book] was travel all over the world and look at a really simple dish, like a slice of pizza in New York or a rice ball in Japan. Then, I went to see who brought those things together. In doing so, the answer I got was, these unseen people are aspirational. For many immigrants in particular, it’s the way they get in and up and move onward. Some of them, surprisingly, love their jobs. Not all of them, but the assumption was so much one way, and I discovered it’s much more nuanced. One group I was really curious about was affineurs, people who work in caves. [You] might be familiar with going through a winery and seeing people who age wine, but not many people know who’s in caves aging cheese.

The second thing is that, in becoming older, I was really put off by the conversations that people wanted to have with me even a decade ago, which were, “Oh, are you still doing X?” It was all about decline and being careful and not taking any risks and certainly not building up, but designing down. It was disturbing to me. This is not what anyone wants to hear. And how much of it is a self-fulfilling prophecy, after all?

So, I’m holding this thought about how cheese ages and I thought, “I wonder if we can learn something about aging a cheese, which gets better over time or transforms [and becomes] what it wants to be in terms of character. Might we push back on this human conversation of decline?” Those two things are why I chose this subject. It wasn’t because I was a cheese lover who wanted to make a film about cheese and found a way.

Did making ‘Shelf Life’ turn you into a cheese lover?

At one point, I got a cheese certificate at Boston University because that’s how you learn about things. But if someone said to me, “Robyn, what’s the difference between these two blues?” or asked me to tease out all the different flavor molecules, I would be absolutely helpless. [But cheese is] a wonderful lens to look at life.

A cheese expert feels the rind that develops during the aging process. (Photo courtesy of Wicked Delicate Films)

What were some challenges you faced when filming?

It was a challenge getting [the cheesemakers] to talk about aging. I mean, how many people do you know who like to talk about aging? People, especially younger generations, want to be relatable and supportive, and they’re curious about being older, but it’s an awkward conversation.

(Instead,) everyone wanted to share their cheese [process]. We would get responses like, “Thank you for contacting us. This is how we make our cheese.” But we weren’t actually that interested in the how but more the why. That was very hard, because people are over the moon about cheese and want to talk about it. So, we spent more time getting to know our characters before they felt they had told us their story about cheese and would speak to us about other things.

Did you learn anything new or surprising from the conversations about cheese and aging?

Absolutely. There were a lot of really fun little paradoxes. Initially, we talked to a cheese-making nun who was featured in a New Yorker article [but didn’t make it into the film]. She had a very interesting spiritual approach to what’s going on with cheese. I was really surprised to see how you could draw a metaphor about cheese as a body. Generations of microbes transform the cheese. They eat the cheese, then they die, and leave it for the next generation of microbes . . . changing the landscape of that cheese as it develops into its character.

Also, I appreciated cheesemaker Mary Quicke’s comments about multiple peaking. People talk a lot about how I’ve “passed my peak,” “I’m not in my prime,” or “Are these the sunset years of my life?” I was surprised by her clarity and understanding that you have a lot of peaks, and you’ll have more peaks. There’s not a limited supply of peaks; it’s just a limited imagination.

Were any of the people you interviewed for the film concerned about climate change?

Some people were attaching sustainability to their farming practices—for example, Jasper Hill, in Vermont. But some of the cheese companies and cheesemakers we spoke to are so small-scale that, in most cases, climate concerns never came up. Jasper Hill uses milk from, shall we say, a largish dairy and sort of sits on the edge of artisanal and scale. That’s the conundrum, isn’t it? If you want to have good food available at a low cost to as many people as possible, then you have to get bigger. In Shelf Life, you can see that Jasper Hill already has a robot flipping cheese.

A quality control group in the underground cellars at Jasper Hill Farm in Vermont. (Photo courtesy of Wicked Delicate Films)

As a historian, were there specific experiences or people you encountered while filming that stuck with you more than others—for instance, the notion that cheese, for Egyptians, was a food they envisioned in the afterlife?

I could relate to the archeologist in Egypt trying to read artifacts and divine a story from them. Historians often don’t have the actual pieces of things and are always groping and learning how to tell the story. I was surprised to hear about the Egyptians’ concept of cheese, because you don’t read much about that.

I was fascinated by the use of old historic buildings being used to age cheese, like old breweries, for example, and some of the bunkers in Europe. Or weird places like subway halls. These repurposed spaces bring up a terroir sort of conversation about the minerals, the humidity, the bacteria, and all of that. I’m not in the cheese business, but all these moves for new sanitation standards—removing the bacteria and original wooden shelves where cheese has aged—are disheartening, because often it’s that magic elixir of all those things that make cheese special.

**  **  **

Alisha Norris Jones. (Photo courtesy of Wicked Delicate Films)

5 Questions for Cheesemonger Alisha Norris Jones

Shelf Life offers a glimpse into the life of Alisha Norris Jones, an artist and professional cheesemonger based in Chicago. Jones is the creative mind behind @_immortalmilk, an “underground” cheese shop that pops up at different locations, offering curated cheese boards inspired by various aspects of culture, from art books and Instagram to Jones’ mood and travels.

 

Her work has garnered acclaim, leading to multiple awards and social media praise. Recently, she took first place at the inaugural Cheesy Chopped Championship hosted by the Cheese Culture Coalition, an organization promoting equity and inclusion in the cheese industry. We caught up with Jones to learn how she got started, what makes a good pairing, and how economic status influences our relationship with cheese.

 

How did you find your way to the fine cheese business?

 

I’m originally from Boston and moved to Chicago about 16 years ago. I got my start in food and hospitality by working at Publican Quality Meats, serving and making coffee. I eventually became a pastry assistant.

 

I was a really bad pastry chef. I lasted about three months and left before I could get fired. But one of the things that caught my attention was working with the cheese case. I went to school for religion and anthropology and have always been interested in food and food justice. Cheese seemed like a really cool way to talk about justice, class, culture and also food, wrapped all up into one thing that’s a living and breathing product—because all cheese is still alive, for the most part, when it arrives on your plate.

 

From there, I fell in love with cheese, worked at a couple more restaurants, and then took a break from fine dining to work in the specialty department at Whole Foods. I ended up being there for about five years and realized I could go for my cheese certification and become more of a professional in this field. It kind of took off from there.

 

Tell us more about how cheese is a conduit to conversations about justice and class.

 

Almost every culture that can produce cheese, across the globe, does. It can be a sign of the elite and bourgeois—a person might only go to France for Brie or pay $300 for a tasting menu. On the flip side, cheese is what got us through industrialization. By preserving milk, a person could bring it to a factory and eat it over the course of a 12-hour shift.

 

It was also a way for people to survive through the ‘70s and ‘80s with government cheese. I think it’s fascinating that some folks to this day believe that cheese isn’t for them because it’s perceived as a white thing or a rich thing, when it really affects all levels of society. I can almost tell you where you grew up and what you’ve had access to through what your favorite cheeses are.

 

As far as justice, seeing the way that land rights can also factor into cheese makes me think about who we’re advocating for. Some cheesemakers have gotten into growing marijuana because they’re not getting dairy subsidies anymore or because their land is being encroached upon by large growers or multinational dairy companies.

 

As an artist with a background in anthropology, how do you approach curating cheese boards?

 

I think about the season, especially what’s available in produce and cheese. Then, I think about my mood. Say it’s early spring: A lot of beautiful Loire-style French goat cheese is coming out [then], so I’ll look towards France and get into French cheese culture, like French movies or French visual artists and pick up on whatever palettes and moods they’re using and incorporate that into the larger board.

 

How do you know when a cheese pairs well with something? What are you looking for?

 

I’m looking for a volume match. If I have a loud cheese, I want something that’ll either be just as loud on a palate, or through texture, to complement it. I’m also thinking about acidity—again, I want something that won’t overpower the cheese—and something interesting that you haven’t really seen before, without necessarily talking down to the person eating it. There’s been this trend of matching junk food with cheese, where I’m like, “This is cool, but we can be a little bit better about this. Let’s get some fruit in here. Let’s get out of the candy aisle.”

 

Cheese raises questions about climate and whether vegan cheese is better for the environment. Do climate concerns come up for you in your work?

 

In past years, no. But I am thinking about it now, especially after going to the American Cheese Society conference and hearing fellow industry folks say we need to talk about this. With droughts and hotter temperatures, there is a concern about the cows and what milk they will provide when they’re literally overheated. And do we have enough money to keep them in an air-conditioned barn, which is insane to think about.

 

There’s not one solution to the climate question. I think more folks should be eating better cheese; sometimes, that means eating vegan cheese. Some vegan cheese artisans are doing cool things informed by traditional cheese making, and there should be room for everybody at the table. But cashews and almonds take up a lot of water. [Vegan cheese won’t] solve anything unless we’re careful about climate altogether.

These conversations have been edited for length and clarity.

To find a screening of Shelf Life, or to host one, visit https://www.shelflifefilm.org/

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]]> https://civileats.com/2024/07/30/shelf-life-peeks-into-the-nooks-and-crannies-of-the-cheesemakers-world/feed/ 0 https://civileats.com/2024/07/24/study-finds-forever-chemicals-are-increasingly-common-in-pesticides/ https://civileats.com/2024/07/24/study-finds-forever-chemicals-are-increasingly-common-in-pesticides/#respond Wed, 24 Jul 2024 13:00:11 +0000 https://civileats.com/?p=57034 “Forever chemicals,” officially called per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, or PFAS, are incredibly persistent, widely used chemicals that are now present in soil, water, and human bodies. Some PFAS are now linked to cancers, reproductive issues, and developmental delays in children. Concerns about those health risks are compounded by the fact that authorities have not identified […]

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More and more pesticides approved for use on U.S. farm fields qualify as “forever chemicals,” new research shows, raising questions around their long-term environmental and public health consequences.

“Forever chemicals,” officially called per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, or PFAS, are incredibly persistent, widely used chemicals that are now present in soil, water, and human bodies. Some PFAS are now linked to cancers, reproductive issues, and developmental delays in children.

Concerns about those health risks are compounded by the fact that authorities have not identified all sources of PFAS contamination in the environment. The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and other regulators have been trying to understand the scope and impacts of contamination from a wide range of sources, including firefighting foam, sewage sludge, and food packaging. Last year, the EPA proposed the first drinking water limits for four of the chemicals.

The new analysis, published today in Environmental Health Perspectives, represents the latest effort to understand how common PFAS are in pesticides, which are widely used around the country and directly affect food, water, and soil. The researchers, associated with environmental advocacy groups including the Center for Biological Diversity, Public Employees for Environmental Responsibility (PEER), and the Environmental Working Group, found that 66 active ingredients currently approved for use in pesticides qualify as PFAS, and eight approved “inert” ingredients—added to pesticides to help the chemical disperse, for example—also qualify as PFAS.

Most of the chemicals identified are referred to as “short chain” PFAS, which means they are likely less persistent and less toxic than the more common forever chemicals—like PFOA and PFOS—that the EPA has begun to regulate. But more research is needed on their impacts, the researchers say.

“What our research showed is that this issue is a lot bigger than many people have thought, and the trend is really worrisome.”

Plus, overall, they found that fluorination (a process that can create PFAS) is increasingly used by chemical companies in the manufacture of pesticides, to make them stick around for longer. While 14 percent of the overall active ingredients currently used in pesticides qualify as PFAS, 30 percent of the ingredients approved in the last decade qualify.

“What’s clear is that some of the most widely dispersed pollutants across the world are becoming increasingly fluorinated, which means that they’re becoming increasingly persistent, and we don’t really have a grasp yet on what the consequences are going to be,” said Nathan Donley, one of the paper’s authors and the environmental health science director at the Center for Biological Diversity. “What our research showed is that this issue is a lot bigger than many people have thought, and the trend is really worrisome.”

Of course, fluorination is not unique to the pesticide industry, said A. Daniel Jones, a professor of biochemistry and molecular biology and the associate director of Michigan State University’s Center for PFAS Research. Common medicines like Prozac and Lipitor, for example, meet some definitions of PFAS. “We could get rid of lots of really important drugs if we got rid of all of the organic fluorine,” he said. “At the same time, we do want to start moving away from non-essential uses of persistent organic chemicals. Any chemical that outlives me is probably not good to have moving around the environment.”

The study contributes to the still-developing picture of how significant of an issue PFAS in pesticides might be. In 2022, testing done by environmental groups found the chemicals in common pesticide products, which has since been partially attributed to leaching from plastic containers. The EPA took steps to address that contamination. However, an independent researcher also found alarming levels of the most dangerous PFAS in multiple pesticides that wasn’t attributable to plastic containers. EPA then did its own tests and announced no pesticides were found, but the agency is now facing allegations of misconduct related to that testing.

The EPA did not respond to requests for comment by press time.

Short-Chain PFAS Are More Common in Pesticides

Complicating the issue is that thousands of PFAS exist, and there are multiple ways to define them. Some fluorinated chemicals are PFAS, some are not. The EPA uses a narrow definition, and therefore does not consider many of the chemicals the researchers identified in the new study as PFAS. However, they do qualify using a broad definition adopted by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD).

One of the aspects at issue is the length of the carbon chain. All PFAS contain a chain of carbon atoms connected to fluorine atoms, and it’s widely understood that the longer the carbon chain, the more problematic the chemical, in terms of both environmental persistence and health impacts.

“We do want to start moving away from non-essential uses of persistent organic chemicals. Any chemical that outlives me is probably not good to have moving around the environment.”

Most of the active and inert ingredients now being used in pesticides are short chain and are not from the class of PFAS that have been the focus of regulatory efforts so far, so a looming question is: Are they of serious concern?

“From my perspective, ultimately, it doesn’t matter whether you think these are PFAS or not,” Donley said. “They are forever chemicals, and the fluorinated parts of these pesticides will be around for the birth of your grandchildren’s grandchildren.”

While these chemicals are “certainly persistent,” Jones agreed, their impact across the board is unknown.

In terms of health, one of the reasons PFOS and PFOA are so dangerous is that they can stay in the human body for up to a decade, wreaking havoc all the while. “The longer they’re in us, the more opportunity they have to do harm,” Jones said. “Generally, we do know that shorter chain compounds don’t stay in your body as long as the longer chain compounds. So the short-chain compounds are probably not nearly as bad for us as the long-chain compounds, but that doesn’t mean they’re completely innocuous either.”

In the environment, their persistence is complicated, since even those that do degrade in a reasonable amount of time can break down into other compounds that don’t, Donley said. Of course, that doesn’t mean those other compounds are necessarily toxic. For example, Jones has extensively studied one of the compounds identified in the paper, trifluoroacetic acid (TFA), as a substance into which PFAS can break down. He pointed to a recent assessment of toxicity in mammals that found TFA doesn’t pose significant health risks.

In addition, because these chemicals are so widespread in other products, it’s hard to pinpoint how significant pesticides may be as a source of contamination. For example, research shows refrigerants and other non-pesticide chemicals are a much more significant source of TFA pollution.

While most of the chemicals identified in the paper are not the most common pesticides used, some have been used in high volumes in the past, and others are seeing increased use.

In the 1990s, for example, farmers annually sprayed about 25 million pounds of an insecticide called trifluralin, which the researchers identified as PFAS. While its use has since plummeted, in 2018, farmers still used 5 million pounds on crops including cotton, alfalfa, and fruits and vegetables. Use of the herbicide fomesafen—also identified as PFAS in the new study—has gone in the other direction, increasing from just 1 million pounds in the 1990s to nearly 6 million pounds in 2018, primarily on soybeans.

And some of the 66 chemicals identified in the study are used as the active ingredient in a much larger number of products. For example, Bifenthrin, a major water contaminant in the U.S., was an ingredient in 247 different pesticide products registered in Maine in 2022.

Regulatory Implications for PFAS in Pesticides

Regardless of how the chemicals are categorized or how widely they’re used, one of Donley’s primary concerns is that the EPA’s process for evaluating pesticide safety may not be set up to properly examine what the impacts might be when short-chain PFAS break down in the environment.

“When you start getting into breakdown products, the system falls apart pretty quickly, and they’re not getting a whole lot of information on what these breakdown products are doing in the environment,” Donley said. “There are just a lot of question marks there.”

He also questions whether the EPA is effectively evaluating and regulating the additive ingredients called “inerts.” Due to the way the nation’s pesticide law was written, those chemicals are considered confidential business secrets, so companies don’t have to list them on pesticide labels.

So while the paper’s authors were able to identify eight approved inerts that qualify as PFAS, four of which are currently used in products in the U.S, there’s no way to know which products contain them. One such chemical, for instance, is approved for use on food crops and is present in 37 products, according to the EPA. Since the agency doesn’t share the names of those products, we don’t know if they are in wide use—or hardly used at all.

In regulatory recommendations at the end of the new paper, Donley and his co-authors say the U.S. should require all pesticide ingredients, including inerts, to be disclosed on labels. They also recommend the agency evaluate all PFAS pesticides and the compounds they break down into for environmental persistence, expand environmental and biomonitoring programs for PFAS pesticides, and assess the cumulative impacts of all the pesticides and the compounds they break down into based on the “total organic fluorine load in the environment and food.”

Michigan State’s Jones called the goals lofty and said they’d require an enormous amount of resources—which the agency currently does not have. “A more circumspect approach might begin by prioritizing items that present the greatest risk to human health, but should also evaluate the health effects of any proposed alternatives,” he said.

Even before the study, in the absence of more aggressive EPA action on the issue, states have been stepping in. Maine, Minnesota, Maryland, and Massachusetts have all passed laws that specifically tackle PFAS in pesticides in some way. Maine and Minnesota have already begun the process of identifying PFAS in pesticides, with a goal of understanding their impact and eventually ending their use.

“We’re only regulating the tip of the iceberg in terms of the federal EPA drinking water standard. The more we find out about PFAS, the more concerning they are.”

Pesticide companies now submit PFAS affidavits when they register their products in Maine. The Minnesota Department of Agriculture, which uses a broader definition of PFAS than even the OECD, issued an interim report earlier this year that identified 95 pesticides that qualified as PFAS. The agency also began looking at contamination in groundwater, rivers, and streams.

“There’s a lot coming out that’s going to make it easier to piece together, state by state, what’s happening,” said Sharon Anglin Treat, an environmental policy expert who has been working on PFAS contamination in Maine. “We’re only regulating the tip of the iceberg in terms of the federal EPA drinking water standard. The more we find out about PFAS, the more concerning they are.”

That’s why, Donley said, the overall trend of fluorinating pesticides to make them more persistent is something regulators should be paying attention to.

“In the ’70s, we were dealing with things like DDT and aldrin and chlordane, really persistent chemicals,” he said. “The EPA kicked that to the curb. Now, we’ve almost come full circle. Whereas the 1970s was the age of the organochlorine [like DDT], now we’re living in the age of the organofluorine, and the persistence is really nerve-wracking, because it wasn’t until decades later that we figured out the long-term consequences of using DDT. . . and we’re still dealing with the ramifications.”

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