Agri-Biodiversty, Terroir, and Insects...

Right, it occurred to me that I never answered my own question in the previous blog post. Why are certain species of plant, or animal, an accepted part of the food system (i.e. yellow corn or cows), whilst some are valorised because they are popular or rare (i.e. vanilla or civet coffee), and some are completely ignored altogether? I’m going to answer this question with three points that I find helpful to think about the food system; human conditioning, human consumption, and terroir.

Firstly, I am going to discuss the average diet in the western world from about 1950 onwards. The reason that I’m choosing this period is because it’s what I know most about, and in this period the industrialisation of food products began to move at faster pace (please note that food industrialisation had been increasing for at least 100 years before—see Sydney Mintz). As I said in the previous post, the number of products in circulation maintains what I perceive as human conditioning. The food that ends up on our table is more or less a handful, which consolidates what is perceived to be edible—in the past, this perception of what is edible was familial or tribal—now it is what the supermarkets or our friends eat and provide us with. For example, in the West the eating of insects is considered weird or disgusting—though if you think about some species of crustaceans, I’m not sure why that is—but I have a feeling that it’s due to the conditioning done by friends, family, and what’s in supermarkets or on menus. This is unlike in parts of Africa or Asia, where eating insects has been a normal thing to do for generations. There are companies in London that are starting to challenge that—EatGrub for instance, which is tackling both the perception of insect eating but also the issues surrounding a growing population and feeding them.

This leads me beautifully into human consumption. Eating meat has been traditionally the preserve of the affluent. Now it is more commonplace than that, and I can identify two trajectories to why this is. I’m going to use the meat industry as my example here: firstly, and this is probably a bit controversial due to what papers you read or charts you use (and depends on what camp you are in, academically speaking), but the human population has gotten collectively richer over the last few decades. Secondly, this newfound affluence, and the burgeoning middle classes in the BRICs, has added to the demand and consumption of meat products. To meet this demand, I would argue that the meat industry has been working in overdrive; this overproduction has led to a fall in the relative price of meat (obviously this is country and animal specific). However, this has had a detrimental effect for global biodiversity, though I would never argue that eating meat is fundamentally a bad thing or that it is not within the rights of that burgeoning middle class to exercise their free will. As more land is used for animal husbandry, far fewer animals are privileged and domesticated. These uber-farms need cleared land, which kills plants and wildlife (or even some domesticated species). This includes feed for the animals—soya being one of the predominant sources for this. There are arguments for turning over the animal feed to feed humans, and at least freeing up the space that is used for animals for just vegetable crops. Apart from the “feeding humans” aspect, I’m not sure how this would fix the decline in some aspects of global biodiversity. Surely, having vast acreages of land devoted to one crop means that only a few will be privileged?

Finally, my third point (it’s a little less doom and gloom, I promise!) is all about the value of terroir. Terroir comes from a French word that is all about encapsulating the environmental, weather, earth and geographical position of the crop—but also, and quite fundamentally, about the various nice edible things that are grown in the same region. The term is used most frequently in the wine trade (see my cork dorkiness is coming through). Think how nicely a Riesling and baked cheese from the Alsace region go together. That in its essence is terroir, though I read an interview recently with a Californian winegrower who claimed that his colleagues thought that terroir was a French marketing ploy. This connection, is at its heart, all about biodiversity. To be able to experience a taste that is so quintessentially one region is both an honour and a testament to biodiversity. As a chef, and yes culinary luddite-ism ahoy, it's one of the perfect meals you can have. It’s a bit like a symphony of flavours. However, I would argue that it’s not a French marketing term for their wine; if you think of Nordic, or Sephardic or British foods there are flavours that just go together. The beauty of a globalised food system is that people get to experience those too—but it costs.

I think that condemning the globalised food system for its lack of biodiversity is slightly idiotic. Single-issue opinions give no scope for a holistic viewpoint—and food is essentially political (see the Arab Spring as an example) and it needs an understanding for its multi-faceted aspects. Yes, uber-farms to feed the growing human population are damaging biodiversity; but coupled with that is the ability, and access, to a range of products that make up other culinary triads (i.e. carrot, celery & onion or garlic, chili, and ginger) for more people. The final thing I would like to talk about is choice. I alluded to it above, but there is a demand for meat—which in turn depletes agri-biodiversity. This choice has costs and consequences—the large corporations have made their choice, but in a way that accepts the choices of consumers. If we as consumers could make different choices that would be a different matter, and the rise in popularity in veganism and vegetarianism does herald a shift in consumer choices. However, this does not “fix” the issues of biodiversity. I’ll look at alternatives next week—and then I think I’ll give this subject a rest!

Housekeeping: On a completely different note, I am deeply saddened by the death of Ursula K Le Guin—she was part of my childhood, and a testament that anthropologists (or their children) have an unusual way at looking at the world.