By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
Poor Caesar Barber.
10477 Lombardy Lane
Dallas, TX 75220
Region: Northwest Dallas
4217 Oak Lawn Ave.
Dallas, TX 75219
Region: Uptown & Oak Lawn
For the past 27 years, the cumbersome maintenance worker from New York tried only to meander harmlessly through life. But a gang of marketing toughs from McDonald's and Burger King and other fast-food chains pummeled him daily with slogans. Teen-age hoodlums threatened to "super size" his orders. Insidious short-order thugs drenched his meals with salt. They took his money every day, ruthlessly and without remorse. Eventually, the helpless Barber could stand no more punishment. He collapsed twice from heart attacks and now suffers from high blood pressure and obesity.
Or at least that's the scenario according to trial lawyer Samuel Hirsch, the Center for Science in the Public Interest (CSPI) and veterans of the fight against the tobacco industry. In July, Hirsch filed a lawsuit against several fast-food chains, alleging among other charges that the establishments create an addiction to their menu offerings.
What else could explain America's $100 billion a year love affair with greasy, tasteless, artlessly prepared meals?
Unfortunately, Barber's story failed to rally the public, so Hirsch recently trotted several chubby kids--victims of the same kind of abuse--before the national media. However, even Dr. Phil McGraw saw through the ruse, responding to the lawyer's claim that fast-food moguls bear the blame for obesity with a terse, "What a load of crap!"
"The idea that we should be blamed is ludicrous," says Terrie Dort, president of the National Council of Chain Restaurants. "Our product is not addictive. We're talking about meat and potatoes here." She worries that victory over the tobacco companies invigorated special-interest groups bent on controlling consumer behavior. "Just think of all the things that could be regulated by interest groups and the Hirsches of the world," she warns.
That question ripples through restaurant industry lobbying groups, trade organizations and beyond. Congressional debates over tobacco several years ago prompted Senator Phil Gramm to ponder the precedent. "Where does this end?" he asked then. Their goal extends far beyond a slap on McDonald's fiscal wrist. Hirsch, the health advocacy group CSPI and their ilk are pushing ideas that, if ultimately successful, will alter restaurant menus and our enjoyment of a meal. To combat the apparent tide of obesity--more than 60 percent of American adults carry unnecessary or dangerous heft, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and 13 percent of kids need a friend to check the status of their shoelaces--activist groups launched a campaign to, as CSPI puts it, levy prohibitive taxes on butter, whole milk, cheese and meat.
"I don't think the lawsuit will go anywhere," says Priscilla Connors, a nutritionist and assistant professor at the University of North Texas, referring to Hirsch's challenge, "but the idea won't go away." She compares this current outcry with the debate over seat belts in the 1960s and 1970s. "At issue was the question 'Can the American people behave responsibly?' It's remarkably similar." In this case, Connors says, government legislation assumes the role of passive restraint, a system whereby the consumer is absolved of responsibility for his actions through limits on the choices available. Nutritionists and physicians are rightly concerned over health issues, particularly the increasing onset of type II diabetes in children. Special-interest groups, however, often consider anything other than an organic or meatless diet completely irresponsible and will happily fight to impose their ideas. They understand that lawsuits beget laws, which in turn limit behavioral options.
Restaurant industry representatives bristle at efforts to curb options, arguing that consumers make choices--not always rational choices, but free and personal nonetheless. They also consider the use of children in lawsuits somewhat unfair. "Those 5-year-olds don't drive themselves to McDonald's," says Tracey Evers of the Greater Dallas Restaurant Association. For their part, restaurateurs understand the push for low-calorie or low-fat menu items, but they also must respond to consumer demand. "There's some validity to their arguments," admits Judd Fruia, general manager of Pappas Bros. Steakhouse, "but remember low-cal dressings? People don't like them--not in a restaurant, anyway--and I'm here to give people what they like." Fruia's counterpart, Al Biernat, owner of the namesake steak house, agrees. "Where do you draw the line? A lot of people order prime steak, but they don't eat it all of the time. Everything has consequences, but everyone has a choice.
"I'm a restaurateur," Biernat concludes. "I'm not here to be anyone's policeman."
Nutritionists and food-industry critics offer only lukewarm support for freedom of choice. "It's relative," Connors explains. "Butter isn't bad for everybody." Yet she still finds room to blame the food industry for negative outcomes. "When we look at parents suing McDonald's, their point is that children are susceptible to targeted marketing." Marion Nestle, chair of New York University's department of Nutrition and Food Studies and author of Food Politics, also impugns the marketing efforts of the major commercial food producers. "I think you can argue personal choice for adults," she admits, "but not for children." Schools nationwide receive clocks festooned with Chester Cheetah, counting books produced by Oreos and other blatant attempts to sway young minds. "Even high school kids have difficulty distinguishing marketing content from news content," Nestle says.
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