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PDF Global Appetites First Paperback Edition Allison Carruth Ebook Full Chapter
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more information – www.cambridge.org/9781107032828
GLOBAL APPETITES
ALLISON CARRUTH
University of California, Los Angeles
cambridge university press
Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town,
Singapore, São Paulo, Delhi, Mexico City
Cambridge University Press
32 Avenue of the Americas, New York, ny 10013-2473, usa
www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107032828
A catalog record for this publication is available from the British Library.
Notes 169
Bibliography 213
Index 235
vii
List of Figures
viii
List of Figures ix
8 “Nestlé’s Swiss Milk – Richest in Cream.” Théophile Alexandre
Steinlen, 1894. Reprinted with the permission of the Mary
Evans Picture Library. 110
9 “Battery Cage.” © 1990 Sue Coe. Reprinted with the permission
of Galerie St. Etienne, New York. 125
10 “Milking Parlor, California 2007.” © Barron Bixler. Reprinted
with the permission of the artist. 130
11 “Feed Lot.” © 1991 Sue Coe. Reprinted with the permission of
Galerie St. Etienne, New York. 133
12 “Veal Skinner.” © 1991 Sue Coe. Reprinted with the permission
of Galerie St. Etienne, New York. 134
Acknowledgments
I cannot imagine Global Appetites without Barron Bixler, who saw a scholar
in me a decade ago and has, ever since, supported my work and enriched my
life. My gratitude to him runs deep. In addition to the time he devoted to
reading drafts and weighing in on ideas, his photographs of the San Joaquin
Valley and Northeast Brazil transformed how I see the massive interven-
tions of industrial agriculture as well as more intimate acts of farming,
fishing, and breaking bread. Those images inspire the pages that follow. To
you, B, I dedicate this book with love.
I have benefited over the years from extraordinary mentors and col-
leagues. I owe my greatest debt to Ramón Saldívar, who, as my dissertation
director, guided the development of this project at every turn. My admira-
tion of him as a scholar, teacher, and leader is difficult to convey. Other
faculty members at Stanford were generous with their time and ideas. I
thank Gavin Jones and Andrea Lunsford for pushing me to conceptualize
the power of food for literary studies, Ursula Heise for blazing a trail in the
environmental humanities, and Sianne Ngai for helping me to think in new
ways about the pastoral. In 2012, I was fortunate to join the faculty at
UCLA, where I brought this project to a close. I am grateful to Ali Behdad,
Elizabeth DeLoughrey, Carrie Hyde, Rachel Lee, Marissa López, Kathleen
McHugh, Michael North, Felicity Nussbaum, Mark Seltzer, and Robert
Watson for their warm welcome and intellectual camaraderie. I thank
the UCLA English Department and Office of Faculty Diversity and
Development for providing generous research funds, and I thank my
research assistant Brendan O’Kelly and indexer Helene Ferranti for their
careful work while the book was in production.
A year in residence at UC Santa Barbara as the Arnhold Postdoctoral
Fellow provided the initial opportunity to develop the book manuscript
while working with a marvelous group of faculty that included David
Cleveland, Bishnupriya Ghosh, Stephanie LeMenager, Alan Liu, Rita
Raley, Russell Samolsky, Daniela Soleri, and William Warner. Colleagues
xi
xii Acknowledgments
and graduate students at the University of Oregon helped me to hone the
book’s argument. Thanks especially to Lara Bovilsky, Alan Dickman,
Margaret Hallock, Kate Mondloch, Paul Peppis, Carol Stabile, Courtney
Thorsson, David Vázquez, Molly Westling, and Harry Wonham. I would
also like to thank Darra Goldstein for her judicious responses to the manu-
script and for her friendship. The opportunity to serve as the Associate
Director of the Program in Science, Technology, and Society at Stanford
from 2011–12 was fortuitous. I owe a great deal to Fred Turner and Colleen
McCallion for making the year productive and inspiring.
At Cambridge University Press, I am indebted to Ray Ryan, Louis Gulino,
Marielle Poss, and Cherline Daniel as well as to my anonymous readers, who
all improved the book in incalculable ways. The book further benefited from
feedback at the American Comparative Literature Association, Modernist
Studies Association, Modern Language Association, and Willa Cather
International Seminar as well as from a dissertation fellowship made possible
by the Mellon Foundation. I also acknowledge the University of Oregon for a
Summer Research Award and Junior Professorship Development Grant, the
Wayne Morse Center for Law and Politics for a Resident Scholar award, and
the UCLA Friends of English for generous funding to support image per-
missions. Thank you to Martin Schapiro for his work on the cover design,
which originally came from Greenpeace and an anonymous designer. I thank
the following individuals and organizations for permission to reprint images:
Sue Coe and Galerie St. Etienne, the Estate of Tom Wesselmann, Hennepin
County Library, Hershey Community Archives, the Mary Evans Picture
Library, the New York Public Library, University of Minnesota Libraries,
and, once more, Barron Bixler.
The years spent in graduate school and as a new professor were made
more joyful thanks to family and friends. For the countless hours spent
sharing meals while talking about our work, I thank Yanoula Athanassakis,
Denise Boulangé, Benedetta Faedi, Harris Feinsod, Michael Hoyer, Ruth
Kaplan, and Ju Yon Kim. I am profoundly appreciative of Claire Bowen,
Laura Crescimano, Heather Houser, and Amy Tigner for being there
through thick and thin in addition to being cherished collaborators. To
all of the Carruths, Bixlers, Evans, Emrys, Hilkers, and Skeens in my life,
I am grateful to each of you for making my sense of family big-hearted
indeed. To Penney Carruth and Pat and Harold Hilker, I thank you for
loving me as your own and for providing oases in which to write. And to my
granny Polly and, in memoriam, my grandparents, I express my gratitude
for teaching me the art of storytelling. I can only begin to acknowledge all
my mother, Patricia Carruth, and my father, Dennis Carruth, have done
Acknowledgments xiii
for me. They have buoyed me through times of self-doubt, celebrated every
milestone along the way, and taught me to make work a labor of love. For
this, and so much more, I thank you.
Finally, I offer thanks to the farmers and farmworkers who bring food to
San Francisco, Santa Barbara, Eugene, and Los Angeles as well as to the
many chefs around the world who confer to food both a poetry and a
politics.
chapter 1
It is to serve the farmers of this great open country that teeming cities
have arisen, great stretches of navigation have been opened, a mighty
network of railways has been constructed, a fast increasing mileage of
highways has been laid out, and modern inventions have stretched their
lines of communication among all the various communities and into
nearly every home. Agriculture holds a position in this country that it
was never before able to secure anywhere else on earth. . . . [I]n America,
the farm has long since ceased to be associated with a mode of life that
could be called rustic. It has become a great industrial enterprise.
Calvin Coolidge, Address to Farm Bureau Federation (1925)1
[T]oday in cosmopolitan Dublin, you can choose to eat an Indian
curry, a Mexican burrito, or an Irish breakfast. With an increasingly
global food trade a single meal can originate from ten locations across
the planet. . . . In eagerness to minimize the distance our food travels,
and connect flavours to places, we may risk over-simplifying the
complex systems that comprise our food systems. But, whether one
grows local or eats global, food will always be inextricably linked to
place; and places are in constant flux.
Center for Genomic Gastronomy,
Edible: The Taste of Things to Come (2012)2
1 “Still Life #30.” 1963. Museum of Modern Art, Counter Space: Design and the Modern
Kitchen Exhibition. © Estate of Tom Wesselmann / Licensed by VAGA, New York.
Reprinted with the permission of VAGA and Art Resource.
2 “Electrified Farm.” 1939–1940. New York World’s Fair Exhibition. Courtesy of the
New York Public Library, Manuscript and Archives Division.
4 Global Appetites: American Power and the Literature of Food
Since the moment when Coolidge addressed the Farm Bureau, the political
and economic power that has accrued to those who control the world food
supply has turned out to be an indicator of global power writ large, and the
hegemony of the United States has had a great deal to do with food ever since.
Today, what I term U.S. food power is both global in scope and subject
to manifold forms of opposition: it drives the international adoption of
genetically modified seeds (GMOs), but fuels anti-GMO movements and
seed-saver organizations; it inspires the post-9/11 revival of “victory gardens” as
instruments of national food security, but spurs community supported agri-
culture (CSA) as a means to make food systems ecologically and socially
sustainable; and it enables the global reach of American food brands, but
energizes alternative dietary practices. The United States is, moreover, not the
world’s sole food power. Nearly a century since Coolidge delivered his speech,
the “great industrial enterprise” has taken root in China, Brazil, Mexico,
Australia, India, France, and elsewhere, while transnational social movements
have mobilized to contest that enterprise. Put simply, food has become a
political mobilizer and cultural buzzword. In the United States, the number
of protests, activist groups, conferences, books, films, art installations, and
websites devoted to food and food politics grows by the year. This popular
discourse attests that food both participates in “complex systems,” from regional
watersheds to international markets, and circulates in multivalent cultural
forms, from traditional genres like almanacs and cookbooks to new media
like blogs and bioart experiments. To invoke Roland Barthes, the “polysemia”
of food in contemporary society – as in the multiple social and, I would hasten
to add, ecological structures it shapes – is a constitutive feature of modernity.10
The reasons for the proliferation of food movements and food media
during the last decade are numerous. Perhaps most importantly, environ-
mental groups have publicized scientific findings that industrial agriculture
is a major contributor to climate change at the same time that volatility in
rice, wheat, and corn prices have highlighted a troubling paradox of the
modern food system: despite tremendous gains in the productivity of
agriculture, nearly one billion people are hungry.11 The 2012 exhibition
Edible: A Taste of Things to Come illustrates another paradox of the modern
food system, one that inspires this book: the richness of cultural responses to
the system’s perceived failings. Organized by the playful art collective
known as the Center for Genomic Gastronomy, the exhibition assembled
artists, activists, cooks, scientists, and hobbyists to imagine possible futures
of food. With installations like “Disaster Pharming” and “Vegan Ortolan,”
the exhibition showcased the outer reaches of molecular gastronomy and
agricultural genetics alongside more familiar “countercuisines”12 such as
Introduction: The Power of Food 5
vegetarianism and raw food. In positing these futures, the exhibition was
highly critical of the status quo. The Edible catalog concludes with two
infographics: one showing disinvestments in small farmers and increases in
obesity rates and another charting the decline of agricultural diversity under
the industrialized food regime (in which wheat, rice, milk, potatoes, sugar,
and corn have displaced the thousands of edible plants long cultivated
around the world).13 Paired with this lament about the present, however,
is a celebration of the culinary cosmopolitanism that the present affords.
De-centering the United States, and indeed the nation state, as the locus of
food power, the Edible curators suggest that the global circulation of food-
stuffs and food cultures allows the individual eater to act as a world citizen.
Although Global Appetites makes the case for the cultural significance of
the modern food system and the power of a nation like the United States
within it, U.S. food power in the period since the First World War certainly
has historical precedents. Coolidge acknowledged in 1925 that the farm had
“long . . . ceased to be associated with a mode of life that could be called
rustic.” Broadening his point, we can identify in European empires and in
the colonial United States the twin impulses to expand the geographic scale
of food distribution and transform the technological apparatus of agriculture.
We also can trace back to the ancient world the very forms of cosmopolitan
consumption that the Edible exhibition identifies as uniquely modern and
urban. Food historian Massimo Montanari observes that the “social expan-
sion of globalization” should not lead us to “forget its ancient origins as a
cultural model.”14 At the same time, Montanari contrasts the “infinite local
variations” that once defined international cuisines with the current
“tendency toward uniformity of consumer goods” that multinational corpo-
rations have effectively promoted.15 It is my contention that literature
provides a powerful medium through which to chart both the historical
continuities and cultural ruptures that inform late modern appetites for
world cuisines and national aspirations for global food power.
Moving from the First World War to the post-9/11 era, Global Appetites
argues for the centrality of food to accounts of globalization and U.S.
hegemony that pervade the literature of this period. Across genres, literature
is a vehicle attuned to the modern food system due to the capacity of
imaginative texts to shuttle between social and interpersonal registers and
between symbolic and embodied expressions of power. Just as importantly,
literature has a facility with shifting from macroscopic to intimate scales of
representation that can provide an incisive lens on the interactions between
local places and global markets that are so central to how communities and
corporations produce, exchange, and make use of food in the modern
6 Global Appetites: American Power and the Literature of Food
period. While wide-ranging in its primary materials, the book zeroes in on
one question: What forms does the writing of food take in the age of
American agribusiness? This question proves pertinent to a wide array of
texts, from cookbooks that challenge the products and ideologies of fast
food to novels that depict the modernity of rural communities. The
literature of food that this book maps includes not just culinary writing
and agrarian narrative, but also experimental poetry, postmodern fiction,
government propaganda, advertising, memoirs, and manifestos. This body
of literature takes shape after the First World War, when industrial agri-
culture really took off in the United States, and gains momentum during
the Cold War, a period in which U.S. corporations began to market food
brands and packaged foods internationally. Engaging with these historical
shifts, writers elucidate and at times challenge what Henry Luce called in
1941 “The American Century.”16 For Luce, the exceptional history of the
United States underwrites a national imperative to lead the world in the
twentieth century toward the arguably competing goals of “free enterprise”
and political “freedom and justice.”17 From Willa Cather to Toni Morrison,
the writers whom I discuss in the pages that follow articulate this sense of
American exceptionalism, yet often through a negative form that defines
the United States as the main origin of imperialist and unjust practices
attending the globalization of food.
One could argue that the literary history this book traces reaches back at
least to the turn of the century, when writers such as Upton Sinclair and
Frank Norris begin to investigate the rise of industrial agriculture and the
corporate ownership of food infrastructure. Hsuan Hsu reminds American
Studies scholars that 1898 is a particularly pivotal year for the history of U.S.
power as a moment when the Spanish-American War crystallized the
nation’s imperial aspirations and actions.18 Although writers like Sinclair
make cameo appearances in Global Appetites and although I concur with
Hsu’s historical argument, I show that it is not until the First World War
that a discourse of food power pervades both politics and literature, just as
it is then that the methods of industrial agriculture and the products of
U.S. food companies pervade the world system.19 Investigating a set
of writers who tackle these historical developments, the book contributes
to cultural theories of globalization. Since the 1980s, globalization has
come to describe a set of institutions, ideologies, and practices that advance
modes of border-crossing connectivity – what sociologist Anthony Giddens
terms the “disembedding” of communities from local contexts.20 While the
term globalization offers a kind of clarity in connoting free trade, mass
media, and consumer culture, scholars have employed it in often sharply
Introduction: The Power of Food 7
divergent analyses. As Ursula K. Heise observes in Sense of Place, Sense
of Planet, some theorists “see globalization principally as an economic
process and as the most recent form of capitalist expansion, whereas others
emphasize its political and cultural dimensions, or characterize it as a
heterogeneous and uneven process whose various components . . . do not
unfold according to the same logic and at the same pace,” an insightful gloss
of a field that includes the work of Arjun Appadurai, Ulrich Beck, Daniel
Bell, David Harvey, Fredric Jameson, Saskia Sassen, and others.21 The now
omnipresent concept of globalization in the social sciences and humanities
serves, furthermore, to encapsulate a host of social conditions associated
with the contemporary period as well as to synthesize the overlapping
historical designations of late modernity (Beck), late capitalism (Harvey),
postmodernism (Jameson), postindustrialism (Bell), and postcolonialism
(Appadurai and Sassen).
Shifting the lens of globalization inquiry to food, I have come to question
a central premise within this body of theory: the idea that globalization
separates spaces of production and consumption, intensifying the process
Karl Marx termed “commodity fetishism” and giving rise to decolonial
modes of resistance to late capitalism (or what Harvey labels the “new
imperialism”).22 Global Appetites addresses decolonial movements that resist
economic globalization, such as those calling for food justice and seed
sovereignty. So too does the book credit those late capitalist ideologies –
from free trade to global branding – that depend on the geographic and
psychic distance between people and that profit from our enchantment with
things. Indeed, we see commodity fetishism at work nowhere more clearly
than with food. Outside a small if growing subculture, most consumers in
the contemporary United States shop weekly at supermarkets, where the
labor conditions and environmental consequences of the produce are as
hidden as those of the brand-name packages overflowing from the center
aisles. If global commodities like a can of Coke and the Big Mac exemplify
Marx’s theory, one’s indulgence in a fair-trade-certified bar of chocolate is
surely no less an instance of commodity fetishism than the hurried purchase
of a fast food meal. However, despite how robustly the modern food system
reinforces the idea that globalization is the apotheosis of capitalism, there is
a countervailing pattern to apprehend. Globalization, as this book con-
cludes, also provides the imaginative frameworks and material structures for
the contemporary movement to re-localize food and reconnect producers
and consumers. This contention speaks not only to globalization studies but
also to environmental criticism, and especially to recent work that has
questioned the centrality of place-based politics and localism in North
8 Global Appetites: American Power and the Literature of Food
American environmentalism.23 From Cather’s novel O Pioneers! (1913) to
Novella Carpenter’s memoir Farm City (2009), the primary materials
I examine span a century to provide a new account of globalization that
emerges out of an environmental sensibility at once local and global in its
coordinates. Imaginatively reconnecting farmers and eaters ‒ cities and
countrysides – the literature of food shows us that the endgame of global-
ization may not be the free market that the United States has underwritten
for decades and backed with its military. Rather, it opens up the possibility
that the outcome of globalization may be a postcapitalist system defined by
interchanges between regional communities and the global networks that
not only fulfill appetites for exotic foods but also circulate the knowledge
and resources that advance alternative food movements, from organic
agriculture to urban farming.
The idea for this book originated with my observation that pastoral tropes
have come to structure much of the contemporary discourse surrounding
American agribusiness. The persistence of pastoral sensibilities in the infor-
mation age extends out from the marketing campaigns of companies such as
Foster Farms, Chipotle, and Horizon organic milk to, on the one hand,
apologies for GMOs and, on the other, polemics for farmers’ markets and
whole foods. This pastoral turn has a specific flavor, however. Although in
some instances contemporary food rhetoric features idyllic images of shep-
herds and meadows, more often it reaches back to a classical georgic tradition
that sees food as melding the natural, the cultural, and the technological.
This georgic streak today pops up in cultural forms as divergent as molecular
gastronomy cuisine, avant-garde bioart, and the agribusiness exposés of
writers such as Jonathan Safran Foer and Eric Schlosser.34
In contrast to this recent renaissance of georgic notions of food, the first
half of “The American Century” tended to the modernist veneration of
industrialized agriculture that we see in Coolidge’s 1925 speech. This vision
of an engineered food system severed, thru technical fixes, from the unpre-
dictability of natural ecosystems and the diversity of culinary traditions
redoubled during the Cold War. In 1968, USAID Administrator William
Gaud coined the now notorious moniker of the Green Revolution, a term
that categorized the multiple industries constituting agribusiness – from seed
companies and pesticide manufacturers to food science labs and packaged
food makers – as participants in a humanitarian project to solve world
famine. In line with the Nobel Prize winning scientist Norman Borlaug,
Gaud suggested that the same compounds that had gone into chemical
weapons (DDT most infamously) were migrating from combat zones to
fields of grain, where they would serve the common good. The Green
Introduction: The Power of Food 13
Revolution failed to realize this political promise for its critics, who instead
saw its end result as a global trade in pesticides, fertilizers, and seeds that
produced skyrocketing farmer debt and eroded regional food traditions.35
The amalgamation of weapons production and agribusiness began during the
First World War, when chemical gas and barbed wire simultaneously struc-
tured the trenches of Europe and the industrializing farms of the American
Midwest. The tacit alliance between war and food accelerated in the fifties
and sixties, when corporations began marketing chemical inputs to farmers as
part of the Green Revolution while supplying the Department of Defense
with weapons such as Agent Orange. In our own historical moment, we can
witness this militarization of the food system in the physical infrastructure
that has developed to support American agribusiness for nearly a century. A
2008 photograph of a California feed mill showing an intricate series of pipes
and silos, brings powerfully to mind – in the mill’s scale and complexity –
what Dwight D. Eisenhower termed in 1961 the “military-industrial com-
plex” (Figure 3).36 To quote food journalist Michael Pollan, agribusiness has
aimed throughout the twentieth century and into the twenty-first to put the
national “war machine to peacetime purposes.”37
The multinational corporation Monsanto provides a window onto the
important cultural shift that occurred between the Cold War and the early
twenty-first century – the transition from the modernist exaltation to the
3 “Feed Mill, California 2008.” © Barron Bixler. Reprinted with the permission of the artist.
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“This is the spirit, the spirit is present,
The spirit of this tapu!
The boy will be angry,
The boy will flame,
The boy will be brave,
The boy will possess thought.
Name this boy
That he may be angry, that he may flame,
To make the hail fall:
Dedicate him to fight for Tu;
Ward off the blow that he may fight for Tu.
The man of war jumps and wards off the blows.”
After the battle was over the priest called those who survived, and
enquired of each if he had killed anyone, or taken any prisoners. All
who had been in battle before delivered up their weapons to him,
who deposited them in the house where they were kept. Those who
had fought for the first time were called and asked if they had killed
anyone. If the person addressed replied in the affirmative, the priest
demanded his mere—stone battle-axe—and broke it into pieces.
This was the invariable custom with young warriors when they had
imbued their hands in the blood of their enemies. The priest having
afterwards assembled them together, used the following words,
which were called the Haha:
“This is the wind, the wind is feeding;
The wind descends,
The wind is prosperous,
The many sacred things of Tu.
The wind descends,
The wind is prosperous,
The living wind of Tu.”
“I am Cucutle!
The warriors have passed singing,
The hymn of the battle has passed by me;
It has passed, despising my childhood,
p , p g y ,
And has stopped before the door of Bonkauku.
I am the black warrior.
My mother is Boseleso!
I will rush as a lion,
Like him that devours the virgins
Near the forests of Fubasekoa.
Mapatsa is with me—
Mapatsa, the son of Tele—
We set off singing the song of the Trot.
Ramakoala, my uncle, exclaims:
Cucutle, where shall we fight?
We will fight before the fires of Makoso.
We arrive....
The warriors of the enemy, ranged in a line,
Fling their javelins together;
They fatigue themselves in vain:
The father of Moatla rushes into their midst,
He wounds a man in the arm
Before the eyes of his mother,
Who sees him fall,
Ah! Where is the head of the son of Sebegoane?
It has rolled to the middle of his native town.
I entered victorious into his dwelling,
And purified myself in the midst of his sheepfold:
My eye is still surrounded with the clay of the victory.
The shield of Cucutle has been pierced;
Those of his enemies are intact,
For they are the shields of cowards.
I am the white thunder
Which growls after the rain!
Ready to return to my children,
I roar: I must have prey!
I see the flocks and herds escaping
Across the tufted grass of the plain;
I take them from the shepherd with the white and yellow shield.
Go up on the high rocks of Macate;
See the white cow run into the midst of the herd.
A Makose will no longer despise my club;
The grass grows in his deserted pens,
The wind sweeps the thatch
From his ruined huts;
The humming of the goats is the only noise that is heard
In his town, once so gay.
Tired, and dying with thirst, I went to the dwelling of Entele;
His wife was churning delicious milk,
The foam of which was white and frothy
Like the saliva of a little child.
I picked up a piece of a broken pot
To drink out of the vessel,
Which I soon left empty.
The white cow that I conquered
Has a black head;
Her breast is high and open—
It was the nurse of the son of Matayane—
I will go and offer it to my prince.
The name of my chief is Makao,
And Makao is Makoo:
I swear it by the striped ox
Of Mamasike!”