by Michael Moss
Sugar was coming under heavy fire from several directions. The Food and Drug Administration had taken it up as part of an effort to examine the safety of all food additives. The report it commissioned didn’t recommend regulatory action, but it did contain several warnings: Dental decay was rampant, sugar was possibly tied to heart disease, and consumers had all but lost control of its use. Getting rid of the sugar bowl at home would barely help to cut back on consumption, the report said, as more than two-thirds of the sugar in America’s diet was now coming from processed foods.
At the same time, a select committee of U.S. senators—including George McGovern, Bob Dole, Walter Mondale, Ted Kennedy, and Hubert Humphrey—caused a stir by releasing the federal government’s first official guideline on how Americans should shape their diet. The committee had started out looking at hunger and poverty but quickly turned its attention to heart disease and other illnesses that experts were linking to diet. “I testified that Americans should eat less food; less meat; less fat, particularly saturated fat; less cholesterol; less sugar; more unsaturated fat, fruits, vegetables and cereal products,” an adviser to the Agriculture Department, Mark Hegsted, wrote in an account of the proceedings. On top of that, Michael Jacobson, an MIT-trained protégé of the consumer advocacy superstar Ralph Nader, was lighting a fire under the Federal Trade Commission. Jacobson’s group, the Center for Science in the Public Interest, had gathered twelve thousand signatures from health professionals in urging the agency to ban the advertising of sugary foods on children’s television.
The headlines from these and other attacks on the processed food industry had led to a surge in consumer awareness and concern. A federal survey found that three in four shoppers were reading and acting on the nutritional information provided on labels; half of these consumers said that they studied the labels to avoid certain additives, including salt, sugar, fats, and artificial colors. Even more troubling than that for the processed food industry, there was a growing public sentiment that its use of sugar, as well as colors, flavors, and other additives, was causing hyperactivity in children and overeating by adults. “It was coming from the general public, and there are always voices, activist voices, that say this is fact, that sugar causes over-activity,” recalled Al Clausi, who retired in 1987 as a senior vice president and chief research officer for General Foods. “That was one of the folklore. That and flavors make you eat more of something that otherwise you wouldn’t.” With Clausi as the leader, officials from Kellogg and General Mills formed a group called the Flavor Benefits Committee, and they asked Monell to conduct research that would help quiet the nay-sayers, putting sugar and other food additives in a more favorable light by emphasizing their nutritional benefits.
Monell was an obvious choice for the industry. With limited funds from the government, the center had begun soliciting monies from food companies, keeping them apprised of research that would interest them. In a 1978 letter to Clausi, Monell’s former director, Morley Kare, thanked General Foods for its latest check and suggested that center scientists conduct a seminar for product developers at the company. “We currently are emphasizing the growth of our program on taste and nutrition,” Kare wrote. “A study with adolescents is being planned, focusing on their desire for high concentrations of sweeteners, saltiness and, evidently, the flavor and texture of fat.”
By 1985, there were nine scientists at the center working on the industry’s Flavor Benefits project, and some of their findings were things the industry could relish only in private. One discovery would have been a morale booster in food company labs where technicians had qualms about their employers’ heavy reliance on sugar: Monell helped to establish that sugar is inherently loved by newborn babies. This enabled companies to argue, at least, that sugar was not something “artificial” they were thrusting upon an unsuspecting public. Rather, sugar was sinless, if not entirely wholesome. “Sweet was very important to us,” Clausi said. “And when Monell found that of all the basic flavors, sweet is the only one a neonate shows a preference for, that said to us, ‘Hey, there is something natural we are dealing with. This is not something we created out of whole cloth.’ ”
Monell, on behalf of the food manufacturers, also dug into the question of whether sugar causes people to overeat, and in this area the scientists made some troubling discoveries. For instance, it wasn’t enough for food to have an attractive taste, they found. To be really enticing, these products had to be loaded with sugar and fat. Only these two ingredients, along with salt, seemed to have the power to excite the brain about eating. With this in mind, Monell turned to an item on the grocery shelf that was starting to have perhaps more impact on the American diet than anything else the food industry sold: soda, which people were starting to drink in unprecedented amounts.
Much of the work on soda at Monell was undertaken by one of the center’s brightest scientists, Michael Tordoff, who had earned his doctoral degree at the University of California at Los Angeles in one of science’s most challenging disciplines, a division of behavioral science called physiological psychology. (This is the field of research that looks at things like the role of the hippocampus in learning and memory.) Tordoff had already shown that he was capable of work that could open some interesting doors for the food industry. With a colleague, he invented a sweet compound dubbed Charmitrol, which could work in opposite ways, both of them potentially lucrative. The animal studies he performed indicated that the compound could cause people to eat larger amounts of food. Or, applied differently, it could cause them to eat less. “It made fat rats thin and thin rats fat,” he told me. Two companies licensed the substance from Monell but turned up neurological hazards that nixed its commercial utility.
In turning to soda, Tordoff wanted to examine how soda might affect the appetite, and right off the bat he made a startling discovery. Sweetened drinks made his rats more hungry, not less. At first, this appeared to indict diet sodas, because he had used saccharine, the artificial sweetener, instead of sugar to sweeten the drinks. He got the same result when he used gum sweetened with saccharine. But then he turned to testing people, and this time he used regular soda made with high-fructose corn syrup.
In the fall of 1987, Tordoff recruited thirty people from nearby universities. They were all screened for obvious disqualifications—like if they were pregnant or dieting—and then they were put to work. Each week, for nine weeks, the thirty participants came to Monell to be questioned and weighed and were sent home with twenty-eight bottles of soda that had been specially crafted for this experiment by two of Monell’s corporate sponsors, with instructions to keep careful track of what they drank. Experiments like this face a significant challenge: The scientists must rely on ordinary people to be very scientific, and people are people. They forget, they fudge, they obfuscate, all of which messes with the results. To boost their compliance—and forthrightness—the participants were told, “We could determine what you have eaten from analysis of urine samples,” which was actually untrue in this trial, the published study noted.
Monell doled out five thousand bottles of the specially formulated sodas, in three distinct phases. “For three weeks we gave them nothing,” Tordoff said. “Three weeks they got 40 ounces a day of diet soda. And for three weeks they got 40 ounces a day of regular soda.” The diet soda turned out to be something of a wash, or at best a small help in losing weight. Men lost about a quarter pound when drinking the diet soda. For women, there was no statistically significant change.
The most significant finding came with the regular soda, which was sweetened with high-fructose corn syrup. With regular soda, both sexes gained weight: an average of nearly a pound and a half in just three weeks. At that rate, a person would put on 26 pounds in a year. “It might have been a big relief for the diet soda industry, but it was not good news for the makers of corn syrup,” Tordoff said. (Or for table sugar, since most nutrition experts agree that when it comes to gaining weight, there appears to be little difference between swe
eteners derived from corn and those drawn from cane or beets.)
This was one of the first studies to establish that sugary soda was likely a heavy contributor to obesity, which was just beginning to surge into the epidemic it is today. Until then, scientists had surmised this might be the case but lacked proof. Just like Brooklyn professor Sclafani’s studies two decades earlier had shown that sugary foods would compel rats to overeat, Tordoff’s experiment emboldened other scientists to look more closely at the effects that sweet drinks can have on one’s appetite. Julie Mennella says that one of the big risks in letting children drink soda is that it leads them to expect—and want—more sweetness in all of their drinks. In her view, soda has moved the bliss point higher across the spectrum of drinks—from vitamin waters to sport ades—that is gaining popularity even as soda consumption begins to taper off. “There is no evidence that this is going to affect the level of sweetness they like in a pudding,” she said. “But it teaches children that hey, when you drink a carbonated beverage, this is how sweet it should be.”
Another of their colleagues at Monell, Karen Teff, has found signs that sweet drinks may be a Trojan horse when it comes to making people gain weight. Our bodies might not be able to identify the calories in sweet liquids as well as they can in solid foods. Such a blindness to soda and other caloric drinks would circumvent the natural controls that the body has in place to prevent excessive weight gain. In 2006, she conducted a study in which people received an infusion of glucose, and she then watched their response. The test lasted only forty-eight hours, but the results were striking: The subjects did not cut back on their eating at all. They just took in those extra glucose calories like they were invisible. “If these liquids do not activate the nervous system, they may not be recognized,” Teff said.
More experimentation would need to be done for this notion to gain currency among nutritionists, but like Mennella, Teff is not shy about holding the food industry’s feet to the fire. When it comes to sugar in drinks or solid food, their practice is to add more first and study later—if at all. “I’m still shocked at what goes on in this country,” she told me. “Where every single food has some sweetened component that wasn’t normally supposed to be sweetened. Honey wheat bread, honey mustard. Foods that were associated with non-sweet or that had slightly bitter components have now been made sweeter. There is absolutely no tolerance now for foods that are not sweet.”
The research on sugar at Monell, it should be noted, is incomplete. Some of the most critical things about it remain a mystery, such as the precise parameters of its risk in heart disease and other health problems, or whether it deceives us in liquid form, or whether its many substitutes, from saccharine to the emerging plant-based sweetener stevia, will help us lose weight. The best guess today on the low-calorie sweeteners is that they can work only in a highly disciplined diet: Wolfing down two cupcakes after being restrained by drinking only diet sodas clearly won’t help take the weight off.
One thing, however, has become perfectly clear in recent years. The overconsumption of sugar in solid foods or drinks has increasingly been tied to the obesity epidemic, which has only grown more dire. Overeating is now a global issue. In China, for the first time, the people who weigh too much now outnumber those who weigh too little. In France, where obesity has climbed from 8.5 percent to 14.5 percent since 1997, Nestlé has been enjoying great success in selling the Jenny Craig weight-loss program to the same Parisians who once sneered at Americans’ proclivity to glom onto one diet fad after another. Mexico’s obesity rate has tripled in the past three decades, leading to worries that it now has the fattest kids in the world, with fewer resources to do anything about it: Most schools in Mexico City lack both playgrounds and water fountains. The United States, however, remains the most obese country in the world. And where the rates of obesity appear to be reaching a plateau among adults at 35 percent, they are still climbing among the group that is the most vulnerable to the food industry’s products: children. The most recent data, from 2006 to 2008, shows that obesity among kids aged six to eleven jumped from 15 to 20 percent.
And yet, for more than three decades, federal officials in Washington have exempted sugar from the recommended maximum limits that they set for the other two pillars of processed foods, salt and fat. Nor are manufacturers required to disclose how much sugar they add to their products: The amounts they cite include the sugar that occurs naturally in food. In 2009, the American Heart Association stepped in and issued a recommended limit for sugar. In a statement published in its scientific journal Circulation, the association declared, “High intakes of dietary sugars in the setting of a worldwide pandemic of obesity and cardiovascular disease have heightened concerns about the adverse effects of excessive consumption of sugars.” The limits it recommended were even bolder. Noting that people were getting on average 22 teaspoons of added sugar a day, the association urged Americans to cut back. Moderately active women should get no more than 5 teaspoons of sugar—9 for sedentary, middle-aged men—in what nutritionists call “discretionary calories.” These are the treats that people who are watching their weight can have once they meet their daily nutritional needs, and the association was not messing around. For women, the 5-teaspoon daily limit would mean having barely half of a 12-ounce can of Coke, or one Twinkie, or one-and-a-half Fig Newtons, or a half-cup of Jell-O. To be clear, those are connected by or, not and. Five teaspoons don’t get you very far in the grocery store.
This time, however, food companies didn’t need Monell’s help to mount a vigorous defense. Their dependence on sugar by now ran so deep that representatives from every corner of the industry, from cookies to soda, attended a summit the AHA held in Washington in the spring of 2010 to discuss its proposal. One after another they made their case: It wasn’t just taste that made their use of sugar invaluable. Sugar was critical to the entire manufacturing process. To lessen it would jeopardize the nation’s supply of food.
The candy makers cited the bulk, texture, and crystallization that sugar gave them. The cereal makers added color, crisp, and crunch to the list of sugar’s miracles. The bread makers conceded that they rely on every known form of the stuff in their factories—corn syrup, high-fructose corn syrup, dextrose, inverted syrup, malt, molasses, honey, and table sugar in three forms (granulated, powdered, and liquid). To drive their point home, the bakers cooked up special versions of their products using sugar substitutes, and they splashed pictures of the horrific results on the screen. The message was clear: Limit sugar, and you’re left with a sad bunch of cookies, crackers, and breads that come out shrunken, pale, flat, or distended.
“Let’s get practical,” a food engineer from Israel told the group before launching into a chemistry lesson on a browning phenomenon called the Maillard reaction. Maillard is responsible for much of the pleasing caramel coloring in processed food, from quick breads to roasted meats, and Maillard can’t happen in many foods without a group of sugars that includes fructose.
Not to be outdone, a corn refiner’s consultant wrapped up his presentation by suggesting the AHA’s focus on sugar was misguided. If it really wanted to look at calories and the things in the American diet that made people gain weight, why pick on sugar when the bigger culprit may be fat?
“Certainly you can reformulate foods to reduce sugar and salt,” this consultant, John White, told me later. “You can replace them with noncaloric sweeteners or synthetic fats. But the character of the product always changes, and you have to accept the tradeoff.”
There would be no need for tradeoffs, however. The Heart Association’s recommendation came and went, with little action by the industry to cut back. Sugar’s value to food companies was only going up.
chapter two
“How Do You Get People to Crave?”
John Lennon couldn’t find it in England, so he had cases of it shipped from New York to fuel the Imagine sessions. The Beach Boys, ZZ Top, and Cher took no chances either: They all stipulated in their contr
act riders that it be put in their dressing rooms when they toured. Hillary Clinton asked for it, too, when she traveled as First Lady, and ever after her hotel suites were dutifully stocked.
What they all wanted, and got, was Dr Pepper. Its unique taste, neither cola nor root beer, has won it a global cult following. Its most rabid devotees proudly call themselves Peppers, belong to a club called the 10-2-4—so named for one of the early advertising campaigns, which encouraged people to drink three Dr Peppers a day, at ten, two, and four o’clock—and make pilgrimages to Waco, Texas, where a pharmacist at Morrison’s Old Corner Drug Store invented the drink in 1885. This kind of devotion afforded Dr Pepper a distant but comfortable third-place spot behind Coke and Pepsi, the giants of the soda aisle until 2001, when sudden changes in the marketing game in the soda aisle precipitated a crisis for Dr Pepper. The trouble began when a flood of spinoffs from Coca-Cola and Pepsi showed up on the shelves. Seemingly overnight, there were lemons and limes, vanillas and coffees, raspberries and oranges, whites and blues and clears—all vying for the shopper’s attention. In grocery lingo, these new flavors and colors are known as “line extensions,” and they’re not meant to replace the original product. Rather, they’re meant to bring buzz to the brand, and often they do this so well that people start eating or drinking more of the original product too.
In this case, Pepsi and Coke were using their line extensions to strengthen their hold on the soda aisle at a critical moment, just as American consumption was starting to peak. As Pepsi and Coke grew their sales with these new extensions, Dr Pepper began to slip from the third-place perch it had enjoyed for so long. In 2002, Coca-Cola sold 93 million cases more than the previous year, for a total of 4.5 billion cases in the United States alone. Pepsi was up a little bit too, with its 3.2 billion cases. By contrast, Dr Pepper was slumping, down 15 million cases to a total of 708 million, and soda industry watchers sounded a warning. “Dr Pepper—once an industry growth brand—lost volume and share,” the trade journal Beverage Digest reported. The soda from Waco needed to turn things around.
