Thinking Beyond Science

Papyrus scrolls and excavated oil jars tell us that food trade is as old as civilization itself. From ancient ports to desert caravans, people have always sent food across long distances. To survive these journeys, foods had to be preserved — salted, dried, sugared, or sealed. Bacteria and molds don’t stand a chance on salt cod or hard biscuits, but they thrive on fruits and vegetables unless those are soaked in sugar (as jams and jellies), salted (as pickles), or cooked in sealed containers. Even citrus fruits, favored by seafarers to prevent scurvy, eventually mold if not kept cool.

For centuries, this problem of spoilage meant that fresh produce was mostly local and seasonal. What farmers grew nearby was what people ate. That changed with the arrival of trains, trucks, and airplanes. Suddenly, food could travel farther and faster. But the real revolution came with refrigeration. The “cold chain” — a continuous system of keeping foods cold from harvest to supermarket — transformed what we think of as fresh. Now, we expect strawberries in winter or crisp lettuce any time of year, even if it was picked halfway across the world.

Yet “fresh” doesn’t always mean what we think it does. Supermarkets label foods as fresh if they’re raw, never frozen, and contain no preservatives. But even so-called fresh produce is often processed before it reaches the shelf. Bananas and tomatoes are harvested green, gassed to ripen later, and chilled in transit. Those crisp bags of salad greens have been washed, cut, and sealed in modified atmospheres that slow decay. Even “baby carrots” are ordinary carrots reshaped and packaged for convenience.

So, fresh is relative. The longer food travels from farm to store, the more that word stretches in meaning. Out-of-season fruits, shipped across continents, arrive with hidden costs — not just in freshness, but in environmental impact. Food ecologists call the total distance food travels its “food miles,” a measure that reflects fuel use, emissions, and labor conditions that don’t appear on our grocery bills.

This industrial-scale abundance has clear benefits: variety, affordability, and availability year-round. But it also brings losses — in flavor, texture, biodiversity, and connection to local farms. For those who value community and sustainability, locally grown food offers intangible rewards: knowing the growers, tasting regional differences, and supporting local ecosystems. Yet, in supermarket economics, price remains the ultimate decider. Retailers use subtle pricing tricks to make expensive items, like organic produce, appear cheaper — whether by labeling costs per head instead of per pound or by adjusting package sizes.

Organic produce often costs more due to the care and labor behind it. The question of whether it’s more nutritious is still debated. Certified organic foods are at least as safe as conventional ones, and the nutritional advantage depends largely on soil quality, crop variety, and post-harvest handling. Minerals in plants reflect the richness of the soil they grow in, while vitamins and phytonutrients vary by species and care.

Regardless of how or where they’re grown, fruits and vegetables remain indispensable. They provide essential nutrients — vitamin C, folate, beta-carotene, fiber, and a host of protective phytonutrients that collectively support human health. Whether conventional or organic, local or global, “fresh” produce nourishes us in ways few other foods can.

Still, as the meaning of “fresh” stretches across miles and seasons, it’s worth remembering that every strawberry on a winter dessert or salad in mid-December carries its own story — of preservation, technology, transport, and the age-old human desire to make the tastes of distant lands part of our daily lives.

Source : What to Eat by Marion Nestle

Goodreads : https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/268963.What_to_Eat

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