The Ever-Rising Standard for the Perfect Food

I recently ate a pint of low-calorie ice cream. Yes, yes, it is quite fascinating news out of my life. Anyway, depending on the brand (Halo Top in this case), I find it quite delicious. I marvel at its high protein and fiber, its low fat and sugar, wondering how it can still taste so scrumptious. But, as so often happens with these too-good-to-be-true foods, I recently became aware that a certain ingredient in it might be problematic. In this case, that particular ingredient being a popular sugar alcohol called erythritol.

After a quick search through some credible sources, I found that the stuff can potentially cause heart issues, and (though this needs further study) could be worse than sugar itself if consumed in high amounts. A tale as old as the food industry itself: we finally find a food that checks all the boxes, and then come to learn something about it that burns the whole parade to the ground. I want to throw up my hands in frustration, conceding to the belief that “nothing is healthy; everything causes some type of cancer these days.”

You’ve probably heard that said many times, but I don’t think it’s true. I think there’s a glaringly obvious answer to this: it’s not that everything is bad for me. It’s that I’ve been conditioned by the food industry around me to think that everything should taste good. After years of eating ultra-processed, sugary junk, I am somehow owed a dessert that I can finally feel good about eating, that has no adverse effects, no matter how sweet and creamy it is. I deserve to have a chocolate protein bar that is low in sugar (but still sweet) and high in protein and fiber (but still with a perfect texture), and be free of strange ingredients. This simply isn’t realistic. Our ancestors survived largely on dirty roots, tart berries, and, with good fortune, some unseasoned meat and organs. They didn’t feel cheated out of anything, because they never ate the things we eat. But give a caveman a slice of cake and he’ll hold to that standard every dusty tuber he digs out of the dirt forevermore. Once he’s sufficiently used to eating cake, it’s no use to tell him gorging the stuff is unhealthy, because instead of abandoning it, he’ll demand a healthy version of it. The issue is we simply can’t synthesize healthy cake yet. It’s not that everything’s unhealthy. It’s that we’re not eating real food anymore.

The same goes for cosmetics.

Finding the perfect deodorant is a game of whack-a-mole: we want one that masks odor, smells heavenly, lasts long, prevents sweating, and after all that, doesn’t have any disruptive health effects. When are we going to admit that this is a wildly unnatural, unrealistic desire? Cultural standards have so convinced us we can just stop bodily function, that we express frustration when something that achieves this for us is—lo and behold—not a cocktail our body handles well.

Sunscreen is a great tool for protection against UV overexposure, but we forget how tall an order that is. It’s the sun. A lotion that defies such a power can hardly be mild on the skin. We gripe when we find out some sunscreens have harmful chemicals. We want to stay in the sun at high noon, but we don’t want to burn, so we want a solution. Again, this isn’t something we’ve been able to do for 99+% of human history. I’ve referenced it before: “there are no solutions, only trade-offs.” So, acknowledge the trade-off. You can limit sun exposure when it’s 2:00 PM. Or you can wear a shirt, or sun screen, or get burnt. Whatever you do, don’t expect miracle solutions… yet.

This is not a condemnation of the progress we’ve made so far in the scientific community that aids us against these ancient inconveniences. I love that I can defy the ultraviolet behemoth simply by slapping some lotion on. I deeply enjoy ice cream that doesn’t make me feel like a garbage compactor after eating. I only mean to remind you (and myself) that what we’re demanding is not a given feature of life. It’s in its infancy. Maybe in 30 years, good sunscreens and deodorants will be as harmless as a summer breeze. Perhaps one day I’ll eat ice cream that does no more damage to me than would a fine jasmine tea.

Until then, I‘ll try to remember what I’m demanding if ever I start to gripe.