46 Europe The Economist February 12th 2022
Bunfight!
T
he treatyof Versailles, signed in 1919, is usually remembered
for the humiliating punishments it heaped on Germany. But
flip through the pages of the accord that ended the first world war
and a lesserknown aim of the Allied powers appears: the protec
tion of champagne. Article 275 ensured that never again would
French palates have to suffer the infamy of tasting Germangrown
grapes passed off as Gallic fizz. Among diplomats and historians
the treaty is not considered one of Europe’s finest hours, given its
role in sparking the next world war. Pampered farmers are perhaps
the only ones who remember it more fondly.
A century later, food remains the stuff of high politics in Eu
rope. This year marks the 60th anniversary of the eu’s Common
Agricultural Policy, which still manages to hijack a third of the
bloc’s budget. Trade deals wanted by some member states are rou
tinely scuppered to protect farmers in another (usually France).
Now a new bunfight is gripping the continent. The European
Commission in Brussels will this year propose rules that would re
quire the nutritional qualities of all foods to be displayed on the
front of their packaging. The idea is to tip off shoppers about what
makes them fat. But the measure, backed by nutritionists, is being
attacked by its opponents as nothing less than an assault on the
European way of life.
Nearly all grub sold in Europe has had to divulge its nutritional
qualities (or lack thereof ) since 2016. But the nagging only goes so
far. The information is found on the back of the pack, written in a
font size usually reserved for the finer points of insurance con
tracts. In 2017 French food scientists developed a system that dis
tilled that hardtoread data into a simple “NutriScore”. A stan
dard label placed where consumers can see it would provide col
ourcoded grades from an acceptable A to an execrable E. Public
health officials and consumer groups laud NutriScore’s simplici
ty and have pushed for its wider use. Backed by authorities in
France, Germany and Spain among others, the system has been vo
luntarily adopted by many retailers. The commission thinks
something like it should be mandatory across the eu.
The sensible push to steer consumers away from unhealthy
food has run into a problem inherent in any regulation designed
for 27 countries: what is backed by most ends up raising the hack
les of a few. In this case the problem is Italy. NutriScore is unkind
to many staples of Italian cuisine. A meal of prosciutto, gorgonzo
la and tiramisu turns out to be entirely at the wrong end of the
spectrum. Even olive oil, the elixir at the heart of the country’s
famed Mediterranean diet, gets only an amber light from the grad
ing system. For Italians, ever alert to the possibility that conde
scending northerners are holding them to an unreasonable stan
dard, this is provocation enough. How can their food be bad when
Italy has among the lowest adult obesity rates in the rich world?
Politics have helped turn the issue into a matter of national
pride in Rome. Populists rail against what they call a senseless sys
tem cooked up by bloodless, tasteless technocrats. Matteo Salvini
of the farright Lega party dismisses NutriScore as fit only for joy
less acolytes of alcoholfree wine, fake meat and edible insects.
Others discern a menace to Italian agriculture, designed to benefit
multinationals. Mario Draghi, Italy’s prime minister and formerly
chief of Europe’s central bank, is a technocrat himself. Yet to hold
his fractious coalition together, he has had to make disparaging
comments about NutriScore, too.
A crude lobbying operation complete with dodgy websites
mimicking publichealth agencies has popped up in opposition to
NutriScore. It contrasts the terrible grade given to parmesan (E)
with the passing mark of Coke Zero (B). How can twothirds of the
products served by kfc—a chicken outfit that owes its very exis
tence to crispyfried crust—be classified as no worse than mozza
rella? The foodgrading endeavour is painted as a ploy to under
mine ancestral farming products: it is far easier to change the reci
pe for Coco Pops (whose formula was recently tweaked to achieve
a B) than salami (a flat E).
NutriScorers point out that makers of processed foods, too,
have lobbied against stricter labelling (though a few now endorse
it, including Kellogg’s, which makes Coco Pops). Serge Hercberg,
an academic who helped devise the scheme, describes it as an ob
vious health measure. Finding skewed comparisons is easy, but
foods should be compared to alternatives in the same category:
one cannot replace a can of Coke with a cup of olive oil (which, he
notes, scores better than butter). Italy has a child obesity problem,
and the Mediterranean diet it defends originally included rather
more fruit and vegetables than makers of cured ham would like to
admit. “Even if foods are ancestral, it does not mean they are good
for you,” Mr Hercberg says. As for kfc, the parts of its menu that
score well are wholesome: a side of cherry tomatoes, for example.
Food for thought
The Italian griping has caught on. Farmers in France and beyond
worry bad scores for their products will crimp sales. Agriculture
ministries are being coaxed to pare back NutriScore even where it
has already been adopted. A proposal to create a special category
for alcohol (a black F, sadly) is being used to galvanise more oppo
nents. Italy has developed an alternative labelling scheme so con
fusing that it seems aimed at making a food’s healthiness utterly
unknowable. And national governments will have plenty of op
portunity to hollow out the commission’s proposals, as they did
when the issue of food labelling last came up a decade ago.
They should not, however. For all the raucous disagreement,
NutriScore’s fans and detractors are not so far apart. Italians are
slim despite all that pecorino and gelato because they know these
treats should be enjoyed in moderation. Professor Hercbergand
others say much the same thing: everything is fine, if youadjust
the quantities. Even a glass of Italian wine, perhaps. Salute!n
Charlemagne
A European battle over food labelling