Free Don't Kill the Birthday Girl by Sandra Beasley Page B

but it was a start.
    The act’s primary function is to formally recognize those eight major foods or food groups that account for more than 90 percent of food allergies in the United States: milk, egg, peanuts, tree nuts, fish, shellfish, soy, and wheat. When it comes to the “big eight,” loopholes have been sewn tight. Their presence may not be generalized within colorings, spices, or flavors. If a derivative such as casein is used, the label must include the major allergen label, either in the form of
casein
(
MILK
) or by appending
CONTAINS MILK
to the end of the ingredient list. The specific member of an allergen group must be specified; e.g., “cashews,” rather than simply “nuts.” Soy lecithin, used to coat baking pans, is no longer a hidden “processing aid.” Provisions are made for research into national prevalence rates of food allergies and anaphylactic reactions, and to develop allergen-free guidelines for food preparation in restaurants, grocery store delicatessens, and school cafeterias.
    The wheels of bureaucracy—even after they begin turning—take a long time to move the cart forward. FALCPA, as the food-allergen labeling act is sometimes called, prescribes a somewhat labyrinthine system of ingredient parsing. A year earlier, Congress had also passed a stringent set of guidelines for labeling trans fats. Out of consideration for companies absorbing the cost of rejiggering recipes and reprinting labels on dozens of products, accommodating both sets of guidelines, the FDA did not demand compliance on either front until January 1, 2006.
    In February 2006, the media picked up on the fact that theMcDonald’s corporation had added the phrase “contains wheat and milk ingredients” to the nutritional labeling of their French fries. The Associated Press contacted Cathy Kapica, McDonald’s then director of global nutrition (a rather idealistic job title coming from the folks behind McNuggets). Kapica confirmed that a flavoring agent in the cooking oil contained “wheat and dairy derivatives.” She was quick to clarify that the derivatives did not include proteins, and suggested that people with wheat or dairy allergies who had eaten fries without problem should continue eating them.
    â€œTechnically there are no allergens in there,” she said. “What this is is an example of science evolving.”
    Uh-huh. This was not the first controversy over McDonald’s flagship product. In 1990, the company had announced a switch from cooking with beef tallow to pure vegetable oil. But a 2002 lawsuit brought on by vegetarian groups revealed most fries were still being cooked in “beef-flavored oil” (to the horror of Hindus everywhere), resulting in a $10 million settlement. Apparently, McDonald’s subsequent promise to
really
change the recipe had become mired in production purgatory. The reality was that they were scared to alter the taste of an iconic product; as Colonel Sanders could have attested, there would be no going back.
    Watching these news reports in 2006, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. I didn’t have many food rituals as a child. What I had were usually weird variations on what the “normal kids” did, merely offering the comfort of routine rather than signaling membership in their ranks. Who else lined up twelve hazelnuts in the pencil groove of her desk? Who else equatedcatching a cold with eating whole artichokes in home-brewed broth, instead of the comforting, canned conformity of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup?
    But I had one ritual that had made me feel like every other kid. During the first decade of my life, when I was undergoing weekly shots, only one reward brought any consolation: a trip to the McDonald’s near my allergist’s office. It was a particularly fancy one, with an indoor merry-go-round populated by Grimace, the Hamburglar, Birdie the Early Bird, and Ronald