22 | EDIBLE SF FALL 2025 The Lunchables were already there when I arrived at 6:45 A.M. I circled the pallet, taking it in. Neurons in my brain spiked even though I’d yet to fill my coffee cup. Each shrink-wrapped package contained three pepperoni and three extra cheesy pizzas. The garish yellow boxes would be a big hit with our clients, who were primarily Guatemalan, Mexican, and Vietnamese, but they were a huge flop for me. The American food system is a superhighway of processed junk, and my food pantry is the last exit. It’s my weekly emotional toll. I love volunteering, saying hi to clients, and smiling at their adorable babies. “Hola, ¿cómo estás?” I say to everyone who walks by. I care deeply, and I hate knowing that some of what they receive isn’t “good.” Yes, I am judging, but I know too much about food: what all the weird ingredients are and the profits Big Food craves. According to Linda Nageotte, president and COO at Feeding America, 68% of folks who turn to pantries are both food insecure and have diet-related chronic diseases, like diabetes and high blood pressure. “We know and believe that providing people with whole foods is as good as medicine,” she said. I’m not food insecure, but I do have Type 1 diabetes, and it’s this condition that created my vigilance. I grew up eating “delicious” crap: Keebler Elves cookies, Ritz crackers, Lean Cuisine frozen dinners. My diet has evolved, and while I might occasionally devour a Ritz cracker—so buttery and crispy!—you won’t catch me buying them. Judy, another volunteer, handed the Lunchables out with a huge smile—”Pizza!” she yelled out in her deep Puerto Rican accent. She wasn’t horrified like I was. Emilie, another volunteer, joined me in calling it UUPF— ultra-ultra-processed food. A food pantry has one job. To give away food. The Canal Alliance, where I volunteer, feeds about 350 families weekly in San Rafael, California. We provide primarily whole food staples. Grains, beans, vegetables, and fruit that anyone could proudly turn into a meal. Me included. But we also get nutritionally suspect items. I want to reject them, but then I see people happily walking away, and I wonder: Must we only supply clean ingredients or is there a place on the table for factory-made foods? The Lunchables came courtesy of SF Marin Food Bank. The Bay Area nonprofit received the grab-and-go convenience foods from Feeding America, which rescues manufactured products destined for landfill. Since Lunchables’ launch in 1989, their acceptance is finally being questioned. The Center for Science in the Public Interest called having them in cafeterias “a highly questionable move for school nutrition.” Consumer Reports wrote, “We don’t think anybody should regularly eat these products, and they definitely shouldn’t be considered a healthy school lunch.” Kraft Heinz announced it would stop selling its “meals”— quotes for irony—to schools in November 2024. But they’re still produced, and when no one buys them, they’re farmed out to the food insecure. Feeding America reports that 47 million people in the US—1 in 7—are food insecure. Profits are questionable. Manufacturers like Kraft Heinz often have surplus when an expiration date is near. They take a larger deduction when they give back to qualified non-profits—it’s called an “extended tax deduction.” I can’t be wrong in assuming manufacturers hope these castoffs also create future customers. The state of California feeds 5 million people a week at roughly 230-plus food pantries. That we can still feed this many people despite cuts in important USDA programs by President Trump and massive shortfalls in the California state budget is only due to corporate and private donors. Every Tuesday, the clients who come to the Canal Alliance walk away with around 35 to 45 pounds of food. Most of it is excellent, but not all of it. Local retailers are wise to food pantries as a beard for their buying mistakes. Via Extra Food, another organization that saves food from being wasted, we get packaged items, fresh food, and an abundance of bakery items from Target, Grocery Outlet, and Safeway. We display the stuff from chain markets in our “bodega”—a set of rolling baker’s racks. The community loves it: Takis chips, Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal, and Terry Ho’s Yum Yum Sauce. After coffee and before we open at 8 o’clock, I wander the aisles taking photos of the worst offenders. Sometimes I post them to Instagram, hoping big brands will take note. I know I shouldn’t complain. Extra Food is a fantastic organization. Why waste resources making edible food only to toss it? Monica Ravizza, Extra Food’s director of programs, admits how “complicated” it is. “Everyone wants fresh, healthy food, but that isn’t the only thing that comes in. We try hard to make sure that our donors’ trash doesn’t become the recipient’s trash.” I brought up some of the offending items I’ve seen. “We’re not the food police, we’re not the nutritionists telling people what they can and can’t eat. We’re rescuing food. Everyone deserves birthday cake.” On processed food, access, and the right to choose MY BIRTHDAY CAKE MANTRA Writer—Larissa Zimberoff Photos—Larissa Zimberoff/Canal Alliance ON EXCESS 1
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