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Trying to overcome its junk food image, McDonald's is buying more apples than any other U.S. restaurant chain. This could fundamentally change the apple industry -- and not necessarily for the better.
Mar 25, 2005 | Turn your back on the rack of leaflets, printed on acid-free recycled paper and titled "Taste, Choice and Balanced Eating," in the McDonald's restaurant in Yakima, Wash., and you can take your pick from the menu of items that cost a dollar or less. Right at the bottom, underneath the double cheeseburger, the sundae, three cookies and two pies, come the 99-cent Apple Dippers -- around 10 cold, crisp and slightly watery peeled apple slices, packaged in plastic with a small carton of sickly-sweet caramel dip that contains twice as many calories from fat as the slices themselves, as well as disodium phosphate, potassium sorbate and caramel color.
To the consumer, the difference between a packet of Apple Dippers and, say, the M&M McFlurry is little more than a few calories. As the picture of Ronald McDonald jogging on the packet suggests, it might also mark a subtle shift in the eating habits of an increasingly obese nation. But to the apple growers of Yakima and elsewhere in Washington state -- the most extensive apple-producing region in the United States -- it could mean a whole lot more.
McDonald's, which launched the Apple Dippers last year, now buys more apples than any other restaurant chain in the United States. And if the product, not to mention a forthcoming McDonald's apple salad, takes off, it has the potential to transform an entire agricultural industry. The chain's influence could alter forever the method and scale of production, the varieties of apple produced and the rights of the thousands of workers who pick them, and not necessarily for the better.
"McDonald's makes a huge impact, not because they are deliberately out to screw the food system but because they are so massive, and because they demand a uniform product," says Eric Schlosser, author of "Fast Food Nation," a damning critique of the industry.
With 13,700 restaurants in the United States, McDonald's is one of the country's biggest employers: Roughly one in eight Americans is estimated to have worked for the company at some stage in their lives. It is already the largest buyer of beef, pork and potatoes, and the second-largest buyer of chicken. With volume comes clout: Last year, at an apple-marketing conference organized by the U.S. Apple Association, McDonald's director of quality systems announced that if growers wanted to work with the company, they would have to cultivate more of two varieties of apple in particular: cameo and pink lady. Already, the cameo crop in Washington state is 58 percent larger than it was last year, according to growers in Yakima Valley.
The interest of McDonald's in healthy eating is not altruistic: It is partly a case of rebranding and partly a defensive maneuver against the future possibility of obesity lawsuits. Two years ago, the chain shut down outlets in 10 countries, became the focus for intense anti-American sentiment around the world, suffered stagnant sales in the United States and was taken to court by a few overweight New York teenagers. (The teenagers' lawsuit was originally dismissed, but then reinstated on appeal in January.)
"McDonald's are worried about becoming the next Philip Morris," Schlosser says. "All you need is the right group with the right lawsuit and it could really hurt McDonald's. They are very vulnerable."
With around one-third of Americans now obese -- twice as many as in 1990 -- obesity will soon become the top killer in the country, according to the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. A report last week showed that obesity among children, McDonald's target demographic, is so extensive that it could reduce the nation's life expectancy in the next generation by between two and five years. "Childhood obesity is like a massive tsunami headed toward the United States," says pediatric endocrinologist David Ludwig, director of the obesity program at Children's Hospital in Boston and one of the study's authors. "We're in the quiet before the storm. It's like what happens if suddenly a massive number of young children started chain-smoking. At first you wouldn't see much public health impact. But years later it would translate into emphysema, heart disease and cancer." This is exactly the kind of comparison that makes companies such as McDonald's shudder. Those who sued cigarette companies, after all, were also once ridiculed as opportunists. (Despite several calls over five days, McDonald's failed to provide comment.)
The company knew that if it wanted to keep its business healthy, it would need a makeover. Five months after the lawsuits were filed, it started serving more salads, directing the marketing at women. The fact that when you threw on the dressing, a Bacon Ranch salad with crispy chicken offered as much fat as a quarter-pounder with cheese and regular fries was beside the point. In Britain, the company has recently launched a range called "salads plus," which includes peeled, washed carrot sticks in a small plastic bag and a "fruit bag" of grapes and slices of apple. This week it has been prominently advertising in national newspapers its "Happy Meal Choice Chart," which is "packed with practical advice and nutritional information" to "help you make the choice that's right for your child." The purpose of all this is clear: The company wants people to feel better about going to McDonald's and letting their children eat there.
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