
THE term "food miles" — how far food has traveled before you buy it — has entered the enlightened lexicon. Environmental groups, especially in Europe, are pushing for labels that show how far food has traveled to get to the market, and books like Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life" contemplate the damage wrought by trucking, shipping and flying food from distant parts of the globe.
On its face, the connection between lowering food miles and decreasing greenhouse gas emissions is a no-brainer. In Iowa, the typical carrot has traveled 1,600 miles from California, a potato 1,200 miles from Idaho and a chuck roast 600 miles from Colorado. Seventy-five percent of the apples sold in New York City come from the West Coast or overseas, the writer Bill McKibben says, even though the state produces far more apples than city residents consume. These examples just scratch the surface of the problem. In light of this market redundancy, the only reasonable reaction, it seems, is to count food miles the way a dieter counts calories.
Seems like a relatively simple, beneficial idea. Even if it doesn't work very well at reducing emmissions, I can't imagine there being any kind of consequences for printing a simple number on a lable.
There is a huge accomodation ahead if this is to be taken seriously. First countries will have to start growing, breeding and producing all kinds of food that were previously imported. That represents a substantial amount of money invested and a shift in commerce. If it is still hard for the countries to agree on the OMC, imagine if Europe drops imports from all over the world.
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