I have been a long-term, vocal critic of the ultra-processed foods classification system. Not that it has done much good.
The UPF narrative currently dominates discussions on food and health, from policy committees to consumer conversations. Most teams working in technical food innovation have dozens of current briefs asking how to remove UPFs from manufactured food products, despite that not really making any sense. It is maddening for those of us who consider the UPF system to be problematic at best, and dangerous at worst.
Anyone interested in creating a healthier, more sustainable food system understands we have to classify foods by how healthy and sustainable they are. It is just that the UPF system is terrible at doing it. I can make a half-pound beef burger, dripping with salt and saturated fat, and apparently the only unhealthy part will be the bun it’s served in.
What might be useful as a rule of thumb falls apart under the slightest scrutiny. Such a system will never be a useful tool for policy. It will be too easily gamed by manufacturers and brands, leading to further confusion for consumers.
So, it is worrying how many food industry players are attempting to grab the UPF tiger by the tail. Individuals and companies, desperate to profit from growing consumer concern, are failing to understand that UPF will never be their friend.
Charlie Bigham’s, a hundred-million-pound ready meal juggernaut, appears keen to cash in on middle-class health worries. Claiming that “At Charlie Bigham’s, we don’t like ultra-processed food”, it goes on to extol the horrors of UPFs on its website. Yet a quick glance at a Bigham’s ingredients list shows nitrites, nitrates, sodium ascorbate, yeast extracts, processed oils and flours.
The very nature of the product offering – branded, packaged and produced in a huge factory – surely renders them a UPF under the Nova classification system. It is not possible to identify out of being a UPF, just because you consider your intentions honourable.
Tim Spector, the self-styled gut health guru, has roundly embraced the UPF narrative for several years, offering this helpful advice on how to spot them whilst food shopping: “If it’s got lots of packaging and health claims [such as] extra vitamins, high in protein, low in fats, no added sugar, then 99% of the time it is UPF.”
So, when the Spector-founded startup Zoe launched its Gut Shot product into M&S, with health claims emblazoned across its colourful packaging and strange items like baobab pulp and chicory fibre in its ingredients list, I guess they were hoping their product fell within Spector’s 1% disclaimer. UPFs are seemingly always the foods that other people make. You know, the ones poor people can afford.
Similarly, Thomasina Miers has been disdainful of UPFs in the media, yet her Wahaca brand seemed happy to regularly launch them into retail. And even St Jamie of Oliver has lambasted UPFs in interviews, despite endorsing Shell forecourt meal deals and launching a variety of manufactured products under his name.
Critics of the UPF system are often derided as industry shills, yet most of us are simply claiming it is a poor and inexact tool for classifying food. The likes of Bigham’s, Spector, Miers and Oliver should presumably understand this, given products they have endorsed could easily be classified as UPFs.
Perhaps the lure of profiting from the latest wellness trend is just too strong to resist. But those that try to ride this particular tiger should not be surprised if it turns round and gives them a bite.
Anthony Warner is a development chef at New Food Innovation
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