McDONALD'S, REALLY?

                  The pictures saturate news feeds:  President-elect Donald Trump eating McDonald's burgers, fries, and drinking Coke with Robert F. Kennedy Jr. participating, in Trump's plane.   

                  As I've become more well-known, I've had numerous occasions where folks want to take a picture with me in front of their vendor booth at a homestead fair, for example.  I know they'll use it in publicity:  "Look who's here at our booth!"   I'm always happy to oblige and I don't ask if I agree with everything they're selling or promoting.  I call that just being courteous and civilized. 

                  Photo ops can pop up all kinds of places.  Sometimes folks run up to me in the airport:  "Are you Joel Salatin?"  I always try to be gracious, ask them about their lives, and show genuine interest in their journey.  It's all easy because I really do love to hear stories of accomplishment, discovery, and healing. 

                  And I've had the privilege of being with some important people.  Many of you know I've been the guest of Prince Charles (now King Charles) several times, as well as David Rockefeller before he passed away.  When I was a teenager Mom got me an audience with Paul Harvey in Chicago when I was Virginia's 4-H Poultry Achievement Record Book winner and delegate to the National 4-H Congress.  If you don't know who Paul Harvey was, you're not a baby boomer.

                  Through 4-H on a couple of different occasions I spent time with Colonel Sanders--yes, the KFC founder, who at the time supported national 4-H poultry projects.  And yes, even at that time my chickens were on pasture in portable shelters.  I had dinner with him at his house in Kentucky one time.  Looked just like the pictures.  He showed me his special room where he mixed the spices for the whole franchise.  I was the only teen among a dozen PhD poultry scientists, so he cottoned to me all evening and it was quite special.

                  The point is I've had the privilege of rubbing shoulders with some distinct people so I know the awe and pressure of privileged hospitality.  But where does awe and respect end and conviction start?  As I've contemplated these pictures in the aftermath of Trump flipping burgers at a McDonald's, I've tried to put myself in RFK Jr.'s shoes.  Trump uses McDonald's to identify with working people; I get that.  And I would never make fun of the--what is it?--20 percent of teens whose first job is at McDonald's?  Good for them; all of us have to start somewhere.

                  In this instance, RFK Jr. is obviously a guest on Trump's plane and Trump brings on McDonald's.  Like me, I suspect RFK Jr. sees McDonald's as the point of the spear with everything that's wrong in America's food system and our sickness epidemic.  Bad farming, bad soil, bad food.   

                  Whenever I arrange travel to do presentations, hosts typically ask about food:  "Are you allergic to anything?"  It's such a big topic today that it's included in the checklist of hospitality.  My response is always the same:  "The only thing I'm allergic to is McDonald's and Chick-fil-A."  Why pick those?  Well, McDonald's is the grandaddy of horrible food.

                  In his iconic book Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser proves beyond a shadow of a doubt the impact McDonald's had and has on American agriculture and food culture.  To me, all the other fast food joints grew up in the shadow of McDonald's, which somehow makes them a bit less culpable in the atrocity because they were followers, not trailblazers.  They are just demons, not The Devil.

                  And Chick-fil-A?  The problem there, for me, is that it's an allegedly "Christian" outfit that serves the junkiest of the junk.  Interestingly, Chick-fil-A, if you'll recall, about 8 years ago committed to being antibiotic-free within 10 years and just this year announced abandoning that plan.  At least they were honest enough to announce their surrender; other outfits make platitudinous promises like that, get all the positive press coverage for being greenie, and don't follow through but don't fess up.  To me, Chick-fil-A is the poster child for hypocrisy; they promote sanctity of life but are now the largest buyer of anti-life grown chicken on the planet.

                  Back to RFK Jr. and Trump.  I'd like to think if I were there, I would have said "Thank you, Mr. President, but I'll refrain from eating McDonald's.  I won't oblige or indulge something so unhealthy for humans and earthworms.  You go ahead, and I'll like you anyway; I'm big enough for that."  Would Trump be offended?  Would our friendship end?  Would he laugh good naturedly, understanding we're at two different levels of conviction and understanding?  Would I risk his offense, his needling, his satire, his name calling?  I don't know, but my heart says I would hold firm, refrain, and turn it into a teachable moment.

                  For the record, don't take this as an anti-RFK Jr. post.  It's not.  I find these instances little litmus tests of my personal courage and conviction.  "And having done all, to stand," the Apostle says.  This is not an indictment of RFK Jr.; it is an examination of me.

                  What would you do?

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