The fight over meat-free meat pits Europe’s traditionalists against foodie innovators

Would A steak au poivre by any other name taste as juicy? What if it featured only imitation “meat”, cleverly recombined vegetable protein disguised as beef? To traditionalists in France—starting with farmers who rear the soon-to-be steaks—the answer is a resounding non. A decree passed in February and due to come into force on May 26th spells out that all meaty terms, whether it be an entrecôte, a jambon or even a saucisse, are to be reserved for cuts of dead animals and nothing else. Those who fret that Europe may be consumed by war and economic torpor will be heartened to see its leaders can still find the time to keep dastardly vegan burgers off the menu. But not everyone is happy. A budding industry of startups increasingly able to produce cutting-edge faux flesh in Petri dishes is wondering whether this is yet another case of Europe regulating first, thus innovating never. Can Charlemagne chew his way through this meaty debate?

Whereas Americans indulge in soy milk or vegan yogurt, Europeans have to make do with “soya drink” and something ominously called “oatgurt”. Imposing this odd nomenclature on non-dairy substitutes mattered little in the 1980s, when the European Union first caved in to lobbying by farmers dealing in actual mammaries. (Peanut “butter” and ice “cream” were among the few exceptions tolerated.) These days supermarket shelves are stuffed not just with oatgurt but with vegan burger patties and “no-fish fingers”. Having convinced politicians Champagne must hail from the eponymous French region and Parmesan cheese only from Parma, Big Farm has tried to extend its grip even to generic agricultural terms. A bid to outlaw vegetarian sausages—or at least calling them sausages—made headway at EU level in 2020 but narrowly failed. Now individual countries have taken over the task. France revived a previously shelved ban on meaty terms, which it unveiled (not uncoincidentally) at the height of farmers’ protests earlier this year. A few months earlier Italy earmarked “salami” for pork products; Poland has considered a similar move.

For now the vegan burgers are safe. France’s highest court in April stayed the decree until the EU’s top court can rule on whether banning foods in one European country but not another is in line with the bloc’s single-market rules. (The court is not expected to opine until next year; it takes longer for a European judge to make a decision than it does for a farmer to rear a cow from birth to abattoir.) Lobbyists are already rehearsing their arguments for when the ruling is made and the debate reopened. The farmers plead that a steak is a steak and something made from chickpeas or grown in a lab is not. Plenty of other words are available to veggie-food producers; one lobby group suggests vegans can refer to their burgers as “roundies”, a term that is sure not to catch on. Peddling a squishy substance made of vegetables or grown in a lab as “meat” confuses consumers into thinking the two have similar nutritional qualities. Tosh, say the tofu-eaters. Consumers understand full well a no-meat burger is not made of animal flesh: it is exactly what they are looking for. Anything that helps reduce the carbon hoofprint of livestock, which accounts for at least one-tenth of global emissions, can only be good.

As always in Europe, the divide is in part a result of geography. Northern Europeans in Denmark or the Netherlands, who seem to consume food mainly as sustenance, are not much fussed about what gets called meat. Look to southern Europe, where cooking is seen as essential to nourish the soul as well as the body, and the farmers’ case is more likely to be heeded. This is particularly true when the substitute “meat” is made not of vegetables but the product of advanced industrial processes that mimic nature, which Italy boasted of being the first in the world to ban last year (a decision that itself may not be in line with EU rules). Fighting the culinary future is a time-tested campaign strategy: hard-right culture warriors in Poland and Italy have fabricated scare stories of Eurocrats in Brussels plotting to force citizens to eat insects and worms to protect the planet. (This is not true. Probably.)

The debate is about more than just a name. The science needed to make a passable meat-like product from cells was pioneered by Europeans, notably the Dutch, almost 30 years ago. Europe has more firms researching the “cultivation” of substitute meat and seafood than America or anywhere else: a rare case of leadership in a cutting-edge field. But for now the fruit—or meat—of that research is edible only overseas. Singapore authorised cell-grown “chicken” for sale to the public in 2020, America in 2023. Earlier this year Israel was the first country to authorise a lab-made “beef”. Australia, Britain and Switzerland are reviewing applications, including for products made by EU firms. But within the bloc, where such novel foods need the kind of regulatory approval reserved for pills and vaccines, no authorisation has yet been sought. “Cultivated meat was born in Europe but the concern is the rewards will be reaped in the rest of the world,” says Seth Roberts of the Good Food Institute, a pro-vegan campaign group.

Even if the food-safety authorities find no fault with such culinary innovation, politicians stand ready to step in. France, Italy, Romania and nine other countries recently demanded that cultivated foods should be the subject of a “renewed and broad debate”, Euro-speak for discussing something for so long that it is, in effect, banned. For what would happen to farmers should they face such competition, they asked? Without real livestock and their grazing habits, what would become of the continent’s grasslands? The “strategic autonomy” of Europe apparently depends on consumers being told what they can and cannot eat. Scientists aren’t allowed to make fake cows, but politicians still have no trouble coming up with real bullshit. ■