Salt Sugar Fat by Michael Moss Page B

eventually, with a middle level of sweetness, consumers like the product the most (this is their optimum, or ‘bliss,’ point).”
    In the food industry, finding the bliss point for sugar in dinner products like pasta sauce would soon become passé. Products for meals were relatively easy. People had to eat dinner, so pasta sauces merely had to be more exciting than the rival brand. Snack products, by contrast, were a much bigger challenge. They were expendable—in theory, at least—and therefore required the most powerful sensory drivers. As snacks moved toward the $90 billion market they are today and the pressure for profit rose on everything else in the grocery store, food manufacturers sought formulations that would do more than make people happy. They wanted formulations that would increase desire.
    It was on this front that Howard Moskowitz made his most lasting mark, starting with an investigation he undertook in 2001 to determine the factors that drove people not merely to like their food but to eagerly snatch it up. The research was funded by the ingredient giant McCormick, and Moskowitz gave it a title that reflected the industry’s drive to make people ecstatic about their food: “Crave It!”
    He conducted the study with a New Jersey–based food development expert, Jacquelyn Beckley, and together they sought to identify exactly what it is about certain foods that takes us to this level of desire. They gathered consumer views on cheesecake, ice cream, chips, hamburgers, and pretzels—some thirty grocery icons in all. The resulting reams of data turned up results that not only serve as a guide for food manufacturers whowant to know why cinnamon buns are so alluring; they also shed light on the very underpinnings of the obesity crisis. Because what Moskowitz found is that hunger is a poor driver of cravings. We rarely get in the situation where our body and brain are depleted of nutrients and are actually in need of replenishment. Rather, he discovered, we are driven to eat by other forces in our lives. Some of these are emotional needs, while others reflect the pillars of processed food: first and foremost taste, followed by aroma, appearance, and texture.
    As disparate as these pillars may seem, one ingredient—sugar—can do it all.
    H oward Moskowitz slid into a booth in a diner near his office in White Plains, where we had adjourned for lunch. We were joined by Michele Reisner, his vice president for research. The waitress suggested the Reuben sandwich, but all three of us thought better of that. I settled for the turkey club. Reisner ordered an egg-white omelet with multigrain toast. Moskowitz, who said he was watching his weight, asked for a plate of turkey breast with gravy on the side. I asked him for the particulars of his diet. “I try not to eat potatoes,” he said. “I eat bread, but not too much. I try to eat healthfully. We have diabetes in the family.”
    I ordered three cans of Dr Pepper for the table, not wanting to miss the chance for a tasting with the man who had reversed the company’s fortunes. But Moskowitz demurred. “I’m not a soda drinker,” he said. “It’s not good for your teeth.” The waitress was on my side, however, and she brought out the regular Dr Pepper along with a brand-new flavor, Dr Pepper Cherry. Relenting, Moskowitz sipped some of each, grimaced, and searched his brain to explain the trouble that his taste buds were having. “I find it terrible, really,” he said. “The cherry is overwhelming. A lot of stuff in there. Like something took.… Just awful.” He was trying to describe what was making him so unhappy.
    “Benzaldehyde,” he said a few moments later. “It’s common benzaldehyde,which gives it an almond and cherry flavor. This is not in the same class as Coke.” Reisner took a few sips too and confessed that she only likes Coke, and the diet version at that. When I asked her what she thought of the taste, she simply shrugged.
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