America has a food problem, and for once it's not the kind you can fix with a salad.
It's that we've quietly agreed to pay premium prices for the same sad little boxes of pasta our grandparents bought for pocket change, then act shocked when the receipt reads like a mortgage payment.
Let's talk about "shrinkflation," the corporate love language of giving you less and charging more.
That bag of chips is now 60% air and 40% disappointment.
Your "family size" cereal feeds a family of one moderately hungry hamster.
And somehow we just keep buying it, like a lab rat that learned nothing from the last electric shock.
Then there's the grocery store itself, a psychological warfare zone designed by people who hate you.
Way in the back, so you have to walk past 400 cookies to reach them.
The bakery pumps out that fake bread smell to make you feel warm and spendy.
The checkout aisle is just candy and tabloids screaming about aliens.
You came for chicken breasts and left with $87 of stuff you didn't know you needed.
And don't get me started on "organic." Slap a green leaf on the package, add three dollars, and suddenly we're all convinced we're saving the planet one overpriced avocado at a time.
Half of TikTok is people showing you how to feed a family of five for $12 using beans, rice, and sheer willpower.
The other half is people making a single steak that costs more than your car insurance.
Everyone's got a "food hack." Nobody's got a functioning relationship with a vegetable that isn't fried.
We've entered the era of the $19 artisanal burger and the $8 side of fries that arrives in a tiny metal bucket like it's a decoration.
You're paying for the vibe, not the food, and the vibe is "you're broke now." Tip screens start at 25% before you've even tasted anything.
The cashier spins an iPad toward you like it's a hostage negotiation.
Meanwhile, actual food—the stuff that grows in dirt—keeps getting more expensive while the processed garbage stays suspiciously cheap.
A bag of apples costs more than a box of neon-orange crackers that will outlive us all.
There's a reason for that, and the reason rhymes with "lobbying." So here we are, a nation of people who can name every ingredient in a Dorito but can't cook a chicken without googling it three times.
We've outsourced our entire food supply to companies that view us as walking wallets with mouths.
And we keep showing up, coupon app in hand, pretending this is normal.
Look, I'm not saying you need to churn your own butter or start a rooftop farm.
That's a lot of work and I have a couch to sit on.
Final Thoughts
But maybe, just maybe, we could stop treating a $9 jar of "small-batch" pickles like a personality trait and remember that food is supposed to be, you know, food.