Farro, chicken, kale and sheep's milk cheese. These are the foodstuffs (one item from each food group) that Michael Pollan would take to a desert island to eat in perpetuity, were he to find himself regrettably, but unavoidably, marooned.
There is an intrinsic problem with measuring the quality of a system by how well it conforms to what you already believe. Such a system gets bonus points for agreeing with you -- even when you are wrong.
It's not Thomas Keller's responsibility to help save the planet (though many chefs have taken on this calling with great ambition). But focusing solely on the aesthetics and disclaiming any other responsibility altogether is a cop-out.
Eating some meat, preferably from lean, well-fed, well-exercised, and kindly tended animals is assuredly consistent with human health. But the health of humans and the planet argue consistently for Michael Pollan's excellent and pithy advice: Eat food, not too much, mostly plants.
The religious overlay that nutrition has taken on is neither holy nor wholesome. It precludes us from breaking bread together. It forestalls the public health progress that could occur if we could all find a seat at a common table.
I won't speak for my friends and colleagues in public health, although I suspect they feel the same; I'll just speak for myself. I am nobody's nanny. But as you play with the military-industrial establishment with your health on the line, I don't mind being a referee.
Pollan's collection of rules keeps it simple: No medical or calorie counting rules (don't people get tired of counting calories?). And my favorite rule is the super simple number 24: When you eat real food, you don't need rules.
For one fab weekend, the spacious but contained world of the Baltimore Convention Center became a Wonderland of all things organic, where I never had to apologize for being vegan or explain what it means. Coming from meatcentric Miami, I've got to tell you, it was nice.