ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’ve dedicated In Defense of Food to two editors, Ann Godoff and Gerry Marzorati, because the book would not exist without them. It began with an assignment from Gerry, who, over lunch one afternoon at a restaurant in Oakland, proposed that I learn all that I could about diet and health and then write an essay about it. When that essay was published in The New York Times Magazine a year ago, under the title “Unhappy Meals,” Ann Godoff, my longtime book editor, telephoned to suggest the piece might hold the germ of a book—this book. I mention all this because I suspect many readers assume books spring full blown from the heads of writers, when in fact many of them spring, half baked, from the heads of brilliant editors. I’m unusually fortunate to have two of the very best ones deciding how I should spend my time. I’m doubly fortunate that Ann and Gerry also happen to be two of my dearest friends. Heartfelt thanks to both of you.

Ann and Gerry weren’t the only editors who had a hand in this book, though the others don’t wear the title or receive compensation for their labors (beyond this paragraph). As with every one of my books, Judith Belzer read the manuscript more times than anyone should have to and improved it in countless ways. I can no longer even imagine what it would be like to write a book without her as my first reader, and you can have no idea just how many lame sentences and lousy ideas she has kept out of print. As in the past, Mark Edmundson and Michael Schwarz also read the book in manuscript and made priceless suggestions; I couldn’t have more supportive or stimulating colleagues. Thanks too to Jack Hitt, who’s read all my books in galleys and helped me to figure out what I’ve written—not always so obvious. Christopher Gardner, a nutrition scientist at Stanford University School of Medicine, reviewed the manuscript for scientific accuracy and rescued me from numerous errors of fact and interpretation; of course any that remain are mine alone. His own pioneering research in dietary patterns was also very helpful in developing my recommendations in part three.

I owe an incalculable debt of gratitude to Adrienne Davich, a gifted journalist (and former student) who did a splendid and heroic job of researching the book and fact-checking the manuscript. Adrienne immersed herself in the medical literature, scoured the Berkeley library and databases for information, and worked the phone confirming facts right up to press time. I don’t exaggerate when I say this book might still not be finished if not for her zeal, intelligence, scrupulousness, judgment, and unfailing good humor in the face of a daunting deadline. I also want to thank my assistant Jaime Gross, for her indispensable help and constant good cheer, as well as my past and present students at the Graduate School of Journalism, who contribute more to my work than they probably realize.

This book is in many ways a work of synthesis, built on a foundation of research and thinking laid by others. In educating myself on the subject of food, health, and agriculture over the past several years, I’ve been fortunate to have four of the wisest and most generous teachers: Joan Gussow, Marion Nestle, Alice Waters, and Wendell Berry—you are abiding inspirations. For their insights and information in conversations and e-mail exchanges, I’m also pleased to be able to acknowledge and thank: Susan Allport, Gyorgy Scrinis (coiner of the term nutritionism), Walter Willett, Joseph Hibbeln, Gladys Block, Geoffrey Cannon, Andrew Weil, Gary Nabhan, Bill Lands, David Ludwig, Jim Kaput, Alyson Mitchell, Brian Halweil, Bruce Ames, Martin Renner, and Kerin O’Dea. I hope I’ve done justice to your work. Much of what I know about agriculture and food systems I learned from Joel Salatin and George Naylor; and about eating well from Carlo Petrini, Angelo Garro, Dan Barber, everyone at Chez Panisse, and of course my mother, Corky Pollan. The growers in my own local food chain have also contributed much to my thinking about food and health: Thanks to Judith Redmond and everyone else at Full Belly Farm (my CSA), David Evans at Marin Sun Farms, and all the farmers at the Thursday farmers’ market in Berkeley.

Alex Star, my story editor at The New York Times Magazine, helped to focus my thinking in a series of conversations; his gentle but persistent prodding kept the project on track, and his incisive questions helped sharpen my arguments. I’m also grateful to the hundreds of readers who e-mailed me after the publication of both The Omnivore’s Dilemma and “Unhappy Meals,” offering invaluable criticisms, leads, reading suggestions, and provocations; this book is much better for your contributions.

At The Penguin Press, I get to work with not only the most talented but also the nicest people in book publishing: Tracy Locke, Sarah Hutson, Liza Darnton, Lindsay Whalen, Maggie Sivon, and Jacqueline Fischetti. Publishing a book is seldom thought of as a pleasant process, but at Penguin these days it actually almost is. I count on Amanda Urban, my literary agent for the past twenty years, for sage and completely unvarnished advice, and once again she delivered the goods. Binky is almost never wrong about anything. Though I would like to take this opportunity to remind her that, when I left New England for laid-back California, she predicted I would never complete another book. Here’s number two.

I owe a debt to three very special institutions for making that possible and supporting the writing of this book: the Graduate School of Journalism at Berkeley, where I’ve taught since 2003 (thank you, Orville Schell and colleagues); the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation, which has supported my research since I came to Berkeley (thank you, Eric Newton); and Mesa Refuge, for lending me the cabin overlooking To-males Bay where I wrote the first pages of this book under nearly ideal circumstances (thank you, Peter Barnes).

Finally to Isaac, kitchen collaborator, supertaster, fast friend of the carbohydrate, thank you for all the wonderful ideas and suggestions, even for coining the word “cornography” to describe your father’s work. The prize of you and your mother’s company at the dinner table at the end of the day is what makes the writing possible.