The other night, I found myself in the unenviable position of trying to cook a salad. And I mean cook a salad: I spread fresh, delicious-looking gem lettuce in a pan and watched it wilt away into a sad, heated blob.
America appears to be in the midst of an outbreak of—I’m sorry, but there’s no better way to say this—explosive diarrhea.
One evening in May, passengers boarded United Flight 661 from Newark, New Jersey, to Chicago. As the plane readied for takeoff, a thunderstorm swept in, grounding the plane. The storm, which produced winds upwards of 50 miles an hour, was fast moving and cleared a few hours later. And yet, seven hours after Flight 661 first left the gate, it was still on the tarmac, passengers crammed inside. Around midnight, the flight was canceled.
Before Serena Williams picked up her racket at London’s Andy Murray Arena last week, two questions hung over her return to tennis.
First: How would she do? She answered that, in her first competition in nearly four years, by winning. The 44-year-old and her doubles partner, the 19-year-old Victoria Mboko, ended up besting the third seed in their opening match of the Queen’s Club tournament. Their victory was sealed by a 116-mile-an-hour serve from Williams that her opponents couldn’t return.
Since tobacco first arrived on the shores of England in the late 16th century, some Brits have wanted to eradicate it. Back in 1604, King James I was so alarmed about his country’s new smoking habit that he imposed a 4,000 percent tariff on the crop. That year, he wrote one of the world’s first anti-tobacco essays, declaring smoking “lothsome to the eye, hatefull to the Nose, harmefull to the braine, dangerous to the Lungs.
Marty Makary, the Johns Hopkins surgeon who has led the FDA for the past year, is facing criticism from all sides. Vaping advocates are angry because of the FDA’s slow progress on green-lighting their products. Pro-life groups have called for Makary’s firing because he has not been tough enough on abortion. Current and former FDA officials have repeatedly warned that the agency is in turmoil.
By most measures, the new GLP-1 pills are underwhelming. Earlier this month, the pharmaceutical giant Eli Lilly debuted a weight-loss tablet that is far less effective than its popular injectable counterpart, Zepbound. Oral Wegovy, which hit the market in December, can hold its own with the shot version—but it has to be taken on an empty stomach with fewer than four ounces of water. And both pills come with many of the same side effects as the shots, namely nausea and diarrhea.
Nothing about TrumpRx is subtle. When you open up the government’s new online drugstore, the first thing you see is a banner with giant text: “Find the world’s lowest prices on prescription drugs.” Launched last night, TrumpRx allows Americans to purchase certain medications at steep discounts—either by buying them directly from the drug company or by showing a coupon at the pharmacy. “Thanks to President Trump, the days of Big Pharma price-gouging are over,” the website says.
The Save gas station on the west side of Gary, Indiana, wants customers to know that they can pay for their groceries with food stamps. When I pulled into the parking lot last week, the first thing I saw was a blinking neon sign that read EBT for electronic benefits transfer, the prepaid cards used by food-stamp recipients. Inside, I spotted coolers packed with drinks, and shelves and shelves of snacks.
Since he was confirmed as Health and Human Services secretary early last year, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has previewed big changes to the Dietary Guidelines for Americans—the government’s go-to guide on what to eat, and how much of it. Rewritten only every five years, the dietary guidelines are ubiquitous in American life: The food pyramid, launched in the 1990s, is a result of the document. The guidelines determine what millions of kids eat in school cafeterias every day.
Three years ago, America was in the midst of an infant-formula crisis. Abbott, one of the world’s biggest formula producers, had issued a nationwide recall after two children who consumed its products died of Cronobacter, a bacterial infection that can lead to complications such as meningitis. Because Abbott produced about 40 percent of the U.S. supply of infant formula, the recall contributed to a monthslong nationwide shortage stemming partially from pandemic-related supply-chain issues.
Donald Trump was giddy. In the Oval Office today, the president announced that he had secured a deal to dramatically slash the price of obesity drugs. Soon, Wegovy and Zepbound will be sold on a new website—dubbed TrumpRx—for only about $250 a month, a fraction of their current retail price of more than $1,000. “Did I do a good job?” Trump asked the assembled reporters. “Do you think Biden could have done this? I don’t think so.
Millions of the poorest Americans are stuck in food-stamp limbo. They still do not know when their benefits will arrive—or if they will at all.
In the past few days, the government shutdown has thrown the food-stamp program, formally known as SNAP, into chaos. On Friday, after the Trump administration said that SNAP was on the verge of running out of money, a federal judge ordered the White House to tap into a reserve of funds and pay out billions of dollars in benefits.
For most of my adult life, I’ve felt helpless about being overweight. When I met with a doctor a few years ago to discuss my high cholesterol, he held up a hunk of faux flesh meant to model a pound of excess fat and encouraged me to lose 20 of said gelatinous blobs. Perhaps, he suggested, I should eat less red meat and start exercising. I still remember his perplexed stare after I told him I had an established gym routine and had been a vegetarian for the better part of a decade.
Donald Trump, always one to tout his knack for dealmaking, declared on Tuesday that he’d just struck one of his best deals ever. “This is one of the biggest medical announcements that this office has ever made,” Trump said in the Oval Office, flanked by his top health officials. They’d gathered to announce that the administration had cut a deal with the pharmaceutical giant Pfizer. Trump couldn’t help but smirk. “I’m surprised you’re agreeing to this,” he told Albert Bourla, the CEO of Pfizer.
As far as sticker price goes, the recommended vaccines for kids in the United States do not come cheap. The hepatitis-B shot, given within the first hours of life, can be purchased for about $30. The rotavirus vaccine costs $102 to $147 a dose. A full course of the vaccine that protects against pneumonia and meningitis runs about $1,000.
Virtually all children receive these shots for free.
When Connecticut legalized recreational marijuana in 2021, the state’s lieutenant governor, Susan Bysiewicz, boasted that the new law was “crafted to repair the wounds left by the War on Drugs.” The move followed the same rationale that had motivated legalization in 18 other states: fewer resources exhausted on policing a drug that legalization advocates view as largely unharmful, fewer lives derailed by what they argue to be excessive lockups.
Some Republican senators, it seems, have begun to fret that Robert F. Kennedy Jr. was not being entirely honest when he sought their votes to confirm him as secretary of Health and Human Services. Back in January, Kennedy reassured lawmaker after lawmaker that he would not limit access to vaccines. But today, before the Senate Finance Committee, he aggressively defended anti-vaccine talking points, alarming Democrats and Republicans alike.
Millions of Americans might soon have mail from Robert F. Kennedy Jr. The health secretary—who fiercely opposes industrial, ultraprocessed foods—now wants to send people care packages full of farm-fresh alternatives. They will be called “MAHA boxes.”
For the most part, MAHA boxes remain a mystery. They are mentioned in a leaked draft of a much-touted report that the Trump administration is set to release about improving children’s health.
Last month, America’s top health officials gathered in downtown Washington for an ice-cream party. Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr.—joined by Secretary of Agriculture Brooke Rollins—hunched over a cooler and served himself a scoop. Off to the side, FDA Commissioner Marty Makary licked a cone.
Donald Trump is enamored with Coca-Cola. In January, he smiled from ear to ear in a photo with the company’s CEO, who gifted him a special Coke bottle commemorating his inauguration. When Trump officially returned to the Oval Office as president a few days later, his desk was already set up as it had been in his first term: with a button to summon a bottle of Diet Coke.
Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has spent a lot of his time as health secretary on the road. Late last month, he spoke at an event in Baton Rouge and lamented how Americans have gotten sicker and sicker over the years. “When my uncle was president, I was a 10-year-old boy—we had the healthiest children in the world,” he said, flanked by supporters in green MAHA Louisiana hats.
For Robert F. Kennedy Jr., “Make America healthy again” is far more than a nice slogan. His cosmic purpose in life, he has said, is to fix the country’s health woes. “The first thing I’ve done every morning for the past 20 years is to get on my knees and pray to God that he would put me in a position to end the chronic-disease epidemic,” Kennedy told senators during his confirmation hearing in January. As health secretary, he has continued to emphasize his commitment to that goal.
Every five years, America’s top nutrition experts jockey to be part of a rite of passage in the field.
It’s easy to forget that Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s assault on vaccines—including, most recently, his gutting of the expert committee that guides American vaccine policy—might have been avoided. Four months ago, his nomination for health secretary was in serious jeopardy. The deciding vote seemed to be in the hands of one Republican senator: Bill Cassidy of Louisiana.
The surgeon general, America’s doctor, is the public face of medicine in the United States. The job is more educational than it is technical. Vivek Murthy, who was appointed as surgeon general during both the Obama and Biden administrations, went on Sesame Street to stress the importance of vaccinations and put out a guidebook to hosting dinner parties as a cure for loneliness.
In many ways, Casey Means is the perfect person for that job.
When you think of food poisoning, perhaps what first comes to mind is undercooked chicken, spoiled milk, or oysters. Personally, I remember the time I devoured a sushi boat as a high-school senior and found myself calling for my mommy in the early hours of the morning.
But don’t overlook your vegetable crisper. In terms of foodborne illness, leafy greens stand alone. In 2022, they were identified as the cause of five separate multistate foodborne-illness outbreaks, more than any other food.
Unless you make a habit of closely reading nutrition labels—or watching Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s YouTube channel—you might not realize just how much tartrazine you’re ingesting. Kennedy, the U.S. health secretary, is fixated on the chemical, otherwise known as Yellow 5. Many Americans are unknowingly eating this and other “poisons,” he warned in a YouTube video posted last fall.
Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is finally getting his wish of sucker punching the federal health agencies. This week, Kennedy began the process of firing some 10,000 employees working under the Health and Human Services umbrella. Even before he took office, Kennedy warned health officials that they should pack their bags, and on Tuesday, he defended the cuts: “What we’ve been doing isn’t working,” Kennedy posted on X.
If there was a mascot to represent everything that Robert F. Kennedy Jr. sees wrong with food, it would be Big Daddy’s Primo Pizza. A staple of school cafeterias, Big Daddy’s pizza bills itself as an “over-the-top exceptional slice to entice students” that’s made with whole-wheat flour. It’s mass-produced in a factory with industrial additives so that it just needs to be reheated right before serving.
Leading the FDA has long been one of the greatest professional achievements in American health. At the start of every administration, doctors jockey for the role, hoping to steer an agency that regulates 20 cents of every dollar spent in the United States. To be the FDA commissioner who presides over the approval of a cure for a previously intractable disease, or who launches an investigation into a product that is sickening Americans, is to etch your name into the annals of modern medicine.