When Food Stopped Being Common Ground: From Salt Routes to Kraft Singl

I once worked on a small, all-women farm. We grew food, sold it, went home tired. It felt simple. But the truth is, farming hasn’t been simple for a long time.

Long before money existed, food was the economy. Salt, in particular, held extraordinary value. It preserved meat, kept armies alive, and moved across ancient trade routes. It built cities and funded empires. Salt wasn’t seasoning — it was survival.

Then came spices. Cloves, cinnamon, and pepper sparked global journeys. Entire maritime economies formed around the search for flavor. This wasn’t luxury — it was preservation, medicine, warmth, ritual. Spices shaped how people cooked, traveled, and ruled.

But the most dramatic shift in food came later: with surplus.

Farming scaled. Production intensified. Land was no longer used just for feeding nearby families — it became part of a larger system built around consistency, shelf life, and storage. Specialization replaced diversity. Monocultures replaced mixed-use farms. Crops no longer followed the needs of the land — they followed the needs of the market.

As food became easier to produce, store, and move, we slowly disconnected from where it came from — and who grew it.

How Surplus Became Culture

In earlier food systems, preservation came from technique: fermentation, drying, curing, root cellars. But once food could be preserved chemically or mechanically, it could also be overproduced.

That’s when food started to shift from nourishment to inventory.

Instead of reducing production, we absorbed the excess. Entire categories of processed food were created not because they were needed, but because there was too much of something else.

Milk is one of the clearest examples. When dairy overproduction reached a peak, the solution wasn’t less production — it was new consumption.

So we got:

Chocolate milk in schools
Processed cheese slices
“Got Milk?” campaigns
Cereal + milk as the cultural standard of breakfast

These weren’t traditions passed down for generations. They were responses to a practical question: how do we move what we’ve made too much of?

The result is a food culture shaped less by memory or place, and more by what needed to be used up.

When Food Lost Its Center

Traditional food systems were deeply local. People ate what grew near them, in season, and in rhythm with the land. That knowledge wasn’t written down — it was lived. Passed through kitchens, gardens, and farms.

Today, most people can’t name the farm where their food comes from. Some have never met a farmer. But farmers remain the ones who know the soil, the seasons, and the subtle signs of health or stress in a landscape.

And yet, we’ve made the profession harder, not easier. We’ve turned food into a product, disconnected from the people who grow it.

What’s at Stake

When food becomes primarily a commodity, it loses its story.

We lose:

Soil quality, when fields are pushed past their limits
Flavor, when produce is grown for transport, not taste
Biodiversity, when fewer crops are grown across larger areas
Cultural knowledge, when traditional methods are forgotten

The impact isn’t just on our plates. It’s in our memories, our kitchens, our sense of place.

What If We Changed the Design?

What if we rebuilt food systems around care, not just capacity?

Farmland protected for future generations, not short-term output
Regional food hubs that reconnect growers and eaters
Education that teaches not just cooking, but growing
Support for the quiet, skilled work of land stewardship

Because food was never meant to be background noise. It was meant to gather us, nourish us, connect us.

We don’t all need to farm. But we all need to eat. And the more we understand where our food comes from — the more we protect the people and places that grow it — the more likely we are to build a food culture worth passing down.

Not just one that absorbs surplus. One that remembers how we got here.

I once worked on a small, all-women farm. We grew food, sold it, went home tired. It felt simple. But the truth is, farming hasn’t been simple for a long time.

Why was salt so valuable?

How did spices change the world?

What impact did surplus have on food?

But the most dramatic shift in food came later: with surplus. Farming scaled. People learned to produce more than they needed, leading to trade, specialization, and the birth of civilizations. The abundance of food changed societies, economies, and cultures forever.

Reflecting on the history of food, it's clear that what we eat and how we produce it has always been intertwined with the fabric of human existence. From the basic need for survival to the complexities of global trade and surplus, food has shaped our world in profound ways.

So the next time you sit down for a meal, take a moment to appreciate the journey that food has taken throughout history. It's not just sustenance — it's a reflection of our past, present, and future.

I once worked on a small, all-women farm. We grew food, sold it, went home tired. It felt simple. But the truth is, farming hasn’t been simple for a long time.

What was the original economy based on?

How did spices impact the food industry?

What was the most significant shift in food production?

But the most dramatic shift in food came later: with surplus. Farming scaled.

As farming techniques improved and agricultural practices became more efficient, surplus food production became possible. This surplus not only fed growing populations but also led to the development of trade networks, the rise of civilizations, and the establishment of complex societies.

Today, the food industry continues to evolve, with technology playing a crucial role in increasing productivity and sustainability. From the ancient economies based on salt to the global spice trade and the era of surplus food production, the history of food is a testament to human innovation and adaptation.

To read the full post, go to Lily’s personal Substack.

https://substack.com/@lilyosmanofsolecookware?