Peter Barton Hutt died on Wednesday, September 2, 2026. He was 91. The Critical Path Institute, where he sat on the board, announced it the next day. The Personal Care Products Council called him the “Father of Modern Food and Drug Law,” which is less marketing copy than job description.

If you work anywhere near food safety in this country, you have spent your career standing on ground Peter graded, whether or not you knew his name.

A milk route into food and drug law

He grew up just north of Buffalo, New York, the son of a retail dairyman, and delivered milk on summer vacations. He went to Phillips Exeter, then Yale, then Harvard Law, then NYU for a master’s degree in food and drug law, spending a year reading English food law from Magna Carta forward. He landed at Covington & Burling in 1960 by knowing more than the interviewing partner did about federal milk marketing orders. Except for the four years in government, he stayed at that firm for the rest of his life, retiring in October 2024 as its first “Retired Partner in Residence” — and then showing up at the office five days a week anyway.

Four years that built the modern FDA

From 1971 to 1975, Peter was Chief Counsel of the Food and Drug Administration. Those four years did more to shape how our food is regulated than any four years since 1938.

His central move was legal and, to non-lawyers, invisible. He reinterpreted the informal rulemaking authority buried in the 1938 Federal Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act to allow FDA to issue legally binding substantive regulations under the Administrative Procedure Act. Before that, FDA largely made policy one seizure at a time, in court, against one company. After it, FDA could write rules that governed the entire food supply. Every food regulation any of us has argued about since — preventive controls, produce safety, traceability — rests on the door he opened.

He then walked through it. Under Peter, FDA issued the regulations implementing the GRAS review of food ingredients, required nutrition labeling on half the food supply, redefined “imitation” food, modernized the food standards, and established emergency permit control for low-acid canned foods — the rules that sit between the canned goods aisle and botulism. He is the reason there is a nutrition label on the box, and his explanation never got more complicated than this: people ought to know what they are eating.

He also created the regulatory letter — what we now call the warning letter — as a cheap, fast alternative to litigation. On his way out, he wrote the procedural regulations that govern FDA administrative action. They still do.

His name is on the brief in United States v. Park

The piece of his work I reach for most often is United States v. Park, decided June 9, 1975, squarely inside his tenure. Acme Markets and its president, John R. Park, were charged under Section 301(k) with causing food held in Acme’s Baltimore warehouse to be exposed to rodent contamination. Acme pleaded guilty. Park went to trial, where he conceded that sanitary conditions were something he was responsible for in the entire operation of the company, and that it was one of the many phases he had assigned to dependable subordinates. The Fourth Circuit reversed his conviction and ordered a new trial, holding that the jury should have been instructed the government must prove wrongful action. The Supreme Court reversed that, 6 to 3, reaffirmed United States v. Dotterweich, and gave us the Park doctrine: a corporate officer who had the authority and responsibility to prevent or correct a violation can be convicted without proof of intent or personal participation.

The reporter’s note in the U.S. Reports records that Allan Abbott Tuttle argued the case for the United States and lists on the briefs with him Solicitor General Bork, Assistant Attorney General Kauper, Howard E. Shapiro — and Peter Barton Hutt. By his own account, he is the reason the Solicitor General agreed to defend FDA’s stringent criminal enforcement policy at the Court at all.

Notice what the case turned on. FDA had written Park in April 1970 about insanitary conditions at Acme’s Philadelphia warehouse; a year later inspectors found the same thing in Baltimore. That letter came in over objection, and the Fourth Circuit had called admitting it reversible error; the Supreme Court held it was proper rebuttal to Park’s defense that he had justifiably relied on subordinates. The letter predates Peter’s arrival at FDA, but the instrument and the doctrine fit together, and he is the one who made that instrument standard practice. The warning letter is what forecloses the delegation defense later.

One more thing about that brief. The amici urging the Court to side with Park included the National Association of Food Chains, the National Canners Association, and the Grocery Manufacturers of America. Peter was on the brief against all three and then spent the next forty-nine years representing the industries those groups spoke for. Park is the tool I keep asking the Justice Department to pick back up. He is a large part of the reason it is still sitting there to be picked up.

The teacher

Beginning in 1994, he taught the winter-term Food and Drug Law course at Harvard Law School — the whole history of government regulation of food and drugs, from antiquity to last week. He was still listed on the Harvard Law faculty as a Lecturer on Law for 2026-2027, with Food and Drug Law on the schedule for the spring term.

He was lead co-author of Food and Drug Law: Cases and Materials, first edition 1980, fifth edition 2022. When he started that book, two law schools in the country taught the subject. He wrote it, he said, so the field would be taken seriously and taught everywhere. It worked. Nearly every food lawyer practicing today — on my side of the table and the other — learned from that casebook or from someone who did.

We were not on the same side, and he was still worth listening to

Peter spent most of his career representing the industries FDA regulates, including the national trade associations for food, drugs, supplements, and cosmetics. I have spent mine representing the people those industries sickened. We were opponents by definition.

He was also willing to say things his clients did not enjoy hearing. In a keynote at a Harvard conference in February 2014, he called the Food Safety Modernization Act “poorly drafted and poorly conceived,” written like a regulation instead of a statute and pointed out that the 1938 Act covered all food in four of its nineteen pages while FSMA spent 88 on food safety alone. His bottom line was that the statute was neither necessary nor desirable: after the Second Circuit’s 1977 Nova Scotia decision, he argued, FDA already had the authority to write those rules itself, and the two together left it the most powerful agency in the federal government. He also predicted implementation would take ten years at best and could take twenty-five.

His long-running argument was that FDA needed money more than it needed new statutes. He sat on the FDA Science Board subcommittee whose analysis, by his account, helped push Congress to roughly double the agency’s appropriation between 2008 and 2013.

FDA had that authority for thirty-four years after Nova Scotia and did not write preventive controls, and the people I represent are the reason we stopped waiting. On the money he was right, and it has aged well. Watching FSMA’s traceability rule get delayed and its enforcement starved this year, I keep coming back to his point: an agency handed enormous power, and no resources is a promise nobody intends to keep.

Hong Kong, 2014

A dozen years ago, Peter and I shared a stage – I admit I was a bit star struck. In June 2014 we were both speakers at the First International Conference on Food Safety at the University of Hong Kong, June 16 to 18 — a meeting on global food safety, international harmonization, and the farm-to-table chain. The speaker list ran from Peking University to the Korea Food Research Institute to the Max Rubner Institut and included a former Chief Counsel of the FDA and a plaintiffs’ lawyer from Bainbridge Island.

We came at that audience from opposite ends of the same problem — he from the statute and the rulemaking record, me from the hospital charts and the depositions. What stayed with me is that he never treated the other side of the room as an inconvenience. He wanted the argument. He was also, at 79, the best-prepared person in the building.

The objection was there on day one

His industry ties were a scandal before he had unpacked his office. On September 17, 1971, about a week after he started, the Michigan Daily ran an editorial calling his appointment one of the clearest examples of industry influence on FDA. He had come to the job representing the Institute of Shortening and Edible Oils. His predecessor as chief counsel, William W. Goodrich, had left to become president of that same trade association. Representative Benjamin Rosenthal called it a game of musical chairs and predicted Hutt would have to disqualify himself from three-quarters of the cases coming before the agency. The Senate Commerce consumer affairs subcommittee held a hearing on the appointment that day; because the chief counsel job needed no Senate confirmation, asking questions was all Congress could do.

The editorial’s specific fear is the part worth reading twice. FDA had finally begun moving on ingredient labeling for processed foods, and the paper predicted the industry’s man would tell the agency it lacked the legal authority to write such a rule.

However, he told the agency it had the authority — and used it to put nutrition labeling on half the food supply.

What he leaves

He testified before the House and Senate more than 100 times. Legal Times called him the dean of the food-and-drug bar; Chambers called him a legend. By his own account, he was in the mix to be FDA Commissioner three separate times and never got it — twice because Senator Kennedy would not let anyone who had represented the regulated industry through: in 2001 by refusing to hold a hearing, in 2005 by promising all-out opposition.

That was the objection for nearly fifty years. The man who wrote the rules that made the modern FDA possible was never allowed to run it, because he had spent his career on the industry side. I would still rather have had him in the building.

The food safety world is small. It has a handful of people who can tell you not just what a rule says but why it was written, who fought it, and what the agency gave up getting it. We are down one.

Rest well, Peter.  Condolences to his wife, family and friends.

I have spent more than 30 years suing food companies that poisoned people. I have said, more times than I can count, that my goal is to be put out of business by an industry that stops making people sick. So, when Joelle Mosso — Associate Vice President of Science Programs at Western Growers, and one of the sharpest scientific minds working in produce safety — writes a piece asking, “What if prevention actually paid?”, I pay attention.

Her August 31 post, “The Food Safety Fast Pass: What If Prevention Actually Paid?”, makes an argument that I think is fundamentally correct: our system is built almost entirely on penalties, while the economic rewards still flow to whoever produces food fastest and cheapest. The company that invests in agricultural water monitoring, environmental surveillance, real traceability, and transparent data sharing bears the full cost of those investments — while the benefits accrue to public health and to the food system as a whole. Meanwhile, the company that cuts corners undercuts them on price at the buyer’s desk.

She’s right. That is a broken incentive structure, and I have watched it play out in my law practice for three decades. The companies I sue are rarely the ones that spent too much on food safety.

Her proposal — preferential access to market development programs, reduced crop insurance costs, infrastructure grants, and a verified “green lane” for importers with years of demonstrated preventive controls — deserves serious consideration. And her most important insight is one that too many people in industry and government still get wrong: the metric cannot be “no positives.” A system that rewards clean test results rewards companies for not testing. The safest operation is not the one that never finds a problem. It’s the one that looks hard enough to find problems early and knows what to do when it does. I have deposed enough executives to tell you that “we never had a positive” usually means “we never looked.”

So, consider this a genuine endorsement of the idea. Now let me offer a few caveats from the plaintiff’s side of the courtroom.

First, who verifies? Any fast-pass system is only as good as the auditing behind it, and the food industry’s track record with third-party audits is, to put it charitably, mixed. Peanut Corporation of America had a “superior” audit rating while it was shipping Salmonella-laced peanut paste that killed nine people. Jensen Farms got a 96 out of 100 days before its cantaloupes killed 33 people with Listeria. If the “exceptional, sustained risk management” that earns a company its green lane is documented by an auditor the company itself hires and pays, we will have built a faster lane to the same courthouse. Verification has to be independent, data-driven, and continuous — which, to her credit, is exactly the kind of ongoing data sharing Mosso describes. The details will matter enormously.

Second, the stick cannot atrophy while we build the carrot. Mosso is explicit that this is not deregulation, and I believe she means it. But I have watched too many “risk-based” proposals get repurposed in Washington as cover for cutting inspection budgets. FDA and USDA are already stretched thin. A green lane that lets regulators concentrate resources on the riskiest suppliers only works if those resources actually exist and actually get concentrated — not quietly eliminated in the next appropriations cycle. If “fewer routine inspections for good actors” becomes “fewer inspections, period,” consumers lose and the fast pass becomes a fig leaf.

Third, benefits must be revocable — fast. Any company enjoying expedited entry or reduced oversight needs to know that the moment its data goes dark, its testing frequency drops, or its traceability degrades, the pass is gone. The privilege has to be easier to lose than it was to earn. Otherwise, we’ve created a class of companies that are politically difficult to police.

Fourth, don’t forget the small guys. The growers who most need help paying for water treatment systems and surveillance infrastructure are often the ones least able to navigate a federal incentive program. If the fast pass ends up as one more advantage for the largest, best-lawyered operations, we will have made the market less fair without making the food much safer. The shared infrastructure grants Mosso mentions — like cooperative agricultural water monitoring — may be the most important piece of her whole proposal, precisely because they help the operations that can’t do it alone.

Here is the bottom line. For 30-plus years, I have been the most expensive food safety consultant in America — companies pay my clients tens of millions of dollars for lessons they could have learned for a fraction of the cost. Litigation is a blunt, slow, after-the-fact instrument. It compensates the injured, and it concentrates the minds of executives, but it arrives only after a child is on dialysis or a family is planning a funeral.

If Joelle Mosso’s fast pass — done honestly, verified independently, and backed by a regulatory system that keeps its teeth — moves investment in prevention upstream of the outbreak, then I am all for it. Make prevention pay. Make transparency a market advantage. Reward the companies that look for problems instead of the ones that look away.

And if it works, maybe it finally puts me out of business.

I’ve been waiting a long time.

Eric Schlosser has a piece in The Atlantic this morning, and if you read one thing about food safety this week, read that. Eric is a friend. He wrote Fast Food Nation a quarter century ago, when fecal contamination of ground beef was a national problem and not a local one, and he has never stopped paying attention. In ten minutes, he does what I have spent a summer trying to do: he puts the Cyclospora outbreak, the two infant botulism outbreaks, the shelved Salmonella rule for poultry and the hollowing out of the agencies that are supposed to catch all of it on one page and shows that they are one story.

He also tells the story of my friend Barb Kowalcyk (another hero of mine), whose two-year-old son Kevin died in 2001 of an E. coli O157:H7 infection from a hamburger, and who went back to school, earned a doctorate and helped push USDA to the test-and-hold rule in 2013. Barb is brilliant, and the result of her work is a fact I repeat every chance I get. I used to be in the beef business. The hamburger E. coli cases that ran from Jack in the Box in 1993 to the ConAgra recall in 2002 are now close to zero for my firm. That is what a rule with a test in it does. Hold that thought, because the three fights below are the same fight.

A word on the numbers. Eric writes about 17,000 lab-confirmed cases. CDC’s September 1 update puts it at 18,445 laboratory-confirmed domestically acquired cases from May 1 through August 31, 990 hospitalizations, two deaths and 49 states plus the District of Columbia, with 3,491 more confirmed cases still being sorted and at least 13,505 beyond that awaiting confirmation. Eric is right that, as pathogens go, this one rarely kills. He is also right that that is not the point. The point is what it says about the system that let it happen, and 990 people in hospital beds is not mild.

Here is what I would do. None of it is new. All of it is on the table right now, and every item has a name and a docket.

Preventing the next Cyclospora outbreak

1. Sample the water where the lettuce grows. Cyclospora has one reservoir, and it is the human gut. There is no kill step: no wash, no chlorine and no post-harvest process removes it, which FDA itself put in print in August. The only place to stop it is upstream, in irrigation water, with tests aimed at the parasite and at human-specific fecal markers rather than the generic E. coli count the industry’s water metrics were built around. I said it at IAFP, and I will keep saying it.

2. Rescind Section 780 and enforce the traceability rule. Congress wrote the Food Traceability Rule into law in 2011, FDA finished it in 2022 with a compliance date of January 20, 2026, and then Congress, in the bill that ended last November’s shutdown, barred FDA from spending a dollar to enforce it before July 2028. The same section restricts enforcement money for the pre-harvest agricultural water requirements, which is item one. This summer Michigan asked for the source of the lettuce three times while people got sick. Eleven consumer groups have asked Congress to stop. Nineteen more signatures would be noticed.

3. Restore the people who count the sick. FoodNet, state epidemiology programs, CDC’s parasitic disease laboratory and USDA’s parasitology labs at Beltsville were all cut in the middle of the largest Cyclospora season on record. A clinic in Lee County, Florida stopped testing because its uninsured patients cannot afford the test, and the cases it saw in its own staff are in nobody’s count. Every number I published this summer is a floor.

4. Name names. An outbreak advisory that says Restaurant Chain A protects no one. FDA and CDC should name the grower, the processor and the restaurant every time, and retailers should be expected to say where their lettuce came from.

5. Answer the mail. Thirteen members of Congress wrote to FDA, CDC, HHS and Taylor Farms this summer, and I could not find one published answer. If the agencies will not answer letters, a subpoena to a hearing will.

Testing infant formula for botulism

Federal regulation, 21 CFR 106.55, requires finished powdered infant formula to be tested for Salmonella and Cronobacter. It does not require testing for Clostridium botulinum. Fifty-two infants were hospitalized with botulism across two brands, ByHeart and Nara Organics, and on August 27 CDC and FDA reported that whole genome sequencing links the two outbreaks to a common source of contamination in a shared milk supply, the one Eric traces from 55 California dairies through Organic West to a Dairy Farmers of America plant in Nevada. I represent more than two dozen of those families.

The fix is written. H.R. 7867, the Infant Formula Safety Modernization Act, introduced by Rosa DeLauro in March, would add C. botulinum to the required testing list and require environmental monitoring inside the plants. The House Energy and Commerce Health Subcommittee held a hearing on it April 29 and has not marked it up. The Senate passed S. 272 unanimously the same day, and it reaches the same two organisms the regulation already names. Eric is right that Congress has held no hearing on the outbreaks themselves, and he is right about the leverage: WIC buys more than half the formula sold in this country, and a buyer that size can set the terms.

I sent 535 t-shirts to Congress, one to every member, each folded into a plastic baby bottle, and they are being delivered this month. Mark up the bill. Hold the hearing. Put the parents at the witness table.

Salmonella in chicken

In January 2020 my firm petitioned FSIS on behalf of three families, Food & Water Watch, the Consumer Federation of America and Consumer Reports to declare 31 outbreak-associated Salmonella serotypes adulterants in meat and poultry. A year later CSPI, CFA, Consumer Reports and Stop Foodborne Illness filed their own. FSIS denied mine in May 2022 without prejudice, then proposed a Salmonella framework for raw poultry in August 2024 that grew out of both. It withdrew that rule on April 25, 2025, with the Meat Institute and the National Chicken Council backing the move, as Eric notes, and held a public meeting in January to start over. CDC puts Salmonella at 1.35 million illnesses, 26,200 hospitalizations and 420 deaths a year, and FSIS attributes more than 167,000 of those illnesses to chicken and turkey. Eric cites Consumer Reports finding it in nearly a third of the ground chicken it bought, and Denmark bringing its broiler flocks from 14 percent contaminated to 0.3 with rules that have teeth.

The ask is simple, and I have been making it for six years. Finish the rule. Declare the outbreak serotypes what the statute already says they are. What test-and-hold did for beef, a test-and-hold standard can do for poultry.

What Eric got right that I want to underline

Industry told Congress in 1906 that it was paying all it cared to pay, and Eric’s point is that it is saying the same thing now with a bigger lobbying budget. The record of this summer backs him up: a traceability rule defunded after the trade associations asked, a poultry rule withdrawn to applause from the same industry it would have covered, and a formula bill with no markup. The people paying instead are 990 people in hospitals, 52 babies, and a mother who has spent twenty-five years fighting to prevent the next one.

Should we be afraid of our food? I would rather we were angry enough to fix it. Read Eric’s piece, then pick one of the three above and call somebody.

Consumers are buying less fresh produce this summer, and they are doing it because of what they have read, not because they are confused. Salad-kit purchases, lettuce prices, restaurant traffic and produce shipments all fell after the Cyclospora outbreak went public in July, and the federal response was a slogan. If government and industry want people back in the produce section, the way to do it is to make the count go down, not to tell people how safe the food is.

The New Yorker ran a cartoon (see above without permission) this week that says it better than I can. A couple stands in the produce section with a basket of greens, and one of them tells the other that they have enough groceries that could make them sick right away, and it is time to go pick up some ultra-processed food that will kill them more slowly. The joke lands because everyone standing in front of the bagged salads has had the same thought. That is where thirty years of the safest-food-supply line has gotten us.

What the purchase data shows

The numbers are not anecdotes. Numerator reported that more than 6.5 million American households stopped buying salad mixes and kits during the month that ended July 26, that ten percent of households said they had cut spending on salads and fresh greens, and that more than a quarter said they had stopped buying them altogether. The firm put roughly 280 million dollars a month of produce spending at risk. NielsenIQ had dollar sales of prepackaged salads down 14 percent for the four weeks ended July 25 against the same period a year earlier. Fetch had fresh lettuce down 10 percent, salad mixes down 23 percent and salad kits down 27 percent over two weeks, with the shift going to frozen vegetables. Total Quality Logistics, which handles around 140,000 produce shipments a year, saw shipments drop about 20 percent year over year in the week of July 13 as buyers cancelled orders and some growers dumped product rather than risk it.

The price signal is the sharpest one. Lettuce prices fell 16.4 percent from June to July in the Bureau of Labor Statistics seasonally adjusted data, the largest one-month drop on record. Prices do not fall like that because supply went up. They fall like that because nobody wants it.

Restaurants felt it the same week. Sweetgreen said the outbreak cost it about six percentage points of same-store sales in July and cut its full-year outlook. Chipotle put its hit at around two points in the back half of July even though its lettuce was never implicated. Salad and Go filed for Chapter 11 and closed every location, citing the outbreak on top of its existing problems. Traffic at Chopt fell 24 percent the day after FDA named the outbreak, and Taco Bell, where the traceback began, was still running roughly 20 percent below its normal visit pattern into August.

The Grower Shipper Association said late last month that demand is starting to rebound, and it is honest about why: schools are back in session, and institutional buying is up. That is a calendar effect. The association also said growers remain worried about whether people feel comfortable buying fresh produce. They should be.

What the government said while that was happening

On August 11, with the purchase data already in hand, Acting FDA Commissioner Kyle Diamantas told CNBC that we have the safest food supply in the world, that Americans should have full confidence in it, and that they should feel confident eating fresh produce including leafy greens. HHS posted the same day that the outbreak was contained and American food was safe. CDC published its weekly surveillance count that same Tuesday: 13,895 laboratory-confirmed cases of cyclosporiasis since May 1 and more than 10,000 more under investigation.

Three weeks later, the outbreak is bigger. As of August 27, CDC and FDA put the lettuce outbreak at 11,458 illnesses in 20 states, 495 hospitalizations and 2 deaths, with illness onsets running from June 14 through August 15. Georgia, Tennessee and Texas were added that day. CDC’s national surveillance count stood at 17,180 laboratory-confirmed domestic cases and 922 hospitalizations as of August 26, against 1,180 cases for the same stretch of 2025. Michigan alone reports 14,510 cases and 356 hospitalizations. FDA moved its inspections upstream to iceberg growers in Mexico in the third week of August, five weeks after the recall.

That is one outbreak. FDA’s active investigations table carries nineteen rows this week: the lettuce, a 431-person Salmonella outbreak in 32 states tied to imported jalapeños that pulled products off shelves at seven national grocery banners, a multi-pathogen alfalfa sprout outbreak Minnesota named in August, an 84-person Salmonella Newport cluster posted August 26 with no food identified, and a string of smaller Cyclospora files with the product column blank. A shopper who reads any of this is not being irrational when she reaches for the frozen peas. She is reading the same pages the Commissioner is.

Why the slogan makes it worse

The safest-food-supply line is not new. Every administration has used it, and I have spent most of my career pointing out what it costs. CDC’s own consumer page still says 48 million Americans get sick from food each year, 128,000 are hospitalized and 3,000 die. The most recent Global Food Security Index put the United States third on food quality and safety, behind Canada and Denmark, and thirteenth overall. Third is a respectable score. It is not first, and the index grades laws on paper, not sick people in hospitals.

The deeper problem is that reassurance without results reads as spin, and consumers price spin into their decisions. When the agency says full confidence on a Tuesday and adds 1,449 people to the outbreak the following Thursday, the lesson people take is not that lettuce is safe. It is that the people telling them lettuce is safe are not the ones to listen to. Trust does not come back because someone in Washington says a sentence. It comes back when the count goes down and stays down, and when the reasons it went down are visible.

What would bring people back

I have watched this happen once. Hamburger nearly killed the fast-food business in 1993. USDA declared E. coli O157:H7 an adulterant in ground beef in 1994, the industry fought it, lost, and then built the testing, the hold-and-release programs and the supplier requirements that made the rule work. My firm’s hamburger cases went from a steady docket to almost none after 2002. Consumers came back to hamburger because it stopped making them sick, not because anyone told them it was safe. That is the model, and it took a regulator willing to set a standard and an industry willing to meet it.

For produce, the list is short and none of it is new. FDA should implement the FSMA traceability rule in 2028 without another delay and fund the field staff to enforce it, because a traceback that takes two months from first illness to first advisory is the reason a recall could not catch the lettuce before it was eaten. FDA should be inspecting foreign growers and their water, not just the packing plants, before an outbreak and not five weeks after the recall. CDC and FDA should publish one set of numbers on one schedule, so the public is not reading three counts that do not agree. And the agency should stop declaring outbreaks contained on days its own surveillance page is still climbing.

Industry has the bigger job, because it has the product. Growers and processors should test agricultural water and product for the pathogens that actually show up in leafy greens, including the parasite that has now sickened tens of thousands of people twice in this outbreak’s history, and they should publish what they find. The buyers, the restaurant chains and the grocery banners that lost sales this summer, should write those tests into their supplier specifications the way the beef buyers did after 1994, and refuse product from suppliers that will not run them. A company that finds the problem and says so in public earns more trust than any agency statement can give it.

The couple in the cartoon is the market. They are not going to be talked back into the produce aisle. They will walk back in on their own when the shelves stop sending people to the hospital, and government and industry both know exactly what that would take.