Gelato is actually an Italian variant of ice cream. Ingredient-wise, the primary difference is that gelato uses less buttermilk. Gelato also tends to have a silkier, smoother texture to it.

Gelato in Italy

What’s interesting about gelato is its importance in Italian culture.

How does one explain, in a few short paragraphs, something that’s such a critical part of Italian life, like gelato? If you’ve spent any time in Italy, especially in the summer, it’s hard to look anywhere and not see an Italian balancing a cono di gelato, often while balancing the omnipresent cell phone at the same time.

But everyone, from suave businessmen in Armani suits to grandmothers chatting on a stroll with friends—they all eat gelato. And like the tiny shots of espresso taken from morning ’til night, it’s a part of Italian life and consumed everywhere, all-day long.

Gelato is serious business in Italy.

Differences between Italian and American production of gelato

Ice cream requires only a handful of ingredients: Milk, cream, sugar, and a stabilizer. Stabilizers in store-bought ice cream tend to be guar gum, locust bean gum, or tara gum; in fresh ice cream intended for immediate consumption, egg yolk is used as a stabilizer.

In Italy, gelato is made from scratch and eaten when its fresh. Italian gelato shops don’t mess around with gums as stabilizer: they stick with the good stuff. Consequently, the shelf life of real Italian gelato is measured in hours, not days.

Americanized gelato, on the other hand, tastes a lot like standard ice cream. US manufacturers use cold-process mixtures and gums to stabilize it. There are a few small gelato shops in America using fresh Italian production methods, such as Zingerman’s Creamery in Ann Arbor, but not many.

Should you be buying gelato instead of ice cream?

The answer this question comes down to personal preference. There isn’t much difference between store-bought Americanized gelato and normal ice cream, so if you’re eating that you probably will not notice a difference. But if you have access to a small artisanal gelato shop you might just fall in love with it as the Italians have.

For a people who eat such bad things and smoke like chimneys, Frenchmen (and Frenchwomen) are remarkably healthy. One explanation for this paradox is the existence of a strong, traditional food culture.

French people typically eat 3 meals per day—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You might say, “Well, hey, I do that too,” but the odds are you probably snack between meals as well. Therein lies the difference: the French don’t snack. There’s a cultural taboo on leisurely mastication. (By the way, I checked and this is not the first time someone has written “leisurely mastication”).

Despite popular stereotypes, French meals are quite diverse in their content. Heavier, unhealthy foods tend to be found in French restaurants and cafes. Outside of those, families prepare lighter dishes made from fresh ingredients (you don’t usually hear about this though). Vegetarian dishes are somewhat difficult to find because vegetarianism itself is quite rare in the country.

Meals in France really are social occasions. Restaurants open for about 2 hours at lunch and patrons spend much more time enjoying the full experience than what you see during America’s lunch rush. You spend much more time eating, and you do it with friends.

As I alluded to, eating habits in France are changing. An influx of Western fast food restaurants is introducing a foreign mindset of ubiquitous food availability throughout the day. In response, the French are eating more processed fast food and gaining weight. While there has been some cultural backlash, its unlikely that this trend will reverse itself anytime soon.

One word I haven’t used to describe French food culture is heritage. In fact, France’s food heritage is one of change. Around 200 years ago, French farmers ate very meager meals (by today’s standards). A rising aristocracy turned food into a status symbol so that what you ate was symbolic of where you stood on the social ladder. This social reinforcement (at a time when food was scarce) survived the mid-19th-century and strongly influences today’s food culture.

Regardless of its source, France’s pervasive and strong food culture makes it possible for its people to eat relatively unhealthy food yet remain very healthy. Unwritten social rules do what expensive pills and diet fads have been unable to do in the United States.

If implemented as currently discussed, a soda tax of about one cent per ounce would be collected on most sugary carbonated drinks—but not on diet (artificially sweetened) beverages. It would also apply to energy drinks, sports beverages, and juices. A two-liter of Coca-Cola, which will retail for around $1.50-$2.00 depending where you shop, contains 67.6 fluid ounces. As proposed, the sugary soda tax would then bump the price up an additional 68 cents, which is roughly a 35-50% jump in out-of-pocket expense. That’s nothing to sneeze at, but no, it still won’t work.

Allow me to qualify that claim. In its strictest sense, a soda tax alone will not have a substantial impact on obesity rates in America.

The theory promulgated by soda tax supporters is that a price increase will lower demand and consumption of sugary drinks. Their assumption is supported by some research which indicates an 8-10% drop in demand for every 10% increase in price; taken in context, this would mean a decline of 25-50% nationwide in sugar-laden beverages. That sounds like it could put a dent in the average American’s waistline.

Obesity has two principle causes: overeating and lack of exercise. Obviously, a soda tax will not directly impact daily activity levels, so the question simply becomes how it will affect overeating.

Humans are biologically driven to eat fat, salt, and sugar. No, we don’t gorge on those compounds out of troughs, but when manufactured right they are the reason we plow through restaurant sandwiches and can’t stop at one potato chip. Today, processed foods are everywhere and they are engineered precisely in a way that generates a physiologically rewarding response. They overwhelm our sensory experience and almost literally rewire our brains. Sure, we can raise the price on sugary drinks but that alone is not going to change overeating behavior.

Another presumption behind the soda tax is that consumers will shift buying habits toward sugar-less drinks. It’s hard to dispute the likelihood of that change, but it’s also not difficult to imagine the rationalizing experience people will have as they consider other purchases. If you’re buying “healthy” sugar-free soda, why not reward yourself with some other form of sugary junk? We’ll get the Diet Pepsi because it’s cheaper but let’s use the savings to pick up a frozen cheesecake. These scenarios will play out in consumer heads exactly as described, and advertisers of processed food will make sure of it.

To be fair, only one angle of the soda tax proposal has been considered: the thought that increased soda prices alone will have some significant impact on obesity. Money raised by a soda tax will create a major revenue source, about $15 billion in its first year, which can then be re-purposed to fund healthy initiatives (though most will go to a general healthcare fund).

If you read this article and come under the impression that its author opposes a tax on soda, you’d be wrong. Government action on obesity and Western disease  is long overdue and even if it doesn’t work as intended it’s still a step in the right direction. America needs to begin forging a food culture that promotes the eating of healthy, real food and discourages the consumption of artificial and processed junk.

Taxation of sugary soda is only one piece of a multi-faceted jigsaw puzzle toward making this country’s citizenry healthy again. We know what the piece looks like but we’re not sure yet how exactly it fits in with the others. When it’s all said and done though, its role will be obvious.