As the millennium turned, the American diet reflected the shifts and divisions in our politics. At first the nation was led by Bill Clinton, a baby boomer whose diet effloresced from fatty red meat indulgences to lighter, healthier steamed fish and vegetables, and ultimately tapered into veganism. His regime was followed by the more predictable, Texas-themed George W. Bush diet, the gastronomically adventurous Obamas, the retrograde meals of Trump and Biden, and hints of a polyglot future in the cooking of Kamala Harris. In the first two decades of the twenty-first century, meanwhile, the public’s attention drifted from legacy print and television media to the internet and mobile phones, which accelerated and amplified political messaging and people’s interest in food (and “food porn”). Cooking became trendy in new ways: powered by the speed of communication and the flood of information, the public’s tastes simultaneously broadened and fractured into specialties and subspecialties. Faced with declining fish stocks and crop yields, deforestation, declining freshwater supplies, and pollution, food manufacturers began to experiment with fake (“beyond”) meat, printed foods, insects, and genetically modified crops to feed a growing population on a quickly warming planet. The politics of food became increasingly acute, first in a tug-of-war between big (industrial) and small (local, organic) food businesses, and again when climate change, the coronavirus, and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine revealed structural weaknesses in the nation’s—and world’s—food systems. So far, the twenty-first century has been a confusing time in the food of politics and the politics of food.