WebMD Feature from "Men's Health" Magazine
By David Zinczenko and Matt Goulding. Additional research by Lauren Murrow
photo adrew cliffton
We scrambled behind the counters, dug under the drive-thrus, and plunged into the deep fryers to find out what's really going into our meals
On October 15 of last year, at the very moment a piece of legislation landed on his desk that could have helped protect the state's 37 million residents from obesity, Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger of California was apparently out to lunch.
Maybe he was dining at Dunkin' Donuts, or chowing down at Chipotle, or supping at Long John Silver's. We suspect, however, that the former chairman of the President's Council on Physical Fitness and Sports wasn't visiting any of those establishments--because, unlike most Americans, he's pretty well versed in diet and nutrition, and knows how to protect himself from the evils that restaurant chains wreak.
The legislation that died on his desk--SB 120--would have required chain restaurants to list nutritional information on their menus, giving millions of us the same sort of nutritional wisdom the governor gained during his decades as a bodybuilder. It seems simple: a law that requires nothing more than having restaurants tell us what we're putting in our mouths. Yet the California Restaurant Association, which represents all of the state's largest chain restaurants, called the bill a "feel-good Band-Aid" and claimed it ignored the "true issues" behind obesity.
We disagree. One of the true issues behind obesity is the fact that many chains--which provide one-third of all restaurant meals, according to the New York Department of Health--obfuscate the fat and calorie counts of their menu items, and fight any attempt to shed light on what, exactly, is going on between their buns and inside their taco shells.
But it wasn't until we began work on the book version of the popular Men's Health column "Eat This, Not That" that we discovered just how hard the industry works at keeping its dietary secrets. Indeed, the law is on its side: The Nutrition Labeling and Education Act of 1990 actually absolves restaurants of all nutritional liability to the American public. Under that legislation, no fast-food or chain restaurants are required to provide calorie, fat, or sodium information for any of their menu items unless they describe the items as "low sodium" or "low fat." Yet through scientific testing, consultations with nutrition experts, and good old-fashioned snooping, we uncovered some of the secrets these mega-restaurateurs have been keeping.
It's no wonder . . .
Outback Steakhouse
doesn't want you to know that the only nutritional information it provides is for its Tangy Tomato Dressing. When we contacted the company, a spokesperson claimed, "Ninety percent of our meals are prepared by hand...Any analysis would be difficult to measure consistently." Yet no fewer than 45 national chain restaurants do just that. (Hey, in case you were wondering, an order of Outback's Aussie Cheese Fries has 2,900 calories, and its Ayers Rock Strip has 60 grams of fat.)
Applebee's
doesn't want you to know that many of its "low-fat" items have more than 500 calories. (In fact, its low-fat chicken quesadillas have 742 calories and 90 grams of carbohydrates per order.)
IHOP
doesn't want you to know that its Omelette Feast has 1,335 calories and 35 grams of saturated fat. (By the time you finish eating this behemoth breakfast, you'll have consumed 150 percent of your daily fat requirement and 300 percent of your suggested cholesterol intake.) Said IHOP's director of communications, "We do not maintain nutritional data on our menu items, so I am unable to assist you."
Red Robin
doesn't want you to know the nutritional impact of its gourmet burgers. "A gourmet burger starts by being an honest burger," Red Robin's Web site declares--but not, apparently, a burger that will come clean about its nutrition facts. When contacted, Red Robin's senior vice president responded that nutritional information for the menu would be available in October 2007. As of November, however, nutrition facts were still not posted on the site. Another public-relations representative e-mailed us to request this: "As this information is not yet public, can you please confirm that this will not be leaked?" Uh, no.
Hooters
doesn't want you to know anything about what's in its food. Although chains such as Chili's and Uno Chicago Grill divulge the thousands of calories in their chicken wings, Hooters blames its nutritional-disclosure negligence on its expansive menu, which contains about 25 entrées: "Because of the millions of combinations available and our desire to frequently give you new menu options, it is impossible to provide accurate nutritional data," responded a PR representative. Our own investigation revealed that the chain's wing sauce (which consists primarily of butter, sweet cream, and partially hydrogenated margarine) also contains such unappetizing additives as maltodextrin, propylene glycol alginate, xanthan gum, calcium disodium EDTA, and potassium sorbate. (Not being able to tell what's natural and what's enhanced has always been a problem for us at Hooters.)
Arby's
doesn't want you to know that the FDA has no definition of "all natural." Thus, chains like Arby's can say they serve "100 percent all-natural chicken," despite using artificial flavoring. Even worse, the "all-natural" smoothies at Arby's may contain high-fructose corn syrup.
Fuddruckers
doesn't want you to know the fat content of its 1-pound burgers. We contacted our local Fuddruckers restaurant and were told that the nutritional information was available on the chain's Web site (it's not). The corporate office later responded that providing such information would be "very extensive [sic] and timely."
Dunkin' Donuts
doesn't want you to know that each of its medium-size fruit-and-yogurt smoothies packs at least 60 grams of sugar--more than four times the sugar in a chocolate-frosted cake doughnut. The fruit purees used in the smoothies are mixed with liberal doses of sugar and/or high-fructose corn syrup.
Papa John's
doesn't want you to know that unlike rival chains such as Domino's, it has made little effort to introduce healthier options. A Papa John's representative admitted, "At this time, we have no additional regular menu items that are targeted toward eating lighter."
Burger King
doesn't want you to know that its French toast sticks (which deliver more than 4 grams of fat per stick) share a deep fryer with the pork sausage, pork fritters, Chicken Tenders, chicken fries, Big Fish patties, hash browns, onion rings, and Cheesy Tots--and that all of those items contain harmful trans fats. But there is hope: After the company was sued by the Center for Science in the Public Interest for moving too slowly to remove trans fats from its menu, Burger King promised to phase them out by the end of 2008.
Panera Bread
doesn't want you to know that the synthetic food colorings in its pastries have been linked to irritability, restlessness, and sleep disturbance in children. And British researchers found that artificial food colorings and preservatives in the diets of 3-year-olds caused an increase in hyperactive behavior. (The same ingredients appear in fast-food items such as mayonnaise, M&M Blizzards, and McDonald's shakes.) To its credit, Chipotle uses no artificial colorings or flavorings.
Chevys Fresh Mex
doesn't want you to know how its tortillas stack up nutritionally. The chain says it provides "nutritional information regarding calories, fat, protein & carbohydrates for some of our most popular items"--the chicken, steak, and shrimp fajitas, for example--on its Web site. But the numbers provided don't include an essential component: the tortilla.
Higher-ups at Maggiano's Little Italy
don't want you to know just how many calories and carbs you're consuming in those massive pasta portions. (As the menu puts it, "Family-style service or individual entrees are available...Whichever you choose, you'll have plenty to share or take home.") In Italy, a standard pasta serving means 4 ounces of noodles with a few tablespoons of sauce. At Maggiano's, a large order of pasta translates into 2 pounds of noodles piled high on a hubcap-size dinner plate (15 1/2 inches in diameter). A Maggiano's PR rep responded to our request for nutritional information a week later: "Sorry for the delayI had to wait for corporate's approval. Unfortunately, they have declined to participate."
T.G.I. Friday's
doesn't want you to know how little nutritional info it provides. A Friday's PR rep told us that the chain makes the data available for only its "low-fat" dishes--those coming in under 500 calories and 10 grams of fat. There are just three such dishes on the entire Friday's menu.
Baskin-Robbins
doesn't want you to know that, unlike Jamba Juice's all-fruit smoothies, the top four ingredients in its Blue Raspberry Fruit Blast are Sierra Mist soda, water, sugar, and corn syrup.
continued...
Sit-down chain restaurants
don't want you to know that their food is actually considerably worse for you than the often-maligned fast-food fare. In fact, our menu analysis of 24 national chains revealed that the average entree at a sit-down restaurant contains 867 calories, compared with 522 calories in the average fast-food entree. And that's before appetizers, sides, or desserts--selections that can easily double your total calorie intake.
A fast-food fakeout : Ever wonder what happened to supersizing? The correct answer is nothing.
In 2001, the U.S. Surgeon General called on fast-food purveyors to decrease their portion sizes. The chains immediately jumped into action--by changing the names of their overstuffed meals. McDonald's and Wendy's dropped descriptors such as "Supersize," "Biggie," and "Great Biggie" and replaced them with "Medium" and "Large." Still, each time you upgrade to the larger meal, you're consuming an average of 55 percent more calories for 17 percent more money. That's one reason a Temple University study found that every fast-food meal a person eats during the week is associated with an extra 1.5 pounds of body weight compared with a person who resists fast food.
Adapted from Eat This, Not That: Thousands of simple food swaps that can save you 10, 20, 30 pounds--or more! (Rodale). For more tips on how to survive a restaurant meal, visit MensHealth.com/eatthis.
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