Disruption through destruction

There are moments in history when the familiar no longer holds true. Then systems that were once considered unshakeable fall apart. What seemed certain yesterday—the baker's bread, the cow's milk, the meat on our plates—loses its self-evident nature overnight. Disruption through destruction is not just a technological or economic dynamic. It is an epistemic upheaval. A radical metamorphosis of what we eat, how we produce it, and what stories we tell about it. But destruction alone does not work, or at least not as desired. After the fire, ashes remain, but no forest. The real question is: How do we create a synthesis of what was and what could be?

When food withdraws: Let's imagine a world in which cows disappear. Not because of a disease or a disaster, but because consumers want it that way. Plant-based alternatives such as oat, soy, and nut drinks are replacing cow's milk. Some people no longer drink animal milk, and what has been a symbol of food, culture, and identity for thousands of years may suddenly become a marginal phenomenon at some point. Cows are being stylized as both a problem and a victim due to their greenhouse gas emissions. But the revolution is stalling. Former pioneers of this movement are struggling financially. Traditional dairies are impressed, but far from defeated. New technologies are being anticipated. While many consumers are switching to plant-based alternatives, others are consciously reaching for a glass of whole milk again.

The structural disruption is obvious: plant-based and biotechnological alternatives are changing markets, production methods, and consumption patterns. Nevertheless, it is clear that the change is not linear. A complete replacement of traditional products seems unlikely. Instead, hybrid solutions are emerging in which animal and plant-based products merge. Meat-like products can consist entirely or partially of plant-based ingredients, while milk is produced not only from oats but also through precision fermentation.

The deconstruction of the linear food system opens up a new possibility: a circular metasynthesis in which waste, side streams, and by-products become resources and value chains are reorganized as value networks. But how is this change perceived? Does it generate acceptance—or resistance?

The diet of the new present is becoming not only more ecological, but also more functional. Food is being rethought in biotechnology laboratories. The longevity trend shows that food no longer serves only to satisfy hunger, but is also used as a targeted intervention against the aging process. Polyphenols from plants, fermented adaptogens, or microbiome-optimized foods are not only intended to nourish, but also to ensure vitality and even extend life. At the same time, an epistemic tension arises between nature and technology. Algorithmically optimized food increasingly complements sensory experiences. Naturalness is being redefined – no longer as what has grown, but as what has been optimally composed from a biochemical perspective.

The question of identity becomes unavoidable: nutrition is not only becoming a political decision between sustainability and tradition, but also a cultural conflict between high-tech food and culinary heritage. This raises the question of whether there is a limit to the extent to which we are allowed to synthesize food. Can we create a food system that is both optimized and remains sensually experiential?

The impending change is also an epistemological disruption. For a long time, food was a space for experience, a knowledge that was consolidated over generations. It was grown, harvested, and processed—in a physical, tangible cycle that depended on the annual and vegetation cycles.

Currently, it is increasingly becoming the product of algorithmic calculations, biotechnological processes, and synthetic optimization. Deciphering the molecular message of food and designing food composition not only nutritionally but also sensorially is part of modern food process and product development. The collision of these two knowledge systems raises fundamental questions. Is cell-cultured meat “natural” or does it represent a break with everything we know about food? Does the disappearance of agricultural land and animal production in favor of precision fermentation mean the loss of cultural memory? Will future generations no longer understand nutrition as a lived practice, but as a mathematically optimized supply?

This change is not just a technological development, but a transformation of the way we construct part of our reality. We ingest food and metabolize it. Enjoyment plays a significant role in this process. Food is no longer just a substance, but a concept. The question of naturalness can no longer be answered in material terms, but becomes a social construct. Nutrition is becoming autopoietic, generating its own counter-narratives: while biohackers are committed to total optimization, a counter-movement is forming that focuses on wild game hunting, permaculture, and the renaissance of craftsmanship. This tension raises the question of who will shape the future of food—algorithms, corporations, producers, consumers, or all of them together?

But how do we build a future that is not only sustainable but also tangible? Various approaches compete with each other. Vertical farming, aquaponics, and closed cycles offer a technological answer to the food question by producing food in highly controlled environments, independent of climate and soil.

At the same time, regenerative agriculture is experiencing a renaissance. Soils are being made fertile again and cultivation methods are being adapted to natural cycles. In between, there is a third option: the world of synthetic biology. Food no longer grows in fields or gardens, but is produced in bioreactors. Precision fermentation makes it possible to directly synthesize proteins, including enzymes—which in turn enable targeted metabolism—fats, and other nutrients. These three systems exist in parallel, overlapping and contradicting each other at the same time. Some swear by the technological future, others by the biological heritage. But if we do not want to remain stuck in an endless battle over “right” or “wrong,” a metasynthesis must emerge—a fusion of apparent opposites.

A food system in which all streams flow into the mainstream and waste or side streams no longer arise, in which biological traditions and biotechnological innovations are not seen as contradictions but as symbiotic forces.

The never-ending food revolution The future of food will not be determined by a single technology or a single company. It will emerge from a dynamic interplay of innovation, tradition, resistance, and acceptance. But the real question is not only what products we will eat in the future, but what epistemic reality lies behind our food.

The transformation of the food industry is taking place on three levels. At the first level, the material structure of production is changing: new technologies are shifting markets, value chains, and consumption habits. At the second level, this change is being reflected upon: acceptance and resistance, the collision between tradition and technology, between sensory experience and algorithmic precision. But at the third level, it is no longer just products or methods that are being discussed, but the conditions under which we can even think about food. The biggest decision will not be what we eat – but how we think about food and what perceptions and feelings we allow ourselves to have.

But this future will not be determined solely by corporations or algorithms. It will be shaped in the fields, in the bioreactors, in the markets, in the kitchens, at the tables, and on the go—by the people who eat and, in doing so, perceive, think, and communicate. The new present of food is not only being invented. It is being remembered.