For Richer or Poorer
From a military-based need at its inception to a luxury item for the wealthy to an affordable shortcut for a family’s meal, food in a can comes with baggage.
By Priya Mani
Photo by Andrew Bui
Prop styling by Nidia Cueva
“I am 9 years old and have never eaten a vegetable that didn’t come in a tin,” a young Nigel Slater states, setting the stage for Toast, the film adaptation of the British cook and food writer’s memoir. For Slater’s mother, and many like her who made meals in the ’50s and ’60s, canned food was deliverance from kitchen drudgery. What had begun as a privileged, novel food solution for colonizers and explorers 150 years earlier became a symbol of modernity for the home kitchen—capturing nature at its peak and controlling life and decay. The can’s journey didn’t stop there, though. Its evolution tells a tale of innovation and industry but also reveals a complex and often classist history.
Food preservation, influenced by ecology, geography, and faith, has led to diverse traditions throughout time and around the world. The process of drying thrived in arid expanses, while smoking found its footing where wood was abundant. Kosher laws intertwined with curing processes, fermentation had its roots in a cultural understanding of microbial strains, and pickling in brine originated where salt could be harvested.
In the timeline of traditions, canning is recent. Napoleon’s need to sustain his armies led to a 12,000-francs prize for a novel food preservation method, won by French chef Nicolas Appert in 1809. Appertization, his eponymous technique featuring glass jars and an airtight seal, became the foundation of modern canning. Appert’s peer Phillippe de Girard transitioned from glass to tin-plated iron canisters. By 1810, the iconic tin can was patented in England, granted by King George III. Canning was a marvel of modern science and had the price tag to prove it. As such, it was used only by those who truly needed it—sailors on long voyages, troops pursuing colonial exploits, and polar expeditioners racing to scale the earth.
Across the Atlantic, Robert Ayars opened the first American cannery in 1812. The methods were slow and labor-intensive, and the product was still expensive, so canned food remained in the purview of those rich enough to afford a taste of cutting-edge technology. Fresh produce with a short shelf life—unlike spices, coffee, and tea—was ripe for canning. Truffles, salmon, caviar, and exotic tropical fruits filled tins and sailed to distant colonies to satisfy Europeans managing the affairs of trading companies.
By the 1860s, the method had been mechanized, which helped reduce the cost of canned goods. With the start of the American Civil War in 1861, demand for nonperishable, easily transportable, and long-lasting sustenance for Union and Confederate armies surged. The widespread adoption of canned foods contributed significantly to their popularity in postwar civilian life, changing the way people looked at food preservation. Borden’s Eagle Brand condensed milk became a bestseller, as did Van Camp’s Pork & Beans. A couple of decades later in 1888, Max Ams invented double-seam sealing, the canning method still used today. It eradicated many health risks, lowered manufacturing costs, and solidified the proliferation of canned goods.
Tin cans emerged globally with different cultural connotations. As Hispanic migration surged in America, Spanish immigrants Don Prudencio and Carolina Unanue established Goya Foods in 1936 and remain market leaders, canning native tastes for the diaspora. In Spain and Portugal, leading producers of tinned fish, these canned goods became, and still are, culinary delicacies, appreciated by locals and the gastronomic elite. In India, the widespread adoption of this technology saw the rise of many hyper-regional pleasures to national awareness, like the delicate Odisha-Bengali sweet rasgulla. Fresh fruits and vegetables were widely produced for export to the Indian diaspora, akin to Goya. Curiously, they remained an expensive product in the domestic market, a sign of upward mobility.
So, how did the tin can, brimming with seasonal fruits and vegetables and packed with promise, get relegated to the aisles of poor nutrition and lousy food? As the 20th century unfolded and urban areas expanded, distancing people from food sources, canned goods enabled year-round access to fruits and vegetables. This shift coincided with periods of hardship, such as the World Wars and the Great Depression, when canned food emerged as a cost-effective solution for providing sustenance, especially to the soldiers fighting overseas. After World War II canned goods hit their golden era. That’s when grocery stores proliferated and newly suburban housewives were thrilled to make minimal use of their modern kitchens, reclaiming their time with the novel abundance and convenience of packaged foods.
At the same time, canned goods became a pragmatic resource for the economically disadvantaged—not as a culinary experiment or novelty but as a means of survival, allowing families to stretch their meager resources. Canned food ties to low-income communities became even more pronounced in the mid-20th century when federally funded food stamps were introduced in the United States to address food insecurity. Unfortunately, this also perpetuated a cycle in which low-income communities became disproportionately reliant on processed and canned foods due to their affordability. Food industrialization further entrenched this dynamic, as mass-produced canned goods became even cheaper. Canned goods—which can lose nutrients in the process—fell out of favor with the affluent, who opted for higher-priced fresh produce. It’s an ongoing discrepancy that affects the nutritional quality of diets and reinforces socioeconomic inequality in health outcomes.
There has been a growing awareness of these inequities in recent years, sparking initiatives to address food deserts, promote community gardens, and encourage local, sustainable agriculture. Yet, the classist underpinnings of canned goods highlight broader issues within our food system—a stark reminder of the need for systemic change even, or perhaps especially, as canned foods are experiencing a resurgence as more of a splurge than a save. New American brands are taking inspiration from Spanish and Portuguese traditions, where producers invest in luxurious packaging and high-quality preservation, which makes for both convenient and dignified dining.
Canned food’s history is a roller coaster of classism, with the can’s place in culture swinging from upper-crust indulgence to lower-class staple, often simultaneously. Considering its complexities allows us to respect pantry variations and pave the way for a more equitable food system, promising access to fresh, nutritious options irrespective of income, where opting for a can is always a choice.
