Summer is nearly over. And that’s probably for the better, since the theme of the summer has been “explosive diarrhea.”
Since May 1, the CDC has logged 18,445 lab-confirmed cases of domestically acquired cyclosporiasis—a parasitic infection whose signature symptom is exactly what you think it is—across 49 states and D.C. Nine hundred and ninety people were hospitalized. Two died, both in Michigan. In the same window last year, there were 1,180 cases. It is the worst cyclospora season the country has ever recorded.
The delivery vehicle of choice for cyclospora was lettuce: 11,458 illnesses across 20 states, traced to recalled iceberg from Taylor Farms de Mexico, which is how Taco Bell ended up in the middle of a parasite story. That one appears to be over—the recalled product’s best-by dates have passed, and the CDC has started winding down its weekly updates, even if other clusters persist.
But if the recent news cycle is any proof, there’s plenty more food recalls where that came from. In just the last year and a half, we’ve been treated to sus protein powder, salmonella eggs, E. coli blueberries, Chipotle-threatening jalapeños, toxic Whole Foods guacamole, and mislabeled chocolate eyeballs. We’ve got a lot on our plate, as they say.
There’s a reason it’s all landing at once. In March 2025, HHS eliminated roughly 3,500 jobs from the FDA, about 20% of the agency. Though Marty Makary, the FDA Commissioner from May 2025 to May 2026, promised that “no scientific reviewer or inspector was cut” they were still functionally affected, says Dr. Reshma Ramachandran, co-director of the Yale Collaboration for Regulatory Rigor, Integrity, and Transparency, which studies how the FDA actually regulates things. She says that salaries flatlined, performance bonuses got stripped, and extra responsibilities got dumped onto whoever was left. Specialized people quit on their own.
“There’s kind of a diminished workforce, and also a diminished specialized workforce,” she says. Some members of Congress, including most recently Frank Pallone of New Jersey, have been asking for a headcount of who’s actually left. The FDA hasn’t provided one.
Amidst all the bellyaching about FDA cuts, gutted inspection regimes, and whether we can trust our government regulatory systems at all—serious questions, for serious people, on some other website—we should take a moment to consider the real victims: the dudes still eating boykibble and trying to hit their macros.
Because here’s the thing about boykibble, or boyslop in the larger sense. It isn’t junk food. The whole point of the thing—a bowl of ground beef or chicken, rice with some vegetables for dinner, maybe a slurry of berries and Greek yogurt with protein powder mixed in for breakfast—is that it’s the cheapest, most efficient route to a large amount of protein, sufficient nutrition, and not much else. It’s the meal you eat when you’ve decided to be responsible.
Now let’s cross-check that list of boyslop ingredients against the list of foods that got hit this summer. The eggs got salmonella, 134 cases across 18 states. The lettuce got the parasite. The blueberries got E. coli and a bump to the FDA’s highest risk tier, the one defined by a reasonable probability of death. One contaminated pepper supply out of Sinaloa took out Chipotle, Qdoba, and the refrigerators full of Whole Foods guacamole simultaneously. Even the protein powder was mislabeled. And the beef, which didn’t get a pathogen, got something arguably worse: a supply crisis. Every ingredient in the responsible-guy bowl took a hit this year, which is upsetting for responsible guys who want to eat plainly and efficiently everywhere.
