industry strategic mindset

To understand how the foie gras duopoly took shape and persisted, it helps to examine the mindset and strategies of the producers (HVFG, La Belle, Sonoma) and their allies. Through interviews, public statements, and even legal depositions from this era, we can reconstruct their strategic worldview – how they perceived the market, the risks, and how they justified their business: Vision of Market Growth: The founders of HVFG and La Belle saw enormous opportunity in the 1990s. Michael Ginor often recounted how he discovered foie gras on a trip to Israel in the ’80s and realized America was a virgin market for this delicacy[122]. In founding HVFG, Ginor and Yanay envisioned making the U.S. self-sufficient in foie gras. They frequently cited the statistic that France’s foie gras industry was huge (hundreds of millions of dollars) while the U.S.’s was tiny – implying plenty of room to grow. Ginor wrote in his book introduction that he hoped foie gras would “grace the tables of discerning Americans for generations to come.” By the late ’90s, HVFG was indeed growing double-digits annually. Izzy Yanay (HVFG’s General Manager) believed Sullivan County could become the foie gras hub of North America, thanks to its poultry-farming tradition and proximity to NYC. The Saravia family of La Belle entered the market in 1999 with similar optimism; by traveling internationally to learn techniques[25], they demonstrated a long-term commitment. Both companies reinvested profits to expand capacity – a sign they anticipated rising demand. As Ginor’s marketing director said, the only worry in the late ’90s was that foie gras might be a culinary fad that chefs would tire of[104]. Indeed, she admitted “we were mostly worried people would get bored and move on… Not about legislation.”[103]. This quote reveals that producers largely underestimated activism and regulatory risk during their boom years, focusing instead on scaling up and keeping chefs excited about foie. Perception of Advocacy Risk: Until the early 2000s, foie gras producers considered animal rights protests a nuisance, not an existential threat. The 1992 failed case gave them confidence that the law was on their side[59]. After the 1999 Smithsonian incident, HVFG’s public stance was that activists were misinformed extremists. Izzy Yanay was particularly blunt; he often argued that force-feeding wasn’t cruel, and that PETA’s efforts were hypocritical. In one TV panel, Yanay quipped: “If foie gras is the worst thing they can find to protest, we must be doing pretty well in animal welfare.” However, as campaigns heated up by 2003, one can detect a shift. Guillermo Gonzalez of Sonoma, speaking at the Sonoma council meeting, was clearly alarmed and angry – he spoke of being “stormed by a barrage of abuse” and cast himself as an “unwilling participant in a national [vegan] agenda.”[88]. This indicates that by 2003, producers recognized the advocacy against them was coordinated nationally and could endanger their business. Michael Ginor in early 2005, after California’s ban passed, candidly said: “I think it’s just a matter of time before there is no foie gras available in the United States.”[123][124]. That quote betrays a real worry that he and others were feeling as the dominoes began to fall. Nonetheless, they put on a brave public face, often expressing optimism that they would overcome the bans via legal challenges[89]. Regulatory and Legal Strategy: Producers and their allies (like D’Artagnan’s Ariane Daguin, and trade groups) adopted a two-prong strategy: public relations and legal defense. On PR, they ramped up farm tours for legislators and chefs, trying to “demystify” foie gras. For instance, when New York City Council started considering a ban in 2006, HVFG’s Marcus Henley invited all 51 council members to visit the farm[125]. On the legal front, by 2004 they quietly prepared for court fights. Ginor indicated they would challenge California’s law in court (indeed, a coalition eventually did, though unsuccessfully long-term). In New York, when lawmakers floated bans, HVFG and La Belle hired lobbyists – one notable figure was Richard Schwartz, a former aide to NYC’s mayor, whom they engaged to lobby against a city ban (circa 2006). While that’s just outside our timeframe, it was being plotted in 2004 already. The producers also gathered data to defend themselves: the Shepstone economic report (2004) was one tool to show lawmakers the “economic benefits” of foie gras farming in NY[16][27]. Claims of Economic and Community Benefits: A key narrative from producers was that they brought jobs and revitalization to rural areas. HVFG would highlight that it employed ~200 people in an economically depressed county[13]. They framed their farm as a family business (even if many workers were not family, the leadership was small and hands-on). Guillermo Gonzalez stressed that his farm was a “17-year success story achieved through hard and honest work” that provided for his family and workers[126]. The Saravia family likewise emphasized their humble roots (escaping war-torn El Salvador) and how proud they were to create jobs on their farm[127][11]. These appeals were designed to resonate with American values of enterprise and rural development. The economic footprint numbers from the Shepstone report were trotted out: e.g., foie gras made up 43% of Sullivan County’s agricultural output[128] and 23% of its manufacturing base[129] – implying that banning it would wreck the local economy. Job creation claims were indeed effective at tempering some lawmakers’ enthusiasm for bans, at least in New York where local jobs were at stake. Animal Welfare Positioning: Perhaps the most interesting insight is how producers rationalized the morality of what they did. Publicly, they consistently said “we treat our animals with love and care.” HVFG’s website insisted, “Our love of animals has guided us over our 30+ year history to provide the best possible care for our animals.”[130]. They pointed to veterinary oversight and the fact that USDA inspectors examine their birds and livers daily[131]. Michael Ginor, in media interviews, would acknowledge the practice sounds bad but then dismiss it as not actually harmful. However, in a 2009 interview (outside our range, but revealing), Ginor admitted: “There’s no question that the duck on day 28 of feeding is not as happy as a duck that hasn’t been fed… I think you can’t be 100-percent wholesome with it… I partially agree with the issues [raised by critics].”[56][132]. This rare candid quote suggests that privately, at least some in the industry recognized the ethical dilemma. Yet they persisted, likely believing that the ends (a valued product, jobs) justified the means. The more common stance was outright denial of cruelty: e.g., Laurence Bartholf, a consultant hired by HVFG, repeatedly claimed force-feeding is benign and that activists anthropomorphize the ducks. Producers even had sympathetic veterinarians – notably Dr. Frank Galey, who led a controversial AVMA panel in 2005 that declined to condemn force-feeding – on their side. They used such endorsements to bolster their case that “scientifically, the ducks aren’t suffering”. Allies and Coalition Building: Beyond their own voices, producers cultivated allies: - Chefs: We’ve discussed how many chefs became de facto spokespeople. Chefs like Anthony Bourdain and Thomas Keller spoke to media in defense of foie gras around 2004–05, echoing the producers’ points that activism was misguided. The producers provided these chefs with talking points and farm visits so they could say, “I’ve been there, the ducks are fine.” - Food writers and critics: Personalities like Ruth Reichl (editor of Gourmet) and Anthony Bourdain (again) wrote columns scoffing at the foie gras bans. Mark Caro, a journalist, even wrote a whole book exploring both sides (though he remained objective). This intellectual and cultural pushback was something producers counted on – that America’s love affair with food would trump activist claims. - Legal Allies: Organizations like the Farm Bureau and other livestock industry groups quietly supported foie gras producers, fearing that a precedent of banning force-feeding could open doors to regulating mainstream farming. When Chicago’s ban happened, the Illinois Restaurant Association joined the fight against it, aligning with producers. The Hudson Valley farmers also leveraged the New York State Department of Agriculture – in 2006, that department wrote a letter to NYC arguing that banning foie gras would violate state jurisdiction (an ally’s move that producers likely helped orchestrate). In essence, inside the heads of the foie gras producers and their allies was a mixture of entrepreneurial pride, cultural traditionalism, and mounting defensiveness. In the 1990s, they brimmed with confidence as pioneers bringing foie gras to America. By the early 2000s, they felt under siege – but they were determined to fight back using every tool: celebrating their craft, emphasizing their contributions, and denying or downplaying the negatives. This mindset allowed them to consolidate into a duopoly: instead of turning on each other, HVFG and La Belle actually found common cause against activists and legislators. (One notable observation: though technically competitors, HVFG and La Belle often banded together on political issues. In New York City’s 2019 ban fight, for example, they were co-plaintiffs. This cooperative defense likely had its roots in the early 2000s when they realized “hang together or hang separately.”)

Understanding the mindset of those involved in the foie gras scene pre-1980s helps illuminate why foie gras gained its foothold and how it was perceived by its proponents. Based on writings, memoirs, and interviews from that era (and reflections afterward), we can reconstruct the perspectives of several key stakeholder groups: Chefs: For the elite chefs who championed foie gras, their mindset mingled pride, identity, and a sense of culinary duty. Many French-born chefs saw serving foie gras as part of their heritage. For example, chefs from Gascony or Alsace (regions famous for foie gras) often had personal stories of foie gras at family gatherings. Jean-Louis Palladin, from Gascony, felt an almost patriotic obligation to introduce Americans to foie gras, one of the treasures of French gastronomy[21][7]. Chefs like him thought, “If I am to cook at the highest level here, I must include the products that define haute cuisine – and foie gras is paramount among them.” Prestige and differentiation: Chefs also believed having foie gras on the menu set them apart from the run-of-the-mill. It was a hallmark of a serious restaurant. A mindset of competition played in: New York’s French chefs all wanted to be known for the best foie gras dish in town. André Soltner’s innovative warm foie gras dish was in part to differentiate Lutèce and prove that classic ingredients could be part of modern creations. In one interview Soltner essentially said he put that dish on to show that French cuisine could evolve without losing its soul – foie gras represented the soul[14]. For him, balancing tradition and innovation using foie gras was a point of pride. Economic savvy in the kitchen: Chefs also quietly appreciated that foie gras, while expensive, could be profitable. A whole lobe of foie gras could be turned into many terrine slices or multiple portions seared, each sold at a premium. So, a chef’s business sense told him it was worth the investment if the clientele was there. Yet, they would rarely frame it in profit terms publicly; instead, they spoke of quality and elevating the dining experience. Deep down, they knew a signature foie gras dish could generate buzz and revenue, helping secure their restaurant’s top-tier status (which, in turn, allowed them creative freedom and financial success). Culinary creativity and passion: In the minds of these chefs, foie gras was an inspiring ingredient. Many spoke of its unique texture and flavor – how it could anchor a dish like no other element. They experimented with it: pairing it with sweet reductions, incorporating it into sauces (a classic Rossini steak has a slice of foie gras atop the beef), even making cold appetizers like mousse of foie gras. Chefs felt using foie gras allowed them to create peak experiences for diners – the kind of unforgettable dish that people tell their friends about. That passion is evident in menu descriptions from the time: superlatives and lush adjectives abounded whenever foie gras appeared. Outlook on production: As mentioned, most chefs of that era did not question the ethics of foie gras production – it was accepted as traditional farming. If anything, chefs considered the farmers (particularly small French farmers) as artisans akin to themselves. They had respect for producers in Périgord or Alsace who carefully gavaged geese. Chefs like Paul Bocuse (who visited the US often in the ’70s) would extol the skill of such farmers to American audiences, not seeing it as cruelty but as craft. This positive view influenced American-based chefs too. They saw their role as preserving a chain: farmer produces foie gras → chef creates masterpiece → diner experiences bliss. All links in the chain were valued. Importers/Distributors: These stakeholders, though less publicly visible, had a mindset oriented around opportunity and education. They recognized that demand existed but supply was the bottleneck. Importers like Ariane Daguin (in her charcuterie days) perceived a gap: American chefs wanted foie gras more consistently, and if someone could provide it reliably, the market might grow[19][20]. This mindset is entrepreneurial – they saw foie gras not just as a delicacy but as a business opportunity waiting to be tapped. Daguin’s decision in 1984 to start D’Artagnan right when domestic foie gras became available shows how importers thought ahead: she “spied an opportunity” in her words[20]. Even before that, importers in the ’70s were testing the waters, perhaps saying: “If we bring in X amount for the holidays, will it sell? Yes? Maybe we can increase next year.” Market building: Importers also felt a role as evangelists of fine food. They often hosted tastings or worked with chefs to introduce foie gras to new audiences (e.g., supplying a little foie gras for a cooking class or a food magazine demo). They likely believed that once American palates were exposed, many would acquire the taste and demand would rise. In essence, they had a growth mindset for the foie gras market, albeit within the high-end niche. Quality control: The good importers were obsessive about quality – knowing that one bad shipment (spoilage or inferior product) could turn chefs off. So, they cultivated trusted sources in Europe and managed the delicate logistics carefully (some even flew over in person to escort valuable shipments). They took pride in delivering foie gras in top condition, which in their mind elevated American cuisine by giving chefs the tools to equal their European counterparts. Perspective on ethics: Like chefs, the importers of that era didn’t see gavage as an ethical issue; if anything, they saw it as a selling point that foie gras was labor-intensive and rare, justifying its price. They might tell curious clients, “These geese are raised in the countryside and fed a special diet – only a few families know how to do it right.” It’s a romanticized view aligning with tradition. There wasn’t guilt; rather, there was admiration for the tradition. Food Critics and Writers: Food journalists and critics of the pre-1980 period had a profound influence on framing foie gras for the public (at least the segment that read the food columns in newspapers or gourmet magazines). Their mindset blended awe, cultural analysis, and sometimes gentle skepticism: Symbolic meaning: Critics often used foie gras as a symbol or reference point when discussing luxury dining. For example, Craig Claiborne or Gael Greene might open a restaurant review by painting a scene: “In a paneled room aglow with chandeliers, socialites in couture nibbled at truffled foie gras as if it were the most casual thing in the world…”. Such writing places foie gras as a totem of upper-crust indulgence. Critics were self-aware in this—they knew foie gras made good copy because of the images it conjured. Their mindset was to observe and sometimes poke at the extravagance it represented, even as they themselves often loved the taste. Culinary appreciation: By and large, the serious food writers were ardent in their praise of foie gras’s gastronomic virtues. James Beard, for one, wrote lovingly of torchon of foie gras he had in Paris and encouraged American readers to seek out good pâté de foie gras for special occasions. The mindset here was that foie gras is one of the greatest delicacies on Earth, and as such, it deserved a spotlight in any discussion of fine food. Thus, their reviews and articles often educated readers: explaining what foie gras is, how it’s served, its place in French culture (the way Eater’s retrospective described it as dating back to ancient power meals[11]). They assumed a bit of a mentor role, guiding those who might be encountering it the first time. Sociological lens: Some food writers cast a sociological eye. Perhaps Mimi Sheraton or a culture writer might wryly note the “ladies who lunch” phenomenon where “a mere salad wouldn’t do – it had to be salad topped with foie gras for these grande dames”. Stephen Sondheim’s 1970 lyric “Ladies Who Lunch” (from the musical Company) actually included the line “...dishing out the foie gras and pears” (though the final lyrics changed, the concept was there)[22]. That shows how observers saw foie gras as part of the theater of high society. The mindset of such writers was half-admiring, half-critical: admiring the refinement, critical of the excess. Seeds of critique: While formal ethical critique was absent, some critics did express ambivalence about the indulgence. For instance, a mid-70s piece in New West magazine questioned if California’s budding foodies were importing a bit of “Old World decadence” by embracing things like foie gras and caviar. That writer mused whether chasing these luxuries was at odds with America’s more egalitarian food culture (of barbecue and burgers). But ultimately, even those musings didn’t condemn foie gras; they just acknowledged it as decadent. The overall critical stance was that foie gras was a legitimate object of desire in the culinary world, albeit one laden with class implications. Strategic Claims by Stakeholders: Throughout this pre-1980 period, one can identify a few strategic (sometimes implicit) claims made by those invested in foie gras: “Foie gras will elevate a restaurant’s status.” This was a belief held by chefs and owners and often affirmed by critics. Having foie gras on the menu (and executing it well) could turn a restaurant into a destination. Chefs like Soltner and Palladin explicitly tied their reputation to foie gras dishes, banking on the allure to boost their establishment’s prestige[14][7]. Food media reinforced this by typically highlighting a restaurant’s foie gras offering as a sign of its authenticity and luxury. “American diners appreciate and aspire to this level of dining.” Importers and restaurateurs sometimes made this claim to justify bringing in pricey products. They argued that there was a sophisticated set of American diners eager for foie gras – and indeed, in cities like New York, Los Angeles, etc., there were. This claim was strategic in that it pushed back against any notion that foie gras was “too elitist” for the U.S. market. It said: we have an audience, and it’s growing. “Our foie gras is the finest – quality matters.” Stakeholders often emphasized quality source and handling, as a way to differentiate themselves. A chef might note on the menu that his foie gras terrine is made en maison from a whole foie gras imported from Alsace, not from some generic canned pâté. An importer might advertise that theirs is “Grade A goose foie gras” vs. others’ duck liver. This was partly truth (quality did vary) and partly marketing – a strategic bid to claim the high ground in an already high-end field. “There’s nothing wrong with how it’s produced – it’s traditional.” Although not usually spelled out to customers, among themselves stakeholders maintained that foie gras production was humane or at least not cruel. This was a defensive mindset that would become explicit only when challenged later. But even pre-1980, if someone asked a chef, “Isn’t it cruel to force-feed a goose?”, the likely strategic response would be along the lines of, “Oh, you’d be surprised – the geese actually come to be fed; it’s been done for centuries and the animals are well-treated up until the end.” This narrative (which foie gras producers still use) was the ingrained belief of most stakeholders. It preemptively framed gavage as a benign tradition, not requiring re-examination. “Foie gras is worth the splurge for diners.” Restaurateurs and critics alike made this claim. For restaurateurs, it justified pricing and inclusion: they might say in press releases or to food writers that customers kept requesting foie gras, or that when they put a foie gras special on the menu it always sold out – implying that diners found value and joy in it despite the cost. Critics encouraged readers to try it at least once for the experience. All this strategically normalized the idea that ordering foie gras (and paying top dollar for it) was a worthy indulgence, not an absurd waste. In synthesizing these perspectives, one sees that stakeholders were in a kind of symbiotic agreement about foie gras’s place: Chefs and importers provided it, critics praised and contextualized it, and a segment of diners lapped it up, all reinforcing each other’s enthusiasm. They built foie gras’s mystique in the U.S. through this cycle of supply, celebration, and consumption. Their internal motivations – whether cultural pride, profit, prestige, or genuine love of the product – all contributed to foie gras becoming firmly embedded in the high-end dining culture by the dawn of the 1980s.

Under mounting pressure, how do the remaining foie gras producers and their allies perceive their situation? Through recent interviews, public statements, and court filings, we can piece together the mindset and strategy of Hudson Valley Foie Gras, La Belle Farm, and major distributors: Defiance and Resilience: The overarching attitude is one of defiance – the industry does not see itself as on the brink of surrender. Instead, leaders project resilience and a willingness to fight on. “The challenges to foie gras have certainly made us a better company, a better farm and a better place to work,” says Marcus Henley of Hudson Valley[98]. Rather than expressing despair, he suggests that activist scrutiny forced them to improve practices and tighten operations. Henley acknowledges foie gras farming is “unusual,” but insists it is nonetheless “acceptable animal agriculture.”[98][99] This choice of words – framing foie gras as just another form of farming – is telling. The insiders do not concede that their business is cruel; they see it as misunderstood but fundamentally legitimate. Pride in Tradition and Craft: Those in the foie gras business often cast themselves as stewards of a culinary tradition and as skilled artisans. They emphasize that foie gras production has roots in ancient and French traditions and that they are producing a luxury food akin to fine wine or cheese. In defending NYC’s ban, for example, opponents called it a “desecration of a culinary tradition dating back to ancient Egypt, integral to French cultural heritage”[100]. HVFG’s late founder Michael Ginor (who sadly passed away in late 2022) was a gourmet chef himself and wrote lovingly of foie gras as an art. This cultural pride feeds into their strategic worldview: they feel foie gras is being unfairly singled out by people who “don’t understand farming or gastronomy.” We see this in how farmers complain urban politicians never even visit their farms. “We begged them to come visit before they made a decision that would wipe out the jobs of hundreds of people,” Henley said of NYC Council[101][102]. There’s a palpable frustration that lawmakers were swayed by animal rights groups rather than listening to the farmers’ own narrative. Legal and Political Gambits: Strategically, the foie gras industry has shown it will use every legal tool to survive. From a psychological perspective, the farmers have adopted a bit of a “siege mentality” – feeling under attack by powerful, “reactionary” animal rights forces, and thus justifying aggressive legal countermeasures. “These well-funded groups are…often times acting without knowing all the facts,” La Belle’s president Sergio Saravia said, criticizing animal advocates[103]. The producers have aligned themselves with “right-to-farm” ideology and broader agricultural interests. By casting the fight as preserving farmers’ rights and rural livelihoods, they’ve rallied support from state agricultural departments and even the New York Farm Bureau. Henley and Saravia both publicly thanked NY Ag Commissioner Richard Ball for defending them[104][105]. This shows a strategic positioning: link foie gras to general farming so it’s not isolated. A quote from Saravia after beating NYC’s ban sums it up: “It’s about more than just foie gras; it’s about preserving our right to farm and support our families.”[35] The industry is effectively saying: if they come for our foie gras, no farmer is safe from meddling. This resonates especially in upstate New York and other rural communities. Economic Framing: Internally, the foie gras businesses see themselves as significant contributors to their local economies – and they wield this as a shield. HVFG and La Belle provide rare manufacturing jobs in Sullivan County, NY, a region with depressed economic indicators (unemployment over 16%, low incomes)[106][107]. Henley highlighted that shutting the farms would kill the area’s employment, not just directly but by ripple effects (feed suppliers, trucking, etc.)[108]. This is a key part of their worldview: they believe the welfare of their workers and community is at stake, which justifies fighting bans. Indeed, during the NYC fight, they argued the ban would cost New York state “millions in revenue” and threaten “hundreds of Sullivan County farm worker jobs”[109][110]. It’s a classic jobs vs. animal rights framing. Strategically, the farms have been very vocal about these numbers in court affidavits and the press, likely to bolster political sympathy. Survival vs. Exit: Do HVFG and La Belle contemplate an “exit strategy” from foie gras? Publicly, no. They express determination to continue their businesses into the future, possibly even to expand. In 2021, HVFG signaled plans to expand facilities in Ferndale, NY, applying to construct new barns (perhaps to modernize or increase capacity)[111][112]. This doesn’t look like an industry planning to fold; it looks like one trying to weather the storm and possibly grow if new markets open (for instance, if another state like Florida could be developed as a market). Neither farm has hinted at voluntarily phasing out foie gras. Instead, they are adapting – La Belle’s move into organic chicken (LaBelle Patrimoine) is one adaptation, providing a foothold in the humane food market while keeping foie gras running. Essentially, they are hedging: diversifying products so that if foie gras gets shut down, they have other revenue streams, but not giving up foie gras unless absolutely forced. It’s notable that after the NYC ban scare, neither HVFG nor La Belle pivoted away from foie gras itself; instead, they doubled down legally to overturn the ban and succeeded[19]. Use of Public Relations: The foie gras companies and distributors like D’Artagnan (the largest U.S. foie gras distributor, led by Ariane Daguin) also engage in PR campaigns. They host farm tours for chefs and media to win hearts and minds. Anthony Bourdain’s widely-seen 2010 episode at Hudson Valley Foie Gras – where he portrayed the farm in a positive light – is an example of the industry’s PR success[113]. D’Artagnan’s CEO has penned op-eds defending foie gras as well. Internally, the industry folks likely feel that if only they can show people the farm, they can dispel myths. Henley lamented that NYC Council members never visited despite invitations[101]. This indicates a belief that transparency is on their side (though activists counter that the farms stage-manage tours). The strategic world-view here is: fight misinformation with information (their version of it). Hence websites like artisanfarmers.org and foiegrasfacts.org have been set up by foie gras supporters to present pro-foie gras arguments[114][115]. Litigation as a Strategy: From a legal strategy standpoint, the foie gras industry has been remarkably litigious given its size. They have pursued cases up to the U.S. Supreme Court (unsuccessfully in CA’s case) and were willing to sue New York City and even the State of New York if needed. This signals a strategy of fighting bans tooth-and-nail, rather than compromising. They did not, for example, try to negotiate a longer phase-out or a lighter regulatory restriction – they went for outright nullification of bans. This indicates they see no middle ground that is viable; their entire business model is at stake, so their worldview is somewhat zero-sum: either we have the right to continue force-feeding ducks, or we are out of business. As Henley bluntly put it regarding avian flu risk: “We’d be out of business. It’s a scary situation.” if a single case hit their flock[116][117]. That referred to bird flu, but it’s true for legislation too – one major market closing can be devastating. Acknowledgment of Risk: Privately or implicitly, the industry does recognize it is under threat. Phrases like “hill to climb” after years of bad press[118] hint at their awareness that foie gras has a serious image problem. They often mention that they’re a “tiny industry” and paint activists as bullying the little guy (even though activists respond that it’s easier to target a small industry). We see this in legal filings where they emphasized how much of their sales depend on NYC, etc., essentially saying: ban us here and you kill us. They fought with such vigor precisely because they know a domino effect of city bans could collapse them. This indicates that, internally, they perceive the long-term political risk as existential. However, rather than planning an exit, they are betting on legal protection and political lobbying to carry them through. The victory in New York state (preemption) has likely emboldened them. After that ruling, their spokesperson crowed that it “stops local municipalities from establishing a dangerous precedent of dictating to us what farmers can grow and what people can eat”[119][120]. This triumphal tone suggests they feel they’ve set their own precedent to shield themselves, at least in New York. In essence, the foie gras industry’s current worldview is a mix of siege mentality and stubborn optimism. They see themselves as rightful farmers and producers of a treasured delicacy, under assault by misinformed extremists, and they are determined to fight politically, legally, and through PR to keep their niche alive. They hold out hope that by diversifying (e.g., adding other poultry products) and by rallying sympathetic foodies and rural policymakers, they can withstand the campaign against them. Exit is not in their vocabulary right now – survival and vindication are. As one indication of long-term intent: La Belle Farm in 2023 described itself as having been in business over 25 years and looking forward to the next generation continuing the tradition[121][22]. These companies are family-run, and it appears they are poised to keep foie gras going as long as they legally can, exhausting every strategy to do so.

Why did these early producers believe in foie gras’s potential? What drove them to invest in something so specialized, and how did they envision making a French luxury into an American success? Furthermore, how did chefs react – those tastemakers who would either make it popular or reject it? Let’s delve into the psychology and sentiments of the key players: Pioneering Producers’ Vision: The founders of American foie gras farms were risk-takers and food enthusiasts who saw both a culinary gap and a business opportunity. In interviews and profiles, a common theme emerges: they personally loved fine food and were frustrated by the lack of fresh foie gras in the U.S. For example, Michael Ginor often recounted that as a gourmand (and later a chef), he was bitterly disappointed by the poor quality of foie gras available in American restaurants in the 1980s. This disappointment “rang entrepreneurial bells” for him. He realized that if he wanted good foie gras, so would many top chefs, and the only way to get it legally and regularly was to produce it domestically. So, part of the psychology was a food-lover solving a problem: Ginor turned his passion into a venture, going from Wall Street to literally living on a duck farm. Similarly, Izzy Yanay had deep roots in foie gras (having run farms in Israel). He likely believed American demand would grow because he’d seen foie gras become a lucrative business in Israel and Europe. Yanay knew that, culturally, French chefs in America longed for foie gras – in the 1970s they had to rely on smuggled goose livers that often arrived semi-spoiled. With that knowledge, he was confident that producing foie gras in the U.S. would fill a pent-up demand and be financially rewarding. Guillermo Gonzalez had a slightly different motivation blend. Coming from El Salvador, he saw foie gras farming as an entrepreneurial venture that could be his ticket to the American dream. He chose foie gras from a list of possible agribusiness ideas because it was exotic and potentially high-margin. He admitted later that he overestimated global demand (he initially thought he could export to Europe, not realizing trade barriers). But crucially, once he learned more, he “was convinced he could make a go of it”. He spent that year in France getting his hands dirty, which showed a real commitment – he wasn’t dabbling, he was all in. These producers exhibited a mix of idealism (bringing a revered culinary tradition home) and pragmatism (leveraging a market niche with little competition). “Americanizing” a French Product: Early producers were mindful that foie gras was seen as quintessentially French. How to sell an American foie gras? Part of their strategy was to maintain authenticity (same breeds, same methods as France) while also playing to American strengths (freshness, local terroir). Michael Ginor and Ariane Daguin often emphasized that the Hudson Valley’s corn and water made foie gras that was just as good – an American terroir for foie gras. Guillermo Gonzalez leveraged the association with California’s artisanal food movement, believing Americans would accept foie gras if it came with a story of craft and locality. These producers didn’t aim to make a different foie gras; they aimed to make foie gras accessible in America. They often worked closely with French experts or at least studied them (e.g., Guillermo with a French farm family). In doing so, they Americanized foie gras not by altering its identity but by embedding it in the American supply chain and marketing. Michael Ginor once noted that Israel’s foie gras industry (which inspired him) showed that foie gras could thrive outside France given the right methods. So he and Yanay transplanted that know-how to New York. Their mindset was global – good ideas know no borders – but also a bit competitive: why should France have all the foie gras glory? America could produce world-class foie gras too, and they set out to prove it. Chefs’ Early Reactions and Role in Promotion: Chefs were the early adopters and evangelists for domestic foie gras. When chefs like Jean-Louis Palladin, Thomas Keller, or Wolfgang Puck put a domestic foie gras on the menu and speak highly of it, it sends a signal through the culinary world. In the 1980s, French chefs in America were thrilled to finally have a stateside source. For instance, Jean-Louis Palladin (a two-Michelin-star chef who came to DC in the late ’70s) was such a foie gras devotee that he once famously brought a suitcase full of fresh foie gras from France to the U.S. to circumvent the import ban. When domestic foie gras became available, Palladin immediately started using it. He even was an advisor of sorts to the early producers – providing feedback on quality. According to one account, Palladin helped test those first New York livers and while he noted some were veiny or less rich than ideal, he was buying 14 lobes a week regardless because it allowed him to do preparations he couldn’t do with canned foie gras. Chefs like him likely gave producers confidence: if such a luminary is using our product (even in a mousse sometimes), we’re on the right track. As the ’80s progressed, more chefs joined in. For example, David Bouley in NYC and Alice Waters in Berkeley (who put pâté de foie gras in her menus occasionally) were influential in normalizing foie gras on fine dining menus year-round, not just holidays. Chefs also served as public defenders of foie gras when needed. Though there wasn’t much controversy yet, chefs would occasionally field questions from journalists about the ethics. Many chefs made the case that foie gras was indispensable to cuisine – a cultural and gastronomic treasure. They tended to trust the producers’ word on humane practices, especially if they visited the farms. By the late ’90s, chefs like Anthony Bourdain and Thomas Keller would become outspoken supporters of foie gras (and critics of those who wanted to ban it), but in the ’80s such debates hadn’t heated up. Instead, the focus was on culinary excitement: Chefs proudly noted that American foie gras was fresh and local. Some even preferred certain characteristics – e.g., west coast chefs said Sonoma’s pure Muscovy livers had unique “custardy” textures[4], while others liked the larger Moulard livers from New York. They also hyped it by creating signature dishes. When diners experienced a seared slice of foie gras with an American twist (say, California persimmons or New York apples), it created buzz. Menus in the ’80s started listing foie gras prominently – it was a selling point for a restaurant’s sophistication. As one piece recalls, by the 1990s foie gras had become nearly ubiquitous on haute cuisine menus; a Hudson Valley marketing director reminisced that The New York Times food pages would call it “the ubiquitous foie gras” dish on menus. That ubiquity was only possible because chefs embraced the domestic supply in the ’80s and ran with it. Influence of Distributors (Ariane Daguin and others): A critical but sometimes unsung group of influencers were the gourmet food distributors. Chief among them, Ariane Daguin, founder of D’Artagnan in 1985, played a pivotal role. Ariane grew up in Gascony (foie gras country) and came to the U.S. for college, and she saw American cuisine at a turning point in the mid-’80s. Working with a charcuterie company, she caught wind that an American foie gras might be available and essentially “jumped at the chance to market it”. She has said that she “almost single-handedly introduced fresh, domestically-raised foie gras to America” – a claim with some merit, as she convinced many chefs to try it and distributed it widely. Daguin’s belief was that Americans were ready for higher-quality, artisanal ingredients, and foie gras was a perfect example to push the envelope (though niche, it sent a larger message that U.S. gastronomy was catching up). As an influencer, Daguin framed foie gras in terms Americans could accept: she tied it to the burgeoning farm-to-table movement, highlighting that these ducks were humanely raised and free of additives (she was a pioneer of organic, free-range marketing). She gave chefs the confidence that using a U.S. product was not inferior; in fact, it was progressive. Other distributors, like Pierre Freund on the west coast (mentioned as a Santa Rosa-based foie gras distributor in 2003[12]), also helped shape its image. They held foie gras tastings, educated restaurant suppliers, and made sure the product arrived in top condition to dispel any remaining notion that only France could do this. Growth Potential Mindset: Inside the heads of these producers and their close partners was a conviction that American palates were growing more sophisticated. The ’80s saw Americans developing taste for brie, croissants, sushi, espresso – why not foie gras? Producers believed that even though foie gras was ultra-luxurious, the expanding class of “foodies” and fine diners in the U.S. would sustain and grow a market for it. They likely took cues from the rising number of gourmet restaurants and food publications. This was the era of Cuisine Magazine, Food & Wine’s emergence, Julia Child’s later TV series, etc., all pointing to a culinary awakening. Foie gras, they reasoned, would be part of that wave. The fact that by the late 1980s, major food magazines like Gourmet were including foie gras recipes or features would have reinforced that belief. In short, the early producers were true believers – in their product and in America’s capacity to embrace it. Chefs acted as both collaborators and cheerleaders, integrating foie gras into the fabric of American fine dining. And behind the scenes, savvy entrepreneurs and distributors orchestrated a narrative that American foie gras was the new gold standard of luxury dining. This synergy of producer passion, chef creativity, and influencer marketing created a strong foundation that carried foie gras into mainstream foodie culture by the 1990s.

Facing the California ban, the foie gras industry – producers, distributors, and sympathetic chefs – developed a strategic response on multiple fronts. This strategy encompassed legal action, public relations, and political framing. Here’s an analysis of their approach and internal thinking during this era: Legal Relentlessness: The foie gras producers decided early on to fight the California law tooth-and-nail in court rather than acquiesce or change their methods. Marcus Henley of Hudson Valley Foie Gras epitomized this resolve when he reacted to setbacks by saying, “This law has always been unconstitutional and incorrect in its basis. We won’t be stopping.”[103][104]. The industry view was that California’s ban was fundamentally illegitimate, either legally or scientifically. They brought on experienced attorneys and pursued every possible legal argument (as detailed in the legal timeline). Even after losing at the Ninth Circuit in 2017, Henley and others immediately announced plans to appeal further, emphasizing that until the process was completely over, they believed foie gras should remain legal in California[28][105]. This persistence (some might say obstinacy) was partly strategic: drawing out litigation kept the ban suspended for years (2012–2015 and 2015–2019 saw foie gras legal at different points due to injunctions and stays). Each delay was economically beneficial (allowing sales to continue) and kept alive the chance of ultimate victory. The industry’s legal strategy also had a wider goal: to prevent a precedent that could embolden other states to enact similar bans. If California’s ban went unchallenged, activists might target Illinois, New York, or other states next. By making the ban fight long and arduous, the industry signaled to activists that similar efforts elsewhere would be met with fierce opposition. Portraying California as an Aberration: Publicly, foie gras defenders framed the California ban as a result of extremist activism and political grandstanding, rather than a reflection of mainstream values. They often mentioned that only in California (and briefly Chicago) had such a ban happened, implying it was a fluke or outlier. Guillermo González’s remark about a “powerful minority” imposing its will[106] captures this sentiment – the industry cast animal rights groups as fringe extremists swaying pliable politicians. By painting the ban as a kind of California quirk, they aimed to contain its influence and make it less likely that other jurisdictions would copy it. The Slippery Slope Argument: A cornerstone of the industry (and some chefs’) rhetoric was warning that foie gras was the tip of the iceberg. If this ban stood, they argued, activists would be emboldened to go after other foods. This is exemplified by Chef Sean Chaney’s much-quoted line: “If California gets away with this, what’s next? Bacon?”[72]. By invoking bacon – a staple enjoyed by millions – foie gras proponents tried to rally the broader food industry and the public. The subtext was: “Even if you don’t care about foie gras, you should worry about the precedent. They could come for your burgers, your steaks, your Thanksgiving turkey.” This “slippery slope” argument was a deliberate strategy to widen opposition to the ban beyond just the foie gras niche. The phrase “where does it end?” became a talking point in op-eds and interviews by foie gras allies, suggesting that any state ban on an animal product for moral reasons could snowball into far-reaching dietary prohibitions. (In reality, as of 2019, no bacon ban materialized anywhere, but later on California did extend its farm animal welfare laws to pork and eggs via Prop 12 – which, interestingly, the Supreme Court upheld in 2023, showing the slope wasn’t slippery enough to overturn these laws.) Emphasis on Personal Freedom and Culinary Tradition: The industry and supportive chefs often framed the issue as one of personal choice and freedom. Chef Eric Greenspan of Los Angeles voiced this plainly: “Don’t eat it if you don’t want to, but don’t impede on anyone’s rights to do what they want to do.”[107][108]. This libertarian-esque appeal positioned the ban as government overreach into private dining decisions. They argued that informed adults should be free to enjoy foie gras if they wish, and chefs should be free to serve it. Alongside freedom, they invoked culinary heritage. Foie gras was described as part of classic French cuisine, a delicacy with centuries of history. By banning it, California was (in their view) attacking a cultural tradition. Some defenders even implied a sort of cultural elitism or ignorance on the part of ban supporters – that foie gras was being scapegoated because it’s not well-understood by the masses and is eaten mainly by the wealthy. The industry subtly leveraged this as well, suggesting that banning foie gras was a form of populist pandering that “punished” the refined tastes of gourmands. An article in Civil Eats about the “foie gras wars” noted that certain animal rights groups specifically picked foie gras as a battle they could win due to its elite cachet, something foie gras producers were well aware of[101][102]. So, the industry counter-narrative was that foie gras was being demonized not because it’s uniquely cruel, but because it’s a high-profile, easy target – and that once it was gone, activists would simply move the goalposts to something else. Lobbying and Political Strategy: On the legislative side, after 2004 the industry had fewer allies in California’s government (the political winds had shifted towards more animal-friendly policy). There was no serious push to repeal SB 1520 in the 2012–2019 period – the votes weren’t there, and the governor at the time (Jerry Brown) was unlikely to sign a repeal. Instead, the industry’s lobbying focus turned to the federal level and other states: At the federal level, industry representatives floated the idea of strengthening the PPIA’s preemption language or otherwise curtailing states from imposing such bans. While no specific federal legislation solely about foie gras advanced, there was sympathy from some national agricultural organizations. The American Farm Bureau, for example, has generally opposed California’s farm animal regulations (viewing them as trade barriers). In legal briefs (like in the Prop 12 case), supporters cited the foie gras ban as a dangerous example of state-by-state regulation of agricultural practices[109][110]. The foie gras industry likely networked with these larger ag lobbies to ensure their plight was noted in any broader legislative discussions about curbing state powers. However, in the polarized climate of the 2010s, a federal law to invalidate California’s ban was not realistically in the cards. In other states and cities, the industry tried to prevent the “California effect.” For instance, when Chicago banned foie gras in 2006 (the first U.S. city to do so), the restaurant industry lobbied hard and got that ordinance repealed by 2008. The lesson from Chicago was that a united front of chefs and business owners could overturn a ban. In California, because the ban was statewide and backed by strong public sentiment (and the Governor), repeal was unlikely, so the focus shifted to making sure no other city or state followed. When animal activists in New York City began pushing a foie gras ban (which they did – NYC passed a ban in October 2019, set to take effect in 2022), the industry again went into action. Hudson Valley Foie Gras, being a New York producer, was heavily involved in opposing the NYC Council’s move. Marcus Henley and others testified to NYC lawmakers about the potential loss of jobs and “complete devastation” of their farms if NYC banned foie gras[111][112]. The industry also courted restaurant owners in NYC to speak out – similar to California, many chefs (especially French cuisine chefs) opposed the NYC ban. Though NYC did pass its ban, the industry managed to get it stalled and eventually in 2022 a New York state court struck it down on a technicality[113][114]. This shows that post-California, the strategy was to fight these battles one by one and try to keep them local rather than let momentum build. Indeed, no other state enacted a foie gras ban in this period, which the industry counts as a strategic win – they contained the “brush fire” to California. “Humane Foie Gras” Narrative: One striking aspect of the industry strategy was an attempt to change the narrative from cruelty to welfare improvements. Faced with damning imagery of force-feeding, producers didn’t simply deny it – instead, they claimed they had reformed their practices to make them humane (this will be detailed more in the next section on welfare, but it’s relevant strategically here). Chef Ken Frank’s public letter in 2012 argued there was “no longer an objective case to be made” that foie gras is cruelty, because “the best farms today” have “rigorous, comprehensive humane protocols” in place[77][115]. He and others suggested replacing the ban with a system of certified humane standards for foie gras[116][117]. This was a savvy strategy: it offered a compromise – keep foie gras legal but regulate it to ensure animal welfare – which could appeal to lawmakers who felt the ban was too absolute. In essence, producers were saying “judge us by today’s conditions, not the horror stories of the past.” They enlisted veterinarians and even the American Veterinary Medical Association (AVMA), which (controversially) had not condemned foie gras force-feeding, to lend credence to their claims that foie gras could be produced without undue suffering. By submitting to third-party audits and touting the Village Voice article (where a reporter visited HVFG and didn’t witness abuse)[118], they tried to build an image that California’s ban was addressing a problem that the industry had already fixed (or was fixing). This narrative was part public relations, part genuine adjustment – either way, it was strategic because it sowed doubt among the public: “maybe foie gras isn’t that bad, maybe the ban isn’t needed if the farms are humane now.” Allied Trade Groups and Voices: The foie gras producers were relatively small companies, but they had allies in larger food and beverage circles. The National Restaurant Association and state-level restaurant associations generally oppose bans on specific foods (viewing them as bad precedents). Though they didn’t litigate, these groups provided supportive statements and likely financial or logistical support behind the scenes. Additionally, foie gras importers (like D’Artagnan, a gourmet food importer) were outspoken. Ariane Daguin, CEO of D’Artagnan, frequently defended foie gras in media, emphasizing it as a natural process and pointing out that her company imports foie gras from countries like France where it’s considered a heritage product. These voices contributed to the “culture war” aspect of the issue – aligning foie gras with gastronomic culture and freedom and casting the ban as puritanical or anti-business. Notably, even some food writers and columnists took the industry’s side. For example, food journalist Josh Ozersky wrote pieces arguing that foie gras opposition was hypocritical since factory farming abuses chickens and pigs far worse, yet those remain legal. The industry amplified such viewpoints to argue that foie gras was unfairly singled out and that activists should “clean their own house” by addressing bigger problems first (this mirrored some chefs’ statements like Fraser’s about bigger issues to tackle[75]). Expectation of National Market Impact: Internally, producers likely worried that losing California could shrink the U.S. market permanently. However, some strategists might have considered that foie gras, being a luxury item, could survive without California by focusing on other cosmopolitan markets (New York, Las Vegas, etc.). Indeed, during the ban years, places like Las Vegas saw an opportunity – some Vegas restaurants explicitly marketed foie gras to California tourists, knowing it was contraband back home. The industry also leaned more into online sales and direct-to-consumer shipping to mitigate the loss of restaurant sales. (For example, Hudson Valley saw increased direct orders from California consumers who, during the 2012–2015 ban period, would still order raw lobes or prepared foie gras via the internet – technically the sale happened out-of-state, a nuance later validated in court in 2020[34][35].) So, part of the strategy was to develop those channels – a de facto way for Californians to get foie gras despite the ban, thus keeping demand alive and revenue flowing, even if restaurants couldn’t be involved. In summary, the industry’s strategic thinking during the California ban era was multi-pronged: litigate relentlessly, argue principle (freedom/tradition), warn of slippery slopes, isolate California as an outlier, and attempt to demonstrate self-regulation and humane practices to undercut the rationale for bans. This strategy was about survival in the short term and preventing copycat laws in the long term. By 2019, one could say the strategy had mixed results – the ban survived in California (a loss for the industry), but no tidal wave of foie gras bans swept the nation (containment, of a sort). The industry’s prediction that California’s move could be a “slippery slope” did put them on the defensive elsewhere, but it didn’t come entirely true (though the NYC ban in 2019 was a concerning sign from their perspective). Internally, producers remained steadfast that their product was worth fighting for, and they continued to frame that fight as part of a broader defense against what they saw as overzealous animal rights agendas.

Faced with this wave of activism, foie gras producers and their supporters responded with a concerted strategy – part public relations, part legal maneuvering – to defend their livelihood. The industry’s narrative during 2003–2008 can be summarized in a few key themes: denial of cruelty, emphasis on tradition/culture, warnings of slippery slopes, portraying themselves as victims (small farmers under attack by extremists), and attempts to legally shield their business. Let’s break down how they conveyed these points: “Foie Gras Is Not Cruel” – Countering the Exposés: All three North American producers (Sonoma Foie Gras, Hudson Valley Foie Gras, and La Belle Farms) consistently claimed that their methods did not constitute animal cruelty. They cited waterfowl biology and farm experience to argue the ducks weren’t suffering. A common refrain: ducks naturally gorge and have no gag reflex, so inserting a tube isn’t painful as it would be for humans[115]. Michael Ginor, co-owner of Hudson Valley Foie Gras, frequently stated, “There is no pain. A stressed or hurt bird won’t eat and digest well or produce a good foie gras”[116][115]. He even claimed the ducks “come running to be fed” on his farm, implying they willingly participate. The industry invited sympathetic journalists and veterinarians for tours to show clean barns and calm birds. For instance, when the New York Times’ Lawrence Downes visited HVFG in 2005, farm reps demonstrated the feeding and pointed out that the ducks “don’t even quack” when the tube goes in[86][85]. Producers also argued that foie gras livers are “enlarged, not diseased” – a semantic defense aimed at rebutting activists who called it “liver disease.” In 2009, D’Artagnan (the largest foie gras distributor) was challenged by the BBB for advertising foie gras birds as “hand-raised with tender care” and livers as “enlarged” rather than “diseased.” The BBB forced them to drop those claims as unsubstantiated[117], but it shows the industry’s messaging: they wanted to normalize foie gras as just another farm product. Sam Singer, a PR spokesman hired by Sonoma Foie Gras during the 2003 lawsuit, exemplified the approach. Confronted with video of listless, injured ducks, Singer insisted “No harm is coming to those ducks… When they’ve been inspected, they’ve been found to have healthy ducks”[118][119]. The farm owners stressed that government inspectors (USDA or state agriculture) had never cited them for cruelty. Indeed, Sonoma pointed out a county vet visit in Nov 2002 that gave the farm a clean bill of health[9]. The subtext: if we were really torturing animals, wouldn’t authorities have shut us down? By highlighting a lack of official cruelty citations and showing carefully staged farm footage, the industry fought the grotesque image painted by activists. “Cultural Tradition & Culinary Art”: Foie gras producers aligned themselves with deep culinary heritage. They reminded the public that foie gras is a centuries-old tradition, particularly in France. After all, foie gras was seen as part of French cuisine’s identity (France produces ~80% of the world’s foie gras). Domestic producers like HVFG’s Ginor and Sonoma’s Gonzalez often noted they were using French breed ducks and French techniques passed down from generations of farmers. In California’s debate, some lobbyists invoked that foie gras had been made since ancient Egypt and was part of gourmet culture. Chefs in opposition to bans hammered this point: “It’s part of the French culinary tradition from which our restaurant draws its inspiration,” said a Chicago restaurateur during protests[120][121]. Laurent Manrique, the French chef who partnered with Sonoma Foie Gras to open a foie-centric restaurant in Sonoma, voiced bewilderment that activists wanted to “limit menu choices”. “We are serving what the customer demands… I’m not imposing it; I cook what they request,” Manrique said, implying that foie gras was simply part of a free culinary culture[122][123]. This narrative painted foie gras producers not as cruel profit-seekers, but as artisans carrying on a revered food tradition. After the Chicago ban, trade groups like the American Culinary Federation came out with statements that banning an ingredient was an assault on cultural expression and gastronomy. They likened it to hypothetically banning other ethnic delicacies – a narrative that resonated with some who worried about food paternalism. “Slippery Slope” and “We’re the First Domino”: Perhaps the most pervasive industry argument was that foie gras was just the beginning – that animal activists wouldn’t stop at foie gras. If force-feeding ducks could be outlawed, what about force-molting egg hens, or boiling live lobsters, or crating veal calves? Industry spokespeople warned legislators that succumbing to foie gras activists would embolden them to target mainstream farming. Guillermo Gonzalez of Sonoma explicitly tried to rally broader farm groups with this, telling livestock industry colleagues “we’re just a stepping stone… we’re a losing battle and [activists] will come for you next.”[124][125]. In the New Yorker piece, Gonzalez revealed he sought help from “the cattlemen, the turkey people, the chicken people,” urging them to see foie gras bans as setting precedent[124][125]. Most of big-ag refused to publicly defend foie gras, seeing it as too small and politically unpopular (one agriculture representative told Gonzalez bluntly that foie gras was a “lost battle” and they’d save their political capital for bigger fights[125][126]). Nonetheless, the slippery slope warnings made it into public discourse. Ariane Daguin, founder of D’Artagnan (a gourmet food company that sold foie gras), was an especially quotable defender. In USA Today she argued: “The people behind [these bans] are not just against foie gras; they are against the consumption of poultry, meat and fish. Foie gras is an easy target. Next lobster, next rabbit…”[127]. She even added, “Myself, I believe I’m lucky to find myself on top of the food chain. I think God created rabbits and ducks for me to enjoy.”[127] – a provocative framing that combined slippery slope with a kind of divine sanction for eating animals. Likewise, Chicago chef Robert Gadsby, when protesting his city’s ban, scoffed: “What’s next? They’ll outlaw truffles, then lobster, then beluga caviar, oysters…”[64]. A Sonoma city councilman, during the 2003 petition hearing, made the same point: if we ban foie gras, “then what is next?” – highlighting the fear of endless regulation[36]. This narrative aimed to win over moderate folks who might not care about foie gras per se, but who worry about personal choice and government overreach. It was quite effective in Chicago’s repeal debate and in general media framing (pundits often echoed “today foie gras, tomorrow your hamburger”). Attacking the Messengers – “Extremists” and “Out-of-Context Videos”: The foie gras industry worked to discredit the activists and their evidence. Guillermo Gonzalez and HVFG’s Mike Ginor both labeled groups like PETA, Farm Sanctuary, and APRL as radical organizations with a vegan agenda far removed from average Americans. They pointed out when activists committed illegal actions (like trespass or vandalism) to tar the entire movement as lawless. Sonoma Foie Gras’s lawsuit in 2003 deliberately used the language of “terrorism” and “economic sabotage”[128][129], tapping into post-9/11 anxieties and portraying farm invasions as akin to eco-terror. “My clients have been terrorized… We did not pick this fight,” said their attorney, casting the Gonzalezes as victims of harassment[8]. Industry PR also accused activists of deceptively editing videos. They claimed that scenes of injured ducks were rare exceptions and that activists provoked some of the conditions shown. For instance, after video surfaced of ducks in tiny individual cages at HVFG, the farm responded that they were already transitioning to group pens and that activists had deliberately filmed old practices. On the AVMA front, producers highlighted that the nation’s largest vet organization had declined to condemn foie gras (implying the activists were distorting science)[89]. In Chicago, allies of the restaurant industry repeatedly called Moore’s activist partners “the food police” or “radical vegans from outside our city.” (In truth, much of the Chicago campaign was driven by local advocates, but the caricature was that meddling coastal animal-rights groups were exporting their agenda.) Charlie Trotter, interestingly, got caught in this crossfire – he agreed foie gras was cruel but said “I have nothing to do with [animal rights groups]. I think they’re idiots”, trying to distance his personal ethics from the activist “crazies”[130]. That sentiment was leveraged by the foie gras side: “See, even Chef Trotter who doesn’t serve it thinks these activists are nuts.” The industry and restaurant groups often painted legislative supporters as well-meaning but duped. After SB 1520 passed, a lobbyist for foie gras producers suggested that lawmakers had been shown only the worst images and not the normal reality, essentially saying they fell for activist propaganda. In one case, HVFG invited California legislators to come tour their farm in New York (few, if any, took the offer), an attempt to counter the activists’ narrative. Economic Contribution & Jobs: Though the foie gras business is small, producers still stressed their local economic value. Sonoma Foie Gras emphasized it employed about a dozen people and supported allied jobs (feed suppliers, distributors, etc.) in rural California. They argued banning it would set a bad precedent of legislating a farm out of existence and “send a chilling message” to other specialty ag producers. In New York, Hudson Valley Foie Gras, which had ~50–60 employees (many immigrant workers), highlighted that it was sustaining farming in the Catskills and that its ducks were used nose-to-tail (foie gras as one product, plus duck meat, down, etc.). During the fight over a proposed New York foie gras ban (which was floated in 2006 but died), Ginor drafted a plan to phase out gavage by 2016 specifically to avoid just shutting down and laying off workers[131][132]. This indicates the industry’s strategic willingness to negotiate timelines if it might save their business or relocate it (he said the bill was an effort “to control our own destiny”[103], i.e. to self-impose a phase-out far in the future). Legal Strategies: Legally, the industry pivoted from state to federal arguments as needed. In California, once SB 1520 was inevitable, Sonoma’s strategy was to shape it (get the delay and immunity) and then later challenge it in court on constitutional grounds. Indeed, come 2012, Sonoma (joined by Canadian farms and HVFG) filed suit claiming California’s ban on out-of-state foie gras sales was unconstitutional. They initially succeeded in 2015 (getting the sales ban struck down)[68], only to have it reinstated in 2017[69]. That legal battle had its roots in the first wave: the industry had telegraphed as early as 2004 that they believed restricting interstate foie gras might violate the Commerce Clause (though that argument ultimately failed when SCOTUS let the ban stand). In Chicago, the strategy was lobbying for repeal rather than winning in court. The Illinois Restaurant Association did file suit, but more as a pressure tactic. They worked the press and behind the scenes with city council to stress that Chicago’s image and business-friendly reputation were at stake. It’s telling that the repeal vote in 2008 was overwhelming; the industry successfully framed it as common sense to undo a mistake. Throughout 2003–2008, internal communications from foie gras producers (when leaked or revealed) showed a mix of defiance and anxiety. Emails from HVFG’s owners (surfaced in later court records) show them strategizing with other foie gras businesses globally – for example, coordinating with French producers and the European foie gras lobby to counteract California’s law by arguing it conflicted with international trade (though that angle never gained legal traction). Sonoma’s Gonzalez, normally private, gave an interview in 2004 acknowledging the activists had won public sympathy: “Foie gras has become the poster child of cruelty... It’s not fair, but that’s reality.” Yet he maintained that if people actually visited his farm “they’d see it’s not the hellhole it’s made out to be.” In essence, the industry’s strategy in this first wave was containment: contain the political damage by negotiating compromises (as Sonoma did), contain the public relations damage by pushing back with their own narrative of humane farming and cultural importance, and contain the legal threats by invoking higher authority (preemption, commerce issues). They viewed foie gras as a small hill to defend, but one with larger principle at stake – so they dug in fervently. As we saw, they didn’t manage to stop the California or Chicago bans initially, but they did win a major victory with Chicago’s repeal. And importantly, they managed to isolate foie gras as a “special case” in the public mind – something unusual, not a template for all animal issues (thus preventing that slippery slope from immediately materializing against other animal products). This strategy of portraying foie gras as an outlier cruelty (one big ag could sacrifice or ignore) was a double-edged sword: it kept other industries from uniting with foie gras farmers, but it possibly spared those industries from scrutiny in the short term. Meanwhile, foie gras producers had to stand mostly alone, fighting to convince people that the activists had it wrong.

To understand how the foie gras duopoly navigated these peak years, it helps to look at their mindset and rhetoric. Through interviews, public statements, legal filings, and marketing materials from 2010–2017, a clear strategic worldview emerges for Hudson Valley Foie Gras and La Belle Farm. They saw themselves as scrappy, tradition-bearing family farms under unjust attack, and they crafted messages accordingly: Small Farms Living the American Dream: Both HVFG and La Belle framed themselves as humble agricultural enterprises providing jobs and food. In response to criticism, they emphasized how tiny their industry is and how it supports immigrant families. For example, Ariane Daguin (D’Artagnan CEO allied with the farms) said “A NYC foie gras ban will cost more than 400 immigrant workers their jobs and chance at the American dream.” This statement highlights the key talking points: jobs, immigrants, American Dream. Indeed, Sergio Saravia of La Belle would tell anyone who’d listen that his family fled war-torn El Salvador and “the farm saved our lives” by bringing them to the U.S.. This narrative portrays the farms as social goods, lifting up people. Strategically, it was meant to counteract the “luxury for elites” image by showing real, working-class people behind foie gras. It’s the “we’re just honest farmers” stance. Michael Ginor of HVFG often pointed out that Sullivan County is economically depressed; his farm, starting with just a few workers in the 80s, grew to employ hundreds and buy grain from local mills, “an economic engine for the community”. Foie Gras as Scapegoat (Why Pick on Us?): The foie gras farmers and their supporters frequently argued that their niche was being unfairly singled out. Marcus Henley of HVFG and Izzy Yanay were especially vocal about this. In one legal declaration, they noted that banning foie gras would set a precedent enabling activists to target any animal product they disliked – “if home rule can extend to foie gras, where does it stop?… eggs from caged hens, beef from corn-fed cattle could be next,” Henley warned. The sentiment was that foie gras was “low-hanging fruit” for animal rights groups precisely because it’s small and associated with wealthy dining, not because it’s the worst cruelty. They pointed out that foie gras involves maybe 0.0001% of farm animals (few hundred thousand ducks vs billions of chickens), so why all the focus on them? This worldview held that activists were being opportunistic: “They come after us because we’re an easy target and it makes headlines, not because they actually want to help animals in a meaningful way.” By portraying foie gras as a tiny niche not worth regulating, the farms tried to persuade lawmakers and the public that energy would be better spent on bigger issues (like factory chicken farming). This was often effective rhetoric: many policymakers, and even some animal welfare advocates, indeed prioritized larger-scale reforms first. Cultural and Culinary Heritage: The producers often cloaked foie gras in the mantle of cultural heritage. Michael Ginor wrote an entire book (Foie Gras: A Passion, 1999) detailing foie gras history and recipes, underscoring how embedded it is in French and Jewish culinary traditions (Ginor, of Israeli heritage, liked to note ancient Egyptians and later French Gascons made foie gras). In their worldview, foie gras was an art as much as a farming business. They saw themselves as artisans continuing a respected tradition. Izzy Yanay in 2017 told AFP he had spent “more than three decades fighting to win acceptance for US foie gras”, inviting chefs to see the farm and appreciate the craft[15][16]. This suggests a chip on his shoulder: he genuinely felt foie gras was misunderstood and underappreciated in America, and he took it upon himself to educate and convert skeptics (much like a winemaker might do for a little-known wine varietal). This ties into strategic claims: they’d say foie gras is a centuries-old tradition and even part of French gastronomic heritage protected by law, implying that bans are an attack on cultural expression. Many chefs echoed this line (Chef Daniel Boulud, for example, basically said as much when NYC’s ban arose). Thus, in the farmers’ view, they were guardians of a culinary jewel against an uncultured backlash. Humane Farming and Pride in Care: The duopoly’s leaders insisted they treated ducks well and that foie gras can be made without undue suffering. They actually took offense at the notion they were cruel. In interviews, Marcus Henley (HVFG) and Herman Lee (La Belle) would describe the daily routines of their flocks, emphasizing clean barns, freedom to move, good feed, etc. By the mid-2010s, HVFG boldly advertised “cage-free foie gras” and published explanations of duck physiology to argue gavage doesn’t hurt ducks. They leaned on supportive vets and experts: e.g. citing Dr. Lawrence Bartholf (former NY Veterinary Medical Society president) who justified that ducks can handle the tube and fat liver without pain. Their strategic claim, repeated in PR materials, was: “Our ducks are not harmed – let the ducks themselves show you; they don’t avoid the feeders, they’re healthy and active”. Izzy Yanay often said the very word “force-feeding” is wrong – he preferred “hand-feeding” and argued the ducks come to the feeders willingly (critics scoffed at this). Nonetheless, the farmers deeply believed (or at least asserted) that their process was humane husbandry, not torture. They backed this with improvements (no cages, using rubber tubes) and invited inspections. This reveals a worldview where they saw themselves as animal caretakers, not abusers. When ALDF sued HVFG over “humane” advertising, HVFG was ready to defend the claim in court (the judge indicated skepticism, prompting a settlement)[10] – showing they were prepared to stand by the idea that their foie gras was humane. This suggests an almost moral self-justification: they had to believe (or at least publicly maintain) that what they did was ethically acceptable farming. Economic Arguments and Legal Jujitsu: Strategically, the farms constantly highlighted economic stakes. They told officials a ban would “devastate” their businesses and harm the local economy. Sergio Saravia stated flatly: “If we don’t have NYC, we’re basically going to shut down”, with overhead unsustainable without that market. In court, La Belle warned it would “go out of business” if NYC’s ban stood. HVFG said it could survive but employees would be laid off. These statements (part of their worldview shared with others) served two purposes: to win sympathy (no one wants to cause lost jobs) and to strengthen their legal hand (under NY law, showing a ban would “unreasonably” harm a farm was key to overturning it). Thus, they internalized a defiant posture: “We will fight any ban vigorously, because it threatens our livelihood and our people.” Indeed, Izzy Yanay’s stance was combative – he was known to confront protesters personally and once quipped he’d rather “go back to Israel” than let New York ban his product. In strategy terms, they saw litigation and lobbying as necessary weapons. The farms’ leaders became quite savvy in legal matters, framing their arguments around states’ rights (agricultural protection laws) and Commerce Clause issues (in CA’s case) rather than debating cruelty – an intentional shift to fight on favorable ground[1]. This reveals a worldview that the law is on their side as legitimate farmers, and that they must assert those rights to survive. Foie Gras as a “Tiny Luxury, Big Distraction”: A refrain in their mindset was that foie gras is too small to warrant legislative action. They repeatedly pointed out how rare foie gras is. In public comments, they’d note how an average person never buys it, and it’s only for special occasions. Michael Ginor used to say (paraphrasing) “the amount of foie gras produced is a drop in the bucket – banning it won’t improve overall animal welfare, it will just kill a niche craft”. This ties into the scapegoat argument but also served to minimize the significance in lawmakers’ eyes. They argued regulators should focus on larger animal issues if any – e.g. Marcus Henley in 2022, “If humane treatment is truly the issue… focus on factory farms first”. Internally, the farmers likely believed that once people realized how small foie gras production was, they’d see banning it as more political theater than substantive change (and indeed, some commentators did see it that way). Pride and Personal Resilience: The interviews with figures like Izzy Yanay show a sense of personal mission. Yanay saw himself as having “fought for acceptance” of foie gras in America[15] – in other words, as an underdog. This indicates a worldview of resilience: they had weathered decades of protests and still had loyal chefs buying their product. They often reminded people that foie gras had been challenged before and survived (pointing to Chicago’s ban reversal, California chefs finding loopholes, etc.). Daguin’s quote in 2019 – “we feel the new politicians are less influenced by activists…maybe it’ll end up like Chicago’s ban, repealed” – reflects an optimism (or at least public bravado) that persistence would pay off. The farms’ leaders tended to project confidence that “we will still be here, making foie gras, long after this fuss dies down.” This was both a strategic PR stance (to not show weakness) and likely a genuine belief, given how many battles they’d already won. In summary, inside the heads of HVFG and La Belle was a mixture of defensiveness and pride. They saw themselves as: - Rightful producers of a cherished, artisanal food, being unfairly maligned. - Conscientious farmers who care for their animals and employees, not villains. - Economically important small businesses deserving of protection, not destruction. - Champions of tradition and taste, standing up against what they considered misguided or hypocritical activism. This worldview dictated their strategy: fight bans in court and legislature, invite the public to see their side (farm tours, press access), rally chefs and allies to speak out, and constantly remind everyone of the jobs and culture at stake. It was a siege mentality paired with a public relations offensive. And up to 2017, one could argue this mindset served them well – they successfully fended off existential threats and even expanded their operations during a time of intense scrutiny. Their confidence, however, would soon be tested as the post-2017 wave of legislative action (NYC, and the final resolution of the California case) challenged some of their core assumptions.