Texan Kids Now Have the Right to Cupcakes in School

When new Texas agriculture commissioner Sid Miller made his first official act this past Monday, it involved putting his foot down about the rights of schoolchildren—specifically, the right to consume cupcakes in their classrooms.

At a press conference Monday, which included a visit from a local cupcake-dispensing food truck, Miller declared that "the Texas Department of Agriculture has abolished all rules and guidelines that would stop a parent from bringing cupcakes, cookies or snacks to school." Nutritional policies enacted by the DOA in 2004 had prohibited parents from bringing in all of the junky, sugary, frosted pastries, and baked goods that are typically served on birthdays and during classroom parties. In July of last year, that rule was amended to allow schools to decide for themselves what parents could bring. "People don't realize that it's repealed and it has been," the commissioner said of the rule.

Miller, a cattle rancher and farmer, also said that he intends to end existing restrictions on deep-fried foods and sodas.

Though the move has concerned some parents and nutritionists, it doesn't necessarily mean that red-velvet whoopie pies will be found in every classroom in Texas. It does mean, however, that Texan schools will be able to decide on a local level whether they are permitted. "I am evaluating agency policies and procedures to ensure we are in touch with Texas consumers, while also decreasing state regulation and expanding local control," Miller vowed during his statement.

Currently, the National School Lunch Program—led by FLOTUS—mandates that lunches and snacks that are sold at schools must meet federally instated nutritional requirements. It does not, however, have specific guidelines in place for parent-provided foods.

But Miller is resolute about a child's right to an occasional sugar high. "I think it's just plain wrong to tell a mother or grandmother that they can't bring cookies to school for their children's, some type of party or celebration," he stated.

Kristi King, a senior dietitian at Texas Children's Hospital and a national spokesperson for the Academy of Nutrition & Dietetics, is worried about the impact of Miller's cupcake amnesty on Texan youth. "Relaxing restrictions of foods at school can lead to empty calorie replacement. With increased access to high-fat foods, high-sugar foods, and low-fiber foods, kids very easily could consume these types of foods and not a well-balanced meal such as school breakfast or lunch," she told MUNCHIES in an email.

Nurtrition isn't the only concern. Some schools in Iowa and other states have implemented similar rules about classroom treats due to the growing prevalence of serious food allergies in children, replacing the commonly distributed cakes and cookies with fruit or non-food goodies.

"Allowing homemade baked treats in the classroom opens doors for many potential life- threatening allergic reactions. [The treats] may not contain the ingredient, but [could have] been cross-contaminated in the kitchen it was prepared in," King said.

Denying a child a cupcake—peanut-laced or not—is exactly the kind of pesky government paternalism that Miller apparently opposes. "[The] government here in Texas is getting out of your lives," he announced to the crowd Monday. (Miller could not be reached for comment.)

It is something of a time-honored tradition among Texas agricultural commissioners past and present to stir up controversy. Miller took over the post this month from Todd Staples, who left office in the wake of a much-publicized tirade against Meatless Monday that landed him in hot water with nutrition experts, environmental groups, and animal welfare advocates. Staples was also criticized in 2012 for defending the sale of the ammonia-treated beef product commonly known as "pink slime," and in 2011 for creating a website that either inadvertently or intentionally allowed Texan ranchers and farmers to promote the shooting or maiming of border-hoppers.

Susan Combs, who took office as ag commissioner in 2003, worked to remove junk-food-dispensing vending machines from public schools as well as bolster nutritional standards for school lunches—though not without backlash. (Combs used to semi-joke that she would always check the undercarriage of her car for tampering before getting in.)

One reason for the DOA's ongoing clashes is that it represents both sides of the state's food story. While one of its biggest aims is to protect and promote the state's massive cattle-ranching industry, it is also responsible for many aspects of the public school lunch system—leading to a dissonance between burger-loving cowboys and school officials who are tasked with curbing the state's high childhood-obesity rates. According to figures from 2011 and 2014 respectively, more than a third of Texan children and about two-thirds of adult Texans are classified as overweight or obese.

But Miller's address on Monday was more concerned with a small government than unhealthy eating. "We don't need the federal government to tell us how to feed and raise our children," he said. "We've been raising big, strapping, healthy young kids here in Texas for 200 years and we don't need Washington DC telling us how to do it."

King is less convinced. "There is always room for improvement," she argues. "There is a plethora of adult-type diseases that we are now seeing in children and adolescents that stem greatly impart from our obesity epidemic that continues its grip on the United States. 'Big, strapping' kids may not be a great thing, as heart disease, fatty livers, and Type II diabetes are coming in at a rampant pace."