Patrick Burrichter did not think about saving lives or protecting the planet when he trained as a chef in a hotel kitchen. But 25 years later he has focused his culinary skills on doing exactly that.
From an industrial park on the outskirts of Berlin, Burrichter and his team cook for a dozen hospitals that offer patients a “planetary health” diet – one that is rich in plants and light in animals. Compared with the typical diet in Germany, known for its bratwurst sausage and doner kebab, the 13,000 meals they rustle up each day are better for the health of people and the planet.
“I’ve been a cook my whole life and have run many kitchens,” says Burrichter. “Now I want to do something sustainable.”
Getting people in rich countries to eat less meat is one of the hardest tasks in the shift to a cleaner economy. In Burrichter’s kitchen, the steaming vats of coconut milk dal and semolina dumpling stew need to be more than just cheap and healthy – they must taste so good that people ditch dietary habits built up over decades.
The biggest challenge, says Burrichter, is replacing the meat in a traditional dish. “The bite is the most important, and the flavour comes after that.”
Moderate amounts of meat can form part of a healthy diet, providing protein and key nutrients, but the average German eats twice as much as doctors advise – and many times more than the climate can handle. The meat and dairy industry pumps out 12% to 20% of the pollutants baking the planet and making weather more violent.
Unlike in the US, where the amount of meat eaten per person keeps rising, or the UK, where it is declining slowly, in Germany efforts to cut consumption have picked up pace. The proportion of people who eat meat every day fell from 34% in 2015 to 20% in 2023, according to a survey from the German agriculture ministry. Driven more by the dangers to their health than to the climate, close to half of respondents said they were trying to eat less meat.
In the leafy Berlin suburb of Zehlendorf, where Burrichter’s meals land on the plates of patients at Waldfriede hospital, staff say few people complained when they swapped to a planetary health menu. “The fact it was so uncomplicated came as a surprise to us,” says the hospital director, Bernd Quoß.
Patients on the wards of Waldfriede praise the choice of meals on offer. Martina Hermann, 75, says she has been inspired to cook more vegetables when she gets home. “When meals are seasoned well, I don’t miss meat at all,” she says.
Elke Steuber, 72, says she had already cut down on meat because of rheumatoid arthritis, and is happy to have discovered dishes such as dal. “I know curries but this was new to me and it tasted great,” she says.
Followers of the planetary health diet need not abandon animal products altogether. The guidelines, which were proposed by 37 experts from the EAT-Lancet Commission in 2019, translate to eating meat once a week and fish twice a week, along with more wholegrains, nuts and legumes.
Some people object to swapping sausage and schnitzel for tofu and chickpeas. Older men, in particular, can feel patronised when they see fewer meat options on the menu, says Cindy Heerling, a dietician at Waldfriede.
There are also voices of caution among doctors. They agree that eating less meat would lower disease in rich countries but have questioned whether the planetary health diet – due to be revised this year – offers enough micronutrients. A study last year found that the intake of vitamin B12, calcium, iron and zinc fell short of recommended values.
“We know micronutrient deficiencies are still a big issue in many places around the world, particularly low-income countries in which populations do not get access to a diverse diet,” says Jessica Fanzo, a co-author of the study and one of the experts on the EAT-Lancet Commission.
The Johannesstift Diakonie, a Christian social enterprise that runs the kitchen and several of the facilities it serves, estimates it saves 500 tonnes of CO2 a year by cooking less meat – about as much as it saved from a recent shift to renewable energy. Its success in gaining acceptance among patients may hold lessons for politicians and CEOs who want to shrink their carbon footprints and save money on sick days.
Cutting down on meat freed up money in the budget to buy fresh, local ingredients, says Janine Briese, the head of catering at Johannesstift Diakonie. “People must not have the feeling that meat is being taken away from them. You have to create tasty alternatives.”
In one sense, a chef with a well-stocked spice rack should have an easy time dazzling dinner guests in Germany, a nation whose favourite herb is parsley. But unlike in countries where plant-based dishes have the same cultural status as meat ones, says Burrichter, Germans want substitutes for meat they forgo.
“That’s the most difficult thing – finding a good replacement, or cooking a dish in such a way that the lack of meat goes unnoticed,” he says. “You can do a lot with a well-cooked bean or a sun-dried tomato.”
Fake meats have made his job easier. Replacements that were mocked a decade ago have improved in taste and texture – and come down in price – to the point where they are a common sight on supermarket shelves. Without advancements in alternatives made from soy, pea and wheat, the menu’s success would not have been possible, Briese says.
But unlike vegetables and wholegrains, the dietary benefits of processed meat substitutes are uncertain. Neither they nor their animal counterparts can be assumed to be an “inherently” healthier part of a diet, a report from the United Nations Environment Programme found last year, though fake meats also lower the risk of zoonotic diseases and antimicrobial resistance.
To encourage regular plant-based meals, the staff take care with the branding. They pitch trendy “bowls” and “porridge” to young patients using English names, but in retirement homes talk about Haferflockensuppe, an oaty soup that some older Germans view with nostalgia.
For a generation who grew up eating meat as a weekly treat, the premium placed on the Sunday roast has also helped acceptance.
Christiane Elsholz, 81, was born as bombs fell on Berlin during the second world war and grew up in the city when hunger was rife. It took her a while to adjust to the hospital menu but she appreciates the thought put into the dishes.
“My mother was a trained chef and always told me ‘a good cook can make a lot out of a little’,” she says.
