In 1943, during World War II, the U.S. Department of Agriculture released the Basic Seven food groups. The chart guided families during rationing and promoted health for a nation at war. The groups were:
This framework highlighted variety and emphasized vitamins explicitly—something later guides would gloss over. Many historians find it ironic that this wartime tool, designed for scarcity, was more nutrient-conscious and scientifically grounded than the simplified models that followed.
In 1956, the USDA replaced the Basic Seven with the Basic Four: Milk, Meat, Fruits & Vegetables, and Bread & Cereals. It was visually cleaner and easier to teach in schools.
But simplicity came at a cost. Fats were erased as a category, and all fruits and vegetables were lumped together. Most importantly, the “equal four groups” model gave dairy, meat, and grains enduring legitimacy and equivalency. This was not accidental. The National Dairy Council (founded in 1915) had long cultivated relationships with USDA officials and public schools. Its materials were distributed widely, and by the 1950s it helped ensure that milk was considered “essential,” not optional. School lunch programs, heavily subsidized by dairy surpluses, were a direct result of this lobbying.
By the 1970s, nutrition science began questioning this view of the American diet. Rising rates of heart disease and obesity led the Senate Select Committee on Nutrition, chaired by Senator George McGovern, to publish the 1977 Dietary Goals for the United States. These included blunt advice:
Industry counterattacks were immediate and effective:
At the same time, the Sugar Research Foundation (later the Sugar Association) was actively funding Harvard nutritionists to reshape public understanding. Chief among them was Dr. Frederick Stare, chair of Harvard’s Department of Nutrition. Stare and his colleagues published reviews in The New England Journal of Medicine that minimized sugar’s role in heart disease and shifted blame onto dietary fat. This Harvard-backed “science”, financed directly by the sugar industry, was presented as impartial research but in reality served corporate interests. It influenced federal guidelines and deflected scrutiny of sugar for decades.
In 1992, the USDA unveiled the Food Guide Pyramid. It looked modern: grains at the base (6–11 servings), fruits and vegetables in the middle, and smaller blocks for dairy, meat, and fats at the top.
But the pyramid also bore the fingerprints of lobbyists:
Here, the supposed “clarity” of a pyramid arguably obscured more than it revealed. Compared with the 1943 Basic Seven, it was less nuanced and more politically compromised.
The pyramid was updated in 2005 with “MyPyramid,” a striped, abstract version that added exercise but offered little practical guidance. Critics found it bewildering.
In 2011, the USDA introduced MyPlate: a dinner plate divided into fruits, vegetables, grains, and protein, with a side circle for dairy. Its simplicity was praised, but its flaws were clear. Once again, the dairy industry’s influence ensured that milk had a permanent place, even as large portions of the global population are lactose intolerant. Harvard’s Healthy Eating Plate countered with a science-driven version: no mandatory dairy, water instead of milk, and a clear preference for whole grains over refined.
From the Basic Seven of 1943 to MyPlate of 2011, the arc of U.S. nutrition guidance tells a story of simplification—and of industry meddling. The Basic Seven, though more complex, acknowledged nutrient quality and diversity. Later models often traded that nuance for graphics shaped by powerful lobbyists: the National Dairy Council ensuring milk’s exalted role, the meat industry blocking calls to eat less beef, and the Sugar Research Foundation, with Frederick Stare at Harvard providing its Harvard-backed “science,” obscuring sugar’s dangers.
What the public received was not simply “nutrition made easy,” but nutrition reshaped by corporate pressure. The irony is stark: the very first guide, created in wartime austerity, may have been the most honest about what healthy eating truly looks like.