I Fought Plastic. Plastic Won

I used to love my Teflon pans. I crisped tofu, fried latkes, and reduced sauces to sticky glazes in them, marveling at how cleanup never took more than a swipe of a sponge. Then I started to worry that my skillets might kill me.

The lining on the inside of a nonstick pan is made of plastic. When heated, it can release toxic fumes; when scratched, it can chip off, blending in with tasty bits of char and grains of pepper. “Data indicates that there are no health effects from the incidental ingestion of nonstick coating flakes,” the company that produces Teflon says, noting that the government has deemed the cookware “safe for consumer use.” Still, it warns people to turn their burners down and air vents up when they use their nonstick pans, and to avoid preheating them empty.

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Other data, a lot of data, suggest that ingesting plastic can damage your organs, suppress your immune system, harden your veins, and predispose you to neurodegenerative diseases and cancer. Pet birds have died of the “Teflon flu” after breathing in the smoke from their owners’ overheated pans. (Birds’ lungs are especially susceptible to toxic gases.) A story about a budgie did it for me. I tossed my nonstick pans into the trash, over my husband’s objections.

Thus began my slowly escalating, dimly informed campaign to rid my body and life of plastics. I heard a local-radio report on colorectal cancer and impulse-purchased metal baby spoons for my kids at 3 a.m. I recalled a column on endocrine disrupters from who knows when and started drinking my iced coffee from a metal-lined tumbler. I read something about how flexible plastic is particularly problematic and threw out the cling wrap. I got rid of our black plastic spatulas too, after one of my colleagues reported that they might contain flame retardant, which you’re really not supposed to eat.