Imperial Nutritional Proclamation of Trumpius Caesar Maximus

How the Empire of the United States Banished Plastic Food and Made Bread Taste Like Bread Again

In the glorious year MMXXVI of the Trumpian Empire, Trumpius Caesar Maximus, Supreme Imperator of the United States, Defender of Common Sense, and Vanquisher of the Corn-Syrup Hydra, issued a decree of historic magnitude: the New Imperial Dietary Guidelines.

From the very first strike of the golden seal, it was clear this was no ordinary bureaucratic parchment. This was a culinary manifesto. A reset unseen for decades in the labyrinth of federal nutrition policy. Out went the powdered meal substitutes, the algorithm-designed breakfast bars, and the chemically optimistic snack cubes. In came real food. Meat. Eggs. Milk. Vegetables. Fruit. Food that looks like food without needing a focus group or a warning label.

Trumpius Caesar spoke—and the Empire cheered. At last, the unspeakable truth was spoken aloud: food is meant to nourish humans, not quarterly earnings reports. What citizens had long practiced quietly at farmers’ markets and grandparents’ kitchens was now imperial doctrine.

The medical guilds rose in near-unison applause. The Grand Pediatric Order praised the renewed focus on feeding children in ways that produce adults, not sugar-dependent science experiments. The Lords of Cardiology welcomed guidance that placed fruits, vegetables, and honest fats back at the center of the heart. Even the Keepers of the Arteries nodded solemnly, whispering, “At last—olive oil without apology.”

Across the countryside, the farmers of the realm—men and women with soil under their fingernails and reality in their supply chains—felt seen. Protein was no longer treated as a moral failing but as nourishment. Milk was once again milk. Cheese was allowed to be cheese. Eggs, those ancient and perfect orbs, received full imperial rehabilitation.

In the cities, hospital stewards and healers declared the edict a long-overdue conversation starter. Food as medicine—not as a regrettable side effect. Doctors rejoiced in guidelines they could explain to patients without slideshows, disclaimers, or existential sighing.

Naturally, the chorus of interested factions joined in. The Confectioners’ Guild politely reminded the Empire that candy is a treat, not a lifestyle. The Brewers praised the ancient wisdom of moderation. Even the Plant Delegation announced their satisfaction: beans, lentils, peas, and chickpeas were welcome at the table—provided they were not weaponized as ideology.

Most thunderous was the approval from those who had long battled the reign of ultra-processed foods. These calorie-shaped industrial artifacts—engineered, shelf-stable, and suspiciously eternal—were finally named for what they are: prime contributors to chronic disease and metabolic confusion. Children, it was now openly admitted, derive most of their calories from products better suited for shipping containers than stomachs. Adults were not far behind. The Empire had diagnosed the problem—and it was plated.

The new Food Pyramid—quickly renamed by admirers as “The Steps of Life”—made its priorities unmistakable. Real food at the top. Synthetic temptation at the bottom. Protein as a pillar. Sugar as an occasional visitor. Refined carbohydrates demoted to historical footnotes.

Even the chroniclers of once-fringe diets—Keto sages, Carnivore monks, and Paleo archivists—stared in disbelief at the official language. Terms like “nutrient-dense,” “traditionally prepared,” and “full-fat” appeared in government text without irony. Whole grains were welcomed back—politely, selectively, and without obsession. A cultural shift had occurred, served without additives.

By nightfall, it was evident: the Empire had not merely published guidelines. It had made a statement. Food is not an ideological battlefield. It is biology. It is culture. It is survival.

Trumpius Caesar Maximus concluded with a vision both radical and ancient: a nation that knows what it eats—and why. No magic. No dogma. Just food worthy of the name.

The Empire ate.
And it tasted… real.