When McDonald’s launched a brief food safety ad at the end of 2024, it raised eyebrows in an industry that typically avoids such topics — especially after an E. coli outbreak tied to Quarter Pounders sickened 49 people across 10 states, hospitalized 10, and caused one death, prompting the chain to temporarily pull items and investigate suppliers.
Patrick Quade, CEO of DineSafe, IWasPoisoned and SafelyHQ, recently pointed out this anomaly in a LinkedIn post, noting that despite McDonald’s estimated $1 billion U.S. advertising budget, the ad ran for just four days with a media spend of less than $700,000 — barely a blip at under 0.1 percent of their total ad expenditure.
McDonald’s pitch was cautious, emphasizing care and quality without directly mentioning foodborne illness or E. coli: “At every local McDonald’s, serving a great bite starts with putting care into everything. First, our suppliers make sure they meet our high standards at every step. Next, daily food quality checks at every restaurant, over 13 million a year. From plants to plates, we’re investing along our supply chain to make sure each meal is made right. So you can feel good about every first bite. ‘Now Serving Quality’.”
But was it a genuine step toward transparency, or a fleeting response to scrutiny? And how does this fit into the broader history of food safety advertising by companies?
Quade’s post sparked debate. Some critics of McDonald’s viewed the short run ad as damage control rather than a committed shift to compete on food safety. One commenter said, “If they were serious about food safety as a competitive advantage, they’d keep this ad running and expand the message.” Others in food safety, marketing and brand strategy circles are asking: Did it hit the mark? To answer that, we need to look back at how companies have historically approached food safety in advertising—and whether it works.
A quiet history: Food safety ads as the exception, not the rule
Food safety advertising by corporations is rare, primarily because of the risks of scrutiny and negative publicity. As Quade said, the food sector tends to avoid competing on this front. Historically, companies have preferred to emphasize taste, convenience or value — attributes that entice rather than reassure. When food safety does appear in ads, it’s often a reactive move tied to crises rather than a proactive strategy.
Take the 1993 Jack in the Box E. coli outbreak, one of the most infamous food safety scandals in U.S. history. After undercooked beef patties led to four deaths and more than 700 illnesses, the fast-food chain focused on overhauling its operations rather than launching safety-focused ads. It adopted the Hazard Analysis Critical Control Point (HACCP) system — a first for a fast-food company — and quietly rebuilt trust through action rather than promotion. Advertising that followed focused on winning back customers with deals and new menu items, not explicit safety pledges. It wasn’t until years later that subtle nods to improved standards crept into their branding, but never as a central theme.
Similarly, after the 2006 E. coli outbreak linked to Dole’s bagged spinach, which caused three deaths and 205 illnesses, the company’s response was more about crisis management — recalls and public statements — than sustained advertising. When ads resumed, they leaned on quality and freshness, not safety assurances. This pattern holds across the food industry: post-outbreak ads tend to sidestep direct mentions of safety, focusing instead on restoring brand image indirectly.
Effectiveness and fallout: Can ads restore trust?
Research and historical examples indicate that when companies do advertise food safety, it’s often after outbreaks — and typically short-lived. A 2013 study in Foods journal noted that food safety incidents cost the U.S. economy $7 billion annually, a figure that’s likely grown far larger in the past decade, with much of that tied to recalls, lawsuits and lost consumer trust.
Companies like Westland/Hallmark Meat Packing, which recalled 143 million pounds of beef in 2008 after a massive E. coli scare, never had a chance to pivot to safety-centric ads; they went bankrupt under the weight of $500 million in settlements. The lesson? Outbreaks often leave little room for advertising recovery.
Chipotle’s response to its 2015-2016 E. coli and norovirus outbreaks offers a rare counterexample. After multiple incidents sickened more than 500 people, the chain launched a 2016 campaign with “A Love Story,” a short film blending content marketing with advertising, highlighting fresh ingredients while accompanying ads emphasized rigorous safety protocols like supplier partnerships and employee training to rebuild trust explicitly. It was a rare departure, but the campaign was short-lived. Chipotle’s stock took years to recover, suggesting the ads softened the blow but weren’t a silver bullet.
Here’s an example of Chipotle’s food safety advertising
Do food safety ads work? The research says it’s complicated
Effectiveness is where the rubber meets the road, and here, the data is murky. A 2011 study published in The Journal of Food Protection explored consumer responses to food safety messaging post-outbreak. It found that explicit safety claims could reassure some customers but risked reminding others of past failures — essentially reopening old wounds.
For McDonald’s, the vague “great first bite” phrasing sidesteps this trap, implying safety without dwelling on it. Critics argue this ambiguity dilutes its impact; if safety’s the goal, why not say it outright?
Broader research on crisis communication supports this skepticism. A 2007 study published in Public Relations Review found that post-crisis ads work best when paired with tangible action — like Chipotle’s supplier audits or Jack in the Box’s HACCP adoption. McDonald’s ad, lacking specifics, might register as noise to savvy consumers who’ve seen recalls and headlines. A 2020 Food Research International meta-analysis on food handler training interventions found that knowledge improves with education, but behavior change lags without sustained effort. By analogy, a four-day ad might inform but not convince.
Consumer perception adds another layer. A 2024 PIRG report noted that 48 million Americans fall ill from contaminated food annually, fueling distrust in food brands. McDonald’s ad, aired amid this backdrop, faces an uphill battle in altering consumer perceptions, especially if it remains a one-off campaign.
Industry norms and strategic caution
Quade’s observation about the ad’s brevity — four days for less than $700,000 — points to a deeper industry truth: food safety is a third rail. Companies fear that spotlighting it invites scrutiny of past lapses or implies ongoing risk. Firms like Taco Bell and Wendy’s, hit by outbreaks in the 2000s, kept safety messaging minimal and fleeting, favoring menu relaunches over mea culpas.
The timing, post-2024 outbreak, suggests a calculated response — enough to signal care, not enough to over-commit. Critics may be right: If McDonald’s saw safety as a competitive edge, why stop at four days? The answer might lie in risk aversion. A prolonged campaign could amplify calls for transparency — say, about supplier practices or inspection data — that McDonald’s isn’t ready to meet.
Ultimately, the bigger story is what this reveals about the industry: Food safety ads remain the exception, not the rule. Until a company — McDonald’s or otherwise —breaks this cycle with a sustained, transparent push, safety will stay a whisper in advertising, not a shout. McDonald’s may have stirred conversation, but without sustained action, trust remains off the menu.
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