Carlo Petrini, the Italian activist who turned a protest against a McDonald's opening in Rome into a global movement that changed how the world eats, has died. He was 76.
Petrini's death, confirmed by sources close to the Slow Food organisation he founded in 1986, marks the end of an era for a man who waged war against the industrialisation of food. He was not a chef. He was not a politician. He was a journalist and a provocateur who understood that the fork is a weapon.
His fight began in 1986 when he organised a demonstration outside a McDonald's in Piazza di Spagna, Rome. He handed out bowls of penne to passers-by, a symbolic act that launched the Slow Food movement. The message was simple: fast food is not just unhealthy, it is a threat to local culture, small farmers and the environment.
Over nearly four decades, Petrini built Slow Food into a network of millions of people in 160 countries, fighting for food that is "good, clean and fair". He campaigned against genetically modified crops, defended artisan producers and pushed for food sovereignty. He was not always popular. He was called a protectionist, a romantic, a dreamer. But he had the receipts.
Petrini's strategy was never about boycotting. It was about building alternatives. He created the Ark of Taste, a catalogue of endangered foods and traditions, and the Terra Madre network, connecting small-scale producers from around the world. He understood that industrial food systems are designed to consolidate power, not nourish communities.
His influence extended far beyond the dining table. Petrini worked with politicians, environmentalists and economists to argue that food policy is climate policy. He was a vocal critic of the European Union's agricultural subsidies, which he said favoured agribusiness over small farmers. He once told me: "The system is rigged. But you don't fight rigged systems by complaining. You build a better one."
The establishment threw money at him. He refused to sell out. When Slow Food became a registered charity and then an international organisation, Petrini kept the operation lean. He lived modestly in his home town of Bra in Piedmont, Italy. He never owned a yacht. He never took a corporate board seat. He was the real thing.
But the movement he built is not immune to the same forces he fought against. Splits and internal disputes have troubled Slow Food in recent years. Some critics argue it has become too institutionalised, too obsessed with branding. Petrini acknowledged these tensions, but he believed the core mission was intact.
In his final years, Petrini focused on the link between food and the climate crisis. He warned that the same corporate interests driving fast food were accelerating deforestation and carbon emissions. He pushed for agroecology, a farming system that works with nature, not against it. He knew that the clock was ticking.
Petrini's death leaves a void. The fight against industrial food is far from over. Fast food chains are still spreading. Agribusiness still dominates policy. But Petrini proved that a single, stubborn man with a plate of pasta could start a revolution.
His legacy is not just the movement he built. It is the millions of small farmers, artisan bakers, cheese makers and fishermen who now have a global platform. It is the schools that teach children where food comes from. It is the idea that eating is a political act.
Carlo Petrini will be buried in Bra, among the vineyards and wheat fields he spent his life defending. No tie. No suit. Just a man who fought the machine and made the world slower, better, and a little bit fairer.
Sources confirm funeral details are pending. The Slow Food movement continues.
