Of course Berkeley would be the first city in California to block newly constructed restaurants from cooking with natural gas. The icon of progressive politics has always been a leader in embracing pro-environment measures, be it a ban of polystyrene (way back in 1988), an early curbside recycling program or a requirement that the food served at civic events be vegan.
But even the California Restaurant Association (CRA) seems surprised by the parade of jurisdictions that have quietly followed Berkeley’s lead.
“Four years later, 50-plus cities have taken some action on banning natural gas, each of them a little different,” says CEO Jot Condie. The jurisdictions range from San Francisco and Sacramento to “just towns,” he adds.
And the sleeper of a movement hasn’t been limited to California, or even to the United States. On Aug. 3, Washington, D.C., outlawed the inclusion of gas-powered utilities and heating systems in most new buildings starting in 2027. Boston Mayor Michelle Wu announced Aug. 16 that she’ll push a similar ban in her charge.
The movement has also drawn support and calls for gas bans in Vermont. The state of Washington passed a ban earlier this year on the use of gas-powered water heaters and ambient heating systems but did not extend it to ovens and stoves.
Seattle and New York City have already enacted limits, though New York opted in the 11th hour to exempt restaurant kitchens—at least initially.
Other proponents of all-electric facilities, including the White House, Colorado and a global advocacy group called the International Energy Agency, have opted for more of a carrot approach. They hope to phase out the use of gas for cooking and heating through tax breaks, grants and other incentives.
The CRA is suing Berkeley in federal court to halt the city’s prohibition of gas feeds and trigger a domino effect of ban repeals throughout the state.
At least 26 traditionally Republican states have tried to quash local activity by in effect banning bans. They’ve passed laws that prohibit local jurisdictions from outlawing gas-fired utilities or limiting a builder’s choice to electric power.
But elsewhere, observers agree, the industry has been largely unmoved by the trend.
Part of that is having more pressing matters to address. “They’re thinking, ‘I need two people for tonight’s shift,’ not ‘What might happen with my gas stove?’” says Condie.
But the grassroots nature of the movement also intensifies the challenge of preserving gas cooking, the method widely preferred by chefs and cooks.
“If a ban was proposed at the federal level, research would be done, hearings would be held and there’d be all kinds of study by legislative staffs,” says Condie. “At the city-council level, the five members might hear a proposal on Tuesday because one of them heard from three Sierra Club members in their district, and then pass it on Thursday.”
Before the possibility of a ban is even noticed, it’s been enacted.
There’s also a strong sense of disbelief. Most chefs learned to cook on a gas stove, have used one for their entire careers and say they can’t imagine plying their craft without one. They attest that a pan heats up faster over the blue flame of gas jets than it does over an electric-coil or induction burner. The heat level can also be controlled more precisely, and there are certain types of prep that are difficult to execute without a flame, like charbroiling.
Natural gas is also considerably cheaper than electricity right now. Why put another financial burden on an industry with so many members still in recovery mode?
“It’s sort of like the $15 minimum wage—people would say, ‘Oh, we’re never going to have a $15 minimum wage because it wouldn’t work,’” says Condie. A $15 pay floor went into effect for most employers in California this year.
Part of the disbelief, Condie and others say, stems from a paradoxical bit of common sense. Proponents of a ban on gas cooking say a switch to electricity would significantly lessen production of greenhouse gases and help combat climate change. Indeed, the main component of natural gas is methane, a fuel vilified for its role in raising atmospheric temperatures.
Methane is also captured through fracking, a method of fuel production abhorred by environmental forces like the Sierra Club, a leading proponent of all-electricity movement. They contend that lessening the use of methane as a power source would dampen the prevalence of fracking.
Yet all-electric kitchens would draw their power from electrical power plants, which in the U.S. are usually fueled by burning coal or methane. Increase the demand for electricity and you raise the amount of those hydrocarbon materials that would need to be burned until renewable fuels such as wind or solar power can be produced at scale.
That’s if the current electrical grid can even handle the stepped-up demand. Rolling blackouts have already been imposed in California and elsewhere because utility plants can’t generate enough electricity during heat waves and other spikes in usage.
“We have talked about that until we’re blue in the face,” Condie says of the possibility of inadvertently harming the environment and overtaxing California’s power grid through a misdirected conservation move.
He stresses that his organization is not denying the need to address climate change with substantive actions. But, he says of the gas-cooking limitations, “this is kind of hasty”
He notes that the patchwork of local restrictions on gas use could bring an effort to standardize rules on a state or federal basis. That was the dynamic that led the industry to push for the establishment of a single national set of menu-labeling requirements in 2010.
In the meantime, all-electricity advocates like the Sierra Club continue to press for gas bans. The environmental watchdog notes that a number of big-name operations have already embraced induction cooking, including Napa Valley’s French Laundry, Chicago’s Alinea and New York City’s Dirty Candy.
It says it’s also made a convert of famed Chicago chef and TV star Rick Bayless.
The Sierra Club did not agree to be interviewed for this story.