Tuesday, 3 November 2026

Why Is Africa Still Importing the Protein It Could Make?

Essays & Op-Eds · Protein · Africa

Africa is not short of protein resources. It is short of protein industrialisation.

Why does a continent this rich in biomass import its protein?

Why does a Kenyan feed miller buy soybean meal from Zambia, while market refuse, abattoir offal and crop residues rot down the road? Why does a continent with the youngest workforce on earth import fishmeal it could replace with insects? And why does the global debate on sustainable protein take place in Brussels, Washington and Singapore, when the decisive battle will be fought in Nairobi, Lagos and Addis Ababa?

Here is my answer, and I offer it as a provocation.

Africa is not short of protein resources. It is short of protein industrialisation.

I grew up a herdsboy in Nandi, walking cattle to water before school. Today I am a food scientist and biotech entrepreneur in Germany, and I still farm in Kenya. I have seen the protein question from the boma at dawn and from the fermentation hall in Europe. From both ends, the conclusion is the same: Africa is the least prepared arena in the most important food contest of the century.

Is this about hunger, or about industry?

Let me be precise, because the lament is easy and mostly wrong. The United Nations projects Africa's population to rise from about 1.5 billion in 2024 to almost 2.47 billion by 2050. Africa's average protein supply, about 69 grams a head a day in FAO-derived food balance figures, is the lowest of any region. That is supply, not measured intake, and the average conceals wide differences in access, quality and price. The challenge is not simply producing more protein; it is making nutritionally adequate protein available, affordable and accessible to the people who need it. Recorded meat supply is under ten kilograms a head a year, yet a World Bank, FAO, ILRI and AU-IBAR study projected Africa's total meat consumption rising from 10.5 million tonnes in 2005/07 to almost 35 million by 2050.

Where quality falls short, children pay. Africa is the only region where the number of stunted children has grown since 2012, from 61.7 million to 64.8 million, according to UNICEF, the WHO and the World Bank. Stunting has many causes, from infection to sanitation, and protein is only one of them. But the demand is coming either way.

So this is not a lament about protein hunger. It is a question about who will make the protein Africa is about to eat: African factories, or someone else's.

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Why does the money look away?

Ask any Kenyan poultry keeper what decides whether the year is profitable. Not the bird: the feed bag. Feed millers put soybean meal at 16 to 22% of a poultry ration, alongside fishmeal. Kenya grows little soya, sunflower or cotton, so it buys protein cake from Uganda, Malawi, Zambia and Tanzania. When Zambia suspended exports of soya and sunflower meal in 2021, Kenyan feed costs hit record highs and soya doubled in price. Is that food security, or a dependency we have chosen not to see?

Then look at the capital. Alternative-protein investment worldwide has fallen for four straight years. The Good Food Institute counts US$881 million raised in 2025, the first year below a billion since 2018. European companies took US$418 million and North American ones US$347 million. What did Africa get? Not enough to register in the headline figures.

Oxford's TABLE programme found that most European and North American funds regard sub-Saharan Africa as too risky for alternative protein. A handful of mission-driven investors are, in practice, the only door open to African founders. Sub-Saharan Africa received about 1% of global agricultural credit in 2019. Development finance still pours into conventional livestock, as if the West's twentieth-century protein model were the only one on offer. Who decided that?

And why must a Kenyan entrepreneur rearing black soldier fly larvae collect separate approvals from KEBS, NEMA and KEPHIS for each product? Each agency has a legitimate mandate: standards, environment, plant health. The complaint an ILRI workshop heard in 2025 was not that they exist, but that they act in sequence rather than together. Three agencies queuing at one larva is not a framework. It is an unnecessary tollgate.

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What does Africa have that Europe must buy?

A frontier is defined by what has not yet been built. By that measure, Africa holds several cards that industrialised competitors cannot easily replicate.

It has room. The African Development Bank reckons the continent holds about 65% of the world's remaining uncultivated arable land. Europe is arguing over how to shrink its livestock on land long since spoken for. The figure is contested, and much of that land is better left wild. But Africa can still choose how its land is used, instead of inheriting the choice.

It has feedstock, and it is lying in the open. FAO and the World Bank have put post-harvest grain losses in sub-Saharan Africa at about US$4 billion a year. Kenya's own Livestock Principal Secretary told feed manufacturers in 2024 that about 46% of the livestock feed Kenya produces, most of it fodder and forage, is lost after harvest. Add tea waste, brewery spent grain, bagasse, fruit pulp from export packhouses, abattoir by-products and the refuse of markets in Nairobi and every county town. What Europe calls a sidestream and pays to collect, Africa still calls rubbish and frowns at it. Insects, fungi and fermentation turn that rubbish into protein. My partners and I do exactly this in Europe, in the EU-funded ZEST and PROSCALE projects. Not every residue is idle, mind: dairy farmers already buy brewers' grain, and crop residues feed soils and stoves. A protein industry earns its place only where it adds value, not where it merely outbids the cow.

It has a head start in law. In 2017 Kenya adopted KS 2711, drafted in 2016, a national standard for insect products in compound feed, and in 2020 standards for rearing and edible insects. These were among the first such standards anywhere. ICIPE trained more than 200 small enterprises and 3,000 farmers in black soldier fly rearing. Over 85% of Kenyan feed producers it surveyed said they would use insect meal. In 2025 IFAD and Kenya's aquaculture programme announced more than 500 youth-led black soldier fly units. That is an industry being born from the bottom up, on waste, by the young.

And it has the right first market. A feed miller does not ask whether a protein is natural; he asks for its amino-acid profile, its digestibility and its price per tonne. Feed and petfood buy protein on specification, not sentiment. That makes them the fastest route to scale for novel protein. It is also exactly where Africa's import dependence hurts most.

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Is the sun worth more than a subsidy?

In Europe, the weather is a line item. From 2026 to 2028 Germany will compensate eligible energy- and trade-intensive firms for part of their electricity costs, under a scheme pegged to about five cents a kilowatt-hour; an insect or algae start-up is unlikely to qualify. Kenya's climate gives away part of what that money buys: warmth and light. It will not mill, aerate or dry for you. Two protein routes show how.

Parameter Germany Kenya Consequence
Black soldier fly larvae: approximate optimum for growth 27–30 °C 27–30 °C Same biology; only the cost of providing it differs
Ambient temperature January means of roughly 0–3 °C; summer heatwaves above 30 °C Mild in the highlands, with cool nights; warm and humid in the lowlands Germany heats for months and cools in summer; Kenya trims, ventilates and dries
Spirulina: growth range Optimum about 30–35 °C for common strains; little growth below 20 °C Same Heated greenhouses or closed reactors in Europe for much of the year
Sunlight About 2.5–3.3 kWh/m² a day on annual average; about 0.5 in December against 6.4 in June About 6 kWh/m² a day or more over most of the country, with little seasonal swing Europe buys light in winter; Kenya receives it
Day length About 8 hours in midwinter, 16 in midsummer About 12 hours, all year A stable photoperiod for algae growth and fly mating

Why does a German insect farm pay twice?

Black soldier fly larvae grow fastest at roughly 27 to 30 °C, and what matters is the temperature of the feeding substrate, not merely of the room. At 36 °C survival collapses; at 20 °C growth crawls. In a German winter, halls must be held near 28 °C while it freezes outside, sometimes down to minus 20 °C. In a German summer the bill comes again, because dense larval masses generate their own heat, enough in mass rearing to overheat and kill the larvae if it is not drawn off. The farmer pays to heat in January and to cool in July. Adult flies mate only under light, so breeding rooms are lit year-round. Energy and climate control are routinely named among the heaviest running costs of European insect farms.

The market has delivered its verdict. Enorm Biofactory in Denmark, once Northern Europe's largest insect farm, was declared bankrupt in October 2025, with energy and climate control among its burdens. Second-generation European ventures are moving to Andalusia for the sun. Why stop in Spain?

Kenya is no paradise, and I will not pretend otherwise. The Nandi Highlands are cool at night, so larvae there still need some heating after dark. Lowland heat demands ventilation. Humidity complicates drying, and the long rains make solar drying unreliable. Africa also has its failures: South Africa's AgriProtein collapsed in 2021 after raising more than US$100 million, and Inseco shut down in 2025, undone in part by power cuts. Climate is an advantage; it is not a business plan.

Why light a pond in Hamburg when the equator is free?

Spirulina is roughly 60% protein by dry weight. It grows best between 30 and 35 °C and needs 10 to 14 hours of good light a day. A commercial producer in sunny Portugal records winter output more than 60% below summer. A northern European producer who wants year-round output must heat the culture and light it with LEDs, or accept a lean winter. Dutch growers are now building fully indoor, daylight-free systems. Kenya sits on the equator. Arthrospira, the cyanobacterium sold as spirulina, blooms naturally in the alkaline soda lakes of Kenya's Rift Valley, such as Nakuru and Bogoria, where it feeds the flamingos. Yet Kenya imports spirulina from Asia. What irony!

Sunlight is free. Converting it into saleable protein is not. Too much sun can stall growth, open ponds evaporate scarce water, and harvesting and drying cost energy anywhere. Algae grown in the dark on sugars, in fermenters, gain nothing from Kenya's sunshine at all.

So the honest test is not Germany versus Kenya. It is a specific German plant against a specific Kenyan plant, run for a full year to the same specification, measured by total annual energy cost per kilogram of saleable, specification-compliant protein. On that measure, I am willing to bet on Kenya. Is anyone willing to fund the test?

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Too theoretical? Come to Chebole, Bomet and Kipkenda, Nandi.

In 2022 Hyvene Kirui, a trained secondary-school teacher, turned to farming on less than an acre at Chebole in Bomet County. In 2023 her farm became the first project I supported through WIDU.africa, the German diaspora grant programme. Today it carries poultry, including ornamental birds, organic vegetables, Dorper sheep, pigs and dairy. Eight 550-watt panels, 4.4 kWp of peak capacity, charge a 5 kWh battery that runs all her lighting and water pumping. A biogas digester supplies backup energy. Black soldier fly larvae and Azolla, a nitrogen-fixing water fern, supplement the rations of her poultry and sheep. Frass and digester slurry go back to the soil as organic fertiliser. On less than an acre, she employs herself and five others.

My own farm, Kipkenda Poultry in Nandi County, makes the same point at a larger scale. Sixteen 500-watt panels, 8 kWp of peak capacity, charge two 10 kWh lithium batteries. They run everything: brooder heating, lighting, security cameras, an incubator that hatches 1,056 eggs at a time, and the machinery that processes our own poultry feed. Beside the poultry houses, 100 square metres of Azolla grow a green protein supplement for the flock.

Heating chicks, milling feed and running an incubator day and night are the very loads a European farmer pays dearly for each winter. In Bomet and Nandi, the sun pays. What Europe models in strategy papers, a Bomet schoolteacher is already doing. So why are there not ten thousand of her?

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If the grid is green, why is the power so dear?

Kenya draws about four-fifths of its electricity from renewables, and in the year to June 2026 geothermal from the Rift Valley alone supplied about 41%. Germany managed 55% in 2025. So why does a Kenyan factory pay more for power than many of its competitors?

Because renewable does not mean cheap. The Kenya Association of Manufacturers puts industrial power at 18 to 23 US cents a kilowatt-hour, and KIPPRA, the government's own think-tank, finds Kenyan industry paying about twice what China's pays. Uganda has cut rates for large manufacturers to about a third of Kenya's. Monthly fuel and foreign-exchange surcharges add volatility on top. A tariff built on cheap geothermal steam and then loaded with charges is a policy choice, not a law of physics.

The opening lies in heat. Geothermal steam is not free: wells, maintenance, reinjection and pipework must all be paid for. But it has no fuel bill, and fermentation, drying and rendering need heat as much as electricity. A protein plant at Olkaria could tap geothermal process heat at costs and carbon intensities that many European competitors would struggle to match. That is worth proving plant by plant, because a geothermal field does not guarantee cheap heat until someone signs a contract for it.

Factor Kenya Germany
Industrial electricity US$0.18–0.23 per kWh (KAM, 2026) about €0.16 per kWh without relief, €0.10 with; compensation pegged to about €0.05 for eligible energy- and trade-intensive firms, 2026–2028
Renewable share of electricity about 80% (EPRA, 2025) 55.1% (UBA, 2025)
Statutory minimum wage, monthly KSh 18,047, about US$139, general labourer in the five cities (2026) €2,409 gross (2026)
Average bank lending rate 14.3% (CBK, July 2026) far lower
Median age 19.3 years (Africa) 42.8 years (Europe)

Is cheap labour a strategy, or an insult?

A Nairobi labourer's legal minimum is about US$139 a month; Germany's is €2,409. Kenyan technical colleges enrolled 825,484 students in 2025, and universities hundreds of thousands more. It is tempting to sell Africa on cheap, plentiful hands.

Resist it. A biotech plant runs on fermentation technicians, process engineers, microbiologists, analysts and maintenance crews. The measure that matters is not the wage but total labour cost per kilogram of specification-compliant product. A German plant with high salaries, automation and steady uptime can beat a Kenyan plant with more staff, lower yields and frequent breakdowns. A Kenyan plant with skilled, well-paid technicians and high utilisation can beat them both.

That should be the ambition: decent, sustainable jobs, not cheap jobs. Kenya created about 822,000 jobs in 2025, and nearly nine in ten were informal. A protein industry that offered formal contracts, safe plants, training and careers would do more for the young than any wage advantage. An industry that depends on low pay cannot call itself sustainable. Otherwise it is a sweatshop with a sustainability report.

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What does a 15% loan do to a good idea?

It can kill it. Take a hypothetical €10 million protein plant. Financed at 6%, it pays €600,000 in first-year interest. At 15%, it pays €1.5 million. The €900,000 gap can wipe out every saving that sunshine and wages provide. These are illustrative rates, not quotations, but Kenya's commercial lending averaged 14.3% in July 2026, with the central bank rate at 8.75%. Some argue that heavy government borrowing at home crowds out private lending. I leave that debate to the economists.

Why is money so dear? Public debt stands near 68% of GDP, and debt service is consuming about 72% of ordinary revenue in 2025/26, with nearly 80% projected for 2026/27. The Treasury hunts for revenue through each year's Finance Act, and investors never know which tax will move next. The World Bank's November 2025 Kenya Economic Update found Kenya's regulation more restrictive to competition, deterring private investment. The US Trade Representative's 2026 trade-barriers report flags bribery in public procurement. Add imported equipment, freight, currency swings and spare parts that take months to arrive. The true cost of a Kenyan protein plant is far above its interest rate.

Development finance, concessional loans, equipment leasing and public–private partnerships can close part of that gap. But let me be equally blunt with my own side: cheap money must not be used to disguise an uncompetitive plant. The only number that settles the argument is the landed cost:

Landed cost = feedstock + energy + labour + capital recovery + maintenance + quality assurance + compliance + packaging + logistics + risk allowance.

Does shipping kill the carbon case?

Not necessarily. A kilogram of protein made on a geothermal grid, from local waste, for a local feed mill, may well carry lower emissions than soybean meal grown on cleared land in South America and shipped to Mombasa. That is a hypothesis worth testing, not a result I can yet claim. For a shelf-stable ingredient sent to Hamburg by sea, freight may be a modest share of the total footprint.

But "should" and "may" are not evidence. EPRA reported that Kenya's grid emission factor rose about 18% in the second half of 2025 as thermal generation climbed, and imports now supply around 12% of electricity. The proper measure is kilograms of CO₂-equivalent per kilogram of specification-compliant, digestible protein delivered to the customer, assessed to ISO 14040 and 14044 against the German alternative. Europe demands that proof. Kenya should welcome the test, and invest in the conditions required to pass it.

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Where should Kenya build what?

Why does every county want a special economic zone, and almost none a specialisation? Kenya should not chase every protein technology everywhere. It should put each where the resources, utilities and buyers already are.

Location What belongs there What must be proven
Nairobi–Athi River Fermentation, hydrolysates, ingredient formulation, analytical services; De Heus opened a 200,000-tonne feed mill here in 2026 Land and utility costs; maintaining sophisticated plant
Naivasha (Olkaria) Geothermal-linked fermentation, drying and integrated biorefineries in the special economic zone Delivered heat and power prices; water; contracts, not maps
Eldoret–Nandi Insect protein, feed ingredients, farmer-linked circular enterprises; tea and maize sidestreams Feedstock aggregation; cool highland nights in BSF models
Mombasa Export consolidation, storage and packing at the port Port handling, clearance and inland freight in the landed cost

The export doors are already open. Since 1 July 2024 the EU–Kenya Economic Partnership Agreement has given every Kenyan export, arms excepted, duty-free and quota-free entry to the European Union. AGOA, reauthorised in February 2026, was extended in September 2026 to December 2028. Mombasa is the gateway to Uganda, Rwanda, South Sudan and eastern Congo.

But is an open door a market? Duty-free is not the same as access: feed and petfood bound for Europe must still clear EU rules on animal by-products, feed hygiene and approved establishments. And Mombasa's flagship Dongo Kundu zone, conceived more than twenty years ago on some 3,000 acres, had drawn only two major private investors by August 2026, held back by missing roads, water and power. Kenya does not lack plans. It lacks finished infrastructure.

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Is the law an asset or a tollgate?

Biology does not confer a licence. A larva that can eat something does not make that thing a legal feed. The European Union allowed insect protein in aquafeed in 2017 (Regulation 2017/893) and in pig and poultry feed in 2021 (Regulation 2021/1372). It still forbids feeding insects on catering waste, manure or meat-and-bone meal. A Kenyan plant that wants to sell to Europe must, therefore, give up the cheapest substrates, meet EU feed-hygiene and animal-by-product rules, and qualify as an approved establishment. A product that is lawful in Nairobi is not automatically lawful in Hamburg.

Algae have their own maze. Spirulina was on the European market before 1997 and needs no novel-food approval; other species and processes may. Classify the product before you build the plant, not after.

And let no one mistake weak regulation for a friendly business climate. Lax safety rules destroy consumer trust, close export markets and create liabilities that outlive the founders. Kenya's opportunity is to offer regulation that is science-based, fast and compatible with its export markets. Predictability is an investment incentive that costs the Treasury nothing.

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Is it all rosy? An honest SWOT

No. A reader who has been sold Africa before deserves the weaknesses beside the strengths. Note where they cluster: not in biology, but in the systems needed to industrialise it.

SStrengthsInternal · helpful

A young, increasingly technical workforce

Abundant, largely unused sidestreams

A largely renewable grid with geothermal heat

A climate suited to insects and phototrophic algae

A strong research base (icipe, ILRI, universities) and agricultural export experience

Legal National insect standards among the world's first (KS 2711, 2017; KS 2921 and KS 2922, 2020)

WWeaknessesInternal · harmful

Industrial power that is green but not cheap

Expensive, short-tenor capital and imported equipment

Inconsistent feedstock quality and aggregation

Few pilot and scale-up facilities

Legal Approvals split across KEBS, NEMA and KEPHIS; no clear pathway yet for fermentation-derived or algal feed protein; standards not harmonised across the EAC

OOpportunitiesExternal · helpful

The fastest-growing protein demand on earth

Import substitution for soybean meal and fishmeal

Feed and petfood as specification-driven entry markets

Higher-value exports: hydrolysates, palatants, specialty proteins

EU buyers seeking low-carbon, deforestation-free protein

Legal EU–Kenya EPA; EU approval of insect protein in fish feed (2017) and pig and poultry feed (2021); spirulina's established EU status

TThreatsExternal · harmful

A four-year retreat of global alt-protein capital

Currency swings, drought and water stress

Established foreign competitors and cheap imports

A safety failure that taints the whole sector

Dependence on foreign technology and IP

Legal EU bans on catering waste and manure as insect feed; EU establishment rules; AGOA's annual review; abrupt tax and court reversals

SWOT: Kenya's sustainable-protein industry. Strengths and weaknesses are internal; opportunities and threats are external.
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What does an investor actually see? A PESTEL scan

The SWOT looks inward, at what Africa and Kenya bring. The PESTEL looks at the weather outside the factory gate. Read it row by row and one pattern stands out: several of the most consequential constraints are institutional, financial and regulatory, and therefore open to deliberate reform. Water, distance and biology are not; finance, permits and tariffs are.

PPolitical

Tax protests in 2024, fuel-price unrest in 2026, a general election due in August 2027; AGOA under annual US review

So Plan for disruption; never rely on one trade window

EEconomic

Debt near 68% of GDP; debt service above 70% of revenue; lending at 14.3%; no IMF programme since early 2025

So Expect tax pressure and dear credit; seek blended finance and hard-currency offtake

SSocial

Median age about 19; TVET enrolment above 800,000 in 2025; most new jobs informal

So A ready workforce and a hunger for formal careers; build training into the business

TTechnological

Strong research base (icipe, ILRI, universities); almost no shared pilot fermentation capacity

So The lab-to-plant gap is the bottleneck; a shared pilot plant would unlock a cluster

EEnvironmental

About 80% renewable power but a rising thermal share; drought; water stress; large post-harvest losses

So Low-carbon claims are possible but must be measured; secure diverse feedstocks

LLegal

Early insect standards; fragmented permits; EU export rules; volatile Finance Acts

So Treat regulation as part of industrial strategy, not an afterthought

The verdict. Kenya has the biology, the talent and the research base to build a competitive sustainable-protein industry. Whether it succeeds depends on finance, infrastructure, regulatory predictability and measured performance.

PESTEL: the operating environment for a Kenyan protein plant.
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Are the SDGs a balance sheet or a brochure?

How many glossy reports have you read that tick five Sustainable Development Goals and measure none of them? Sidestream protein can serve several goals at once. But a claim counts only if it comes with a number, so here are the numbers to be held to.

Goal Kenyan baseline Indicator to report
SDG 2: Zero hunger 64.8 million stunted children in Africa, the only region where the number is rising Cost per kilogram of digestible feed protein; price and household consumption of eggs, fish, milk and meat
SDG 8: Decent work Nearly nine in ten new jobs in 2025 were informal Formal jobs created, wage adequacy, safety record, women and young people employed
SDG 12: Responsible production About 46% of the feed Kenya produces is lost after harvest Share of incoming feedstock converted into saleable products, from a full material balance
SDG 14: Life below water An estimated 60–80% of Lake Victoria's omena catch goes to animal feed Tonnes of fishmeal displaced, with catch and stock indicators for the source fisheries
SDG 7 and SDG 13: Energy and climate About 80% renewable power; a national target of a 35% emissions cut by 2035 kg CO₂e and kWh per kg of saleable product; litres of fresh water per kg
SDG 9 and SDG 17: Industry and partnership Almost no shared pilot capacity; strong research partners in Europe Local value added, technologies commercialised, intellectual property owned in Kenya

Is a job enough?

SDG 8 does not ask for jobs. It asks for decent work: safe, formal, fairly paid and skilled. Counting heads without counting quality is how development reports flatter themselves. A protein plant will not employ millions, but it can create the technician and laboratory careers a TVET graduate can build a life on, far from Nairobi. It can lift the incomes of the women who dry omena and ochonga and the smallholders who sell crop residues by giving them a buyer with a contract and a quality premium. Hyvene Kirui's farm shows the effect: six livelihoods on less than an acre, sustained by sunlight, insects and waste, sorry, sidestreams.

Can anything be zero waste?

Zero waste is a legitimate engineering ambition, not an automatic property of circular production. A black soldier fly unit fed on brewery grain can yield protein meal, insect oil, frass for treated soil use and, where it pays, chitin; every output needs processing, a safety assessment and a buyer. A spirulina pond can absorb CO₂ from fermentation. Very little in such a cascade need be discarded, though some residues and treatment losses always remain. But a zero-waste claim requires a material balance that shows what enters, what is sold, what is recovered and what remains. It also requires safety: circularity is no excuse for feeding contaminated substrate into the food chain. The honest goal is to maximise safe, profitable recovery, not to process waste at any cost.

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Is a kilogram of protein a kilogram of protein?

No, and this is where most of the alternative-protein debate goes wrong. A laboratory report that says "55% crude protein" tells a buyer almost nothing about what he is paying for. Crude protein is nitrogen multiplied by a factor. Value lies elsewhere.

It lies in the amino-acid profile: does the meal supply the lysine and methionine a broiler cannot make for itself? It lies in digestibility: how much of that nitrogen does the animal actually absorb? It lies in anti-nutritional factors, consistency from batch to batch, and safety. In petfood, it also lies in palatability, because a dog or cat that refuses the bowl renders every nutritional claim irrelevant. And in human food it lies in functionality: solubility, foaming, emulsification and taste.

Two meals with the same crude protein can differ widely in price, because they differ in what they do. That is why I spend my working life on petfood ingredients and palatants rather than on bulk meal. A hydrolysate tailored to a customer's specification commands a premium that an undifferentiated tonne never will.

The lesson for Africa is blunt. Sell specifications, not tonnes. A continent that exports crude protein will be paid like a supplier of raw materials. A continent that sells digestibility, amino-acid balance and palatability will be paid like an industry.

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Where should Kenya begin?

Not everywhere at once. The surest way to waste a frontier is to chase every technology on it.

The first phase is the home market. Insect protein, selected plant proteins and by-product processing should supply Kenya's own poultry, fish and pig farms. Kenya needs about 55 million tonnes of livestock feed a year by dry matter and produces only about 40% of it; roughly 400 millers make 2.5 million tonnes of compound feed. In July 2026 the government announced a ten-year National Feed Strategy valued at about KSh 465 billion, still being prepared rather than funded. Domestic demand is large enough to build an industry on before anyone ships a tonne abroad.

The second phase is shared regional hubs: pilot plants, analytical laboratories, quality assurance and training, sited where the feedstock, utilities and buyers are. No start-up should have to build its own pilot plant.

The third phase is export of higher-value ingredients: hydrolysates, functional proteins, fermentation products and petfood palatants. Kenya's own petfood market is small, about 2,568 tonnes in 2022, but sheltered by a 35% tariff and growing with urban pet ownership. Margins abroad are better than in bulk meal.

Keep the two markets apart. Replacing imported feed ingredients at home is about cheaper eggs, fish, milk and meat for Kenyans; that is where the nutrition dividend lies. Exporting hydrolysates and palatants is about margins and skilled jobs; its effect on the Kenyan plate is indirect. Both matter, but they are different businesses and need different policies.

The fourth phase is ownership. Kenyan firms must take part in process development, equipment adaptation, formulation, intellectual property and international marketing. Otherwise Africa will supply the waste while others capture the value, as it has with cocoa, coffee and tea.

What should be demanded, and of whom?

Of Nairobi: count protein the way you count maize, with a national protein balance sheet that includes livestock and pets. Write novel and sidestream protein into the National Feed Strategy, with targets for replacing imported soybean meal and fishmeal. Replace three regulators with one licence for insect, fungal, algal and fermentation protein, recognised across the East African Community. And make the Naivasha zone a protein cluster, with a guaranteed industrial tariff, direct geothermal heat and a shared pilot plant open to start-ups and universities.

Of the development financiers: stop treating alternative protein as a luxury for rich consumers. It is import substitution, waste management, youth employment and child nutrition in a single investment line. Shift a modest share of the capital now committed to conventional livestock into sidestream-protein plants beside breweries, tea factories, abattoirs and markets.

Of Brussels and Berlin: treat Africa as a partner in this transition, not a market for it. This is not an argument for relocating European plants to lower-wage countries. It is an argument for joint development: research in both places, pilot plants that test the same process under both climates, manufacturing sited where it is demonstrably cheapest and cleanest, and African ownership of a share of the technology. Research programmes on sidestream protein should include African partners and pilot sites by design, not as a line in the dissemination plan.

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So, can Kenya land a kilogram in Hamburg?

Africa skipped the landline and went straight to mobile money; the world now studies that leap. Must it now copy the North's path of imported soya, confined livestock and the long, expensive retreat that follows? Or can it build a protein economy that runs on its own sunlight and its own sidestreams from the start?

The advantages I have described are real, and so are the traps. A climate advantage disappears in an inefficient plant. A wage advantage disappears with low productivity. A carbon advantage disappears with poor design or careless logistics. Africa does not need another flattering narrative about its potential. It needs an industrial strategy that survives an audit.

So here is the test I put to every minister, financier and fellow scientist who reads this:

Can Kenya manufacture a kilogram of sustainable protein, deliver it to Hamburg at a competitive price, prove a lower footprint, and create decent jobs doing it?

If the answer is yes for a given technology, it is an opportunity worth funding now. If the answer is no, the analysis must tell us why, and what investment, technology or policy would change it. That is how a frontier becomes an economy.

When I drove cattle as a boy, the elders measured a man's wealth by his herd. The next generation may measure a county's wealth by something less visible: how much protein it can make from what it once threw away. The frontier is open. Will Africans settle it, or will we once again import the finished product of someone else's ingenuity?

Dr. rer. nat. habil. Dr. Seronei Chelulei Cheison is a food scientist and the founder and CEO of Sinonin Biotech GmbH, which develops alternative proteins for petfood. He farms in Nandi County, Kenya, where he runs Kipkenda Poultry. He leads Work Package 5 of the ZEST project, is a partner in PROSCALE, serves on the advisory board of WIDU.africa and acts as a consultant focal person for the programme. ZEST (Grant Agreement No. 101157382) and PROSCALE are funded by the Circular Bio-based Europe Joint Undertaking and its members under Horizon Europe. Views and opinions expressed are those of the author only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union or the CBE JU, neither of which can be held responsible for them.

References

Numbered in the order the claims appear.

  1. Population 1.51 bn (2024) to ~2.47 bn (2050): UN World Population Prospects 2024, via INED.
  2. Protein supply 69.1 g/capita/day, lowest region: Gebremedhin & Bekele 2021 (PLOS ONE), from FAO food balance data, summarised by Nestlé Nutrition Institute Africa; protein quality: Schönfeldt & Hall, Br J Nutr 2012.
  3. Meat 10.5 Mt (2005/07) to 34.8 Mt (2050): World Bank, FAO, ILRI & AU-IBAR, Investing in African Livestock, 2013; per-capita supply under 10 kg: OECD-FAO data via Earthworm Express.
  4. Stunted children 61.7 m (2012) to 64.8 m (2024): UNICEF/WHO/World Bank JME 2025, reported by TheCable.
  5. Soybean meal at 16–22% of poultry feed: The Standard; Zambia's 2021 ban on soya and sunflower meal: Nation.
  6. Alt-protein investment US$881 m in 2025; Europe US$418 m; North America US$347 m; fourth annual decline: GFI via Green Queen.
  7. Investor risk perception: Brice, TABLE, Oxford; 1% of global agricultural credit: Alliance Manchester Business School.
  8. Separate KEBS, NEMA and KEPHIS approvals, as reported by industry participants: ILRI PAFIE workshop, July 2025.
  9. 65% of uncultivated arable land (AfDB claim): AfDB via MyJoyOnline; US$4 bn grain losses: FAO/World Bank, Missing Food, 2011.
  10. 55 Mt feed requirement, 46.3% lost (PS Jonathan Mueke, 2024): The Star.
  11. KS 2711:2017 (draft DKS 2711:2016, WTO TBT notification, Jan 2017; published standard cited by KEBS as KS 2711:2017 in DKS 2921:2020): GREEiNSECT brief; KS 2921:2020 and KS 2922: People Daily; INSFEED: IDRC; 500 planned BSF units: AllAfrica.
  12. German industrial power compensation, 5 ct/kWh to 2028: Polyform; BNetzA prices: Ugebrev.
  13. BSF survival at 27, 30 and 36 °C: Tomberlin et al. 2009; larval heat in mass rearing: Black soldier fly larval heat generation and management; European cost pressures: Ryba 2024.
  14. Enorm bankruptcy, Oct 2025: AgFunderNews; AgriProtein: Wikipedia; Inseco: AgFunderNews; Andalusia: AgTechNavigator.
  15. Spirulina winter output: Allmicroalgae, Portugal; lighting costs: OCL 2021; indoor systems and EU status: FreshPlaza; Kenya imports: WAS 2025; Arthrospira in East African soda lakes: FWF project P19911.
  16. German irradiation by month: Grünes Haus; Kenya irradiation: Kariuki & Sato.
  17. Kenya 80% renewable: AllAfrica/EPRA; geothermal 41%, imports 12%: Capital FM/EPRA; Germany 55.1%: UBA; industrial tariffs: KAM via The Star, KIPPRA via The Standard.
  18. Minimum wages: Nation (Kenya), Connexion Emploi (Germany); TVET enrolment: Capital FM; jobs: The Standard.
  19. Lending rate 14.39%: CBK via Khusoko; debt 67.6% of GDP: People Daily; debt service: Business Daily; World Bank: Zawya; USTR 2026: Capital FM.
  20. Grid emission factor: The Star.
  21. De Heus mill: AllAfrica; EU–Kenya EPA: European Commission; AGOA to 2028: BusinessDay, KNA; Dongo Kundu: The Standard.
  22. EU insect feed rules: Regulation (EU) 2017/893, Regulation (EU) 2021/1372.
  23. Omena to feed (estimate): Manyala; 35% emissions target: The Star.
  24. National Feed Strategy, 400 millers, 2.5 Mt: The Star, 2026; petfood market: Petfood Industry/USDA.
  25. Chebole and Kipkenda farm data: the author's first-hand operational records.

Thursday, 29 October 2026

How Carbohydrate Shapes Petfood Palatability

The Carbohydrate Paradox. The Friday Conversation No. 15. A dog and a cat framing three petfood formats, a fractured dry kibble showing its porous interior, a glossy amber gel and gravy chunk, and a pate slab, with wheat, corn and flour at the side and a golden molecular thread rising between them.

The Carbohydrate Paradox. The largest ingredient in many a bowl is one no dog, cat or person tastes as itself. So what, exactly, does an animal prefer when it prefers the food? On the carbohydrate that may never be tasted as carbohydrate, and the food that would not be the same without it.

Movement I

THE CARBOHYDRATE NOBODY TASTED

What is an obligate carnivore really eating when it works through a bowl of dry food? Tip the measure in, and much of what holds that kibble together as a hard, dry, pourable object is starch, the carbohydrate that gives the piece its body and lets it leave the machine a solid thing. The cat may eat it readily. But does it taste it? Not as anything much. Purified starch carries little of the sweetness, sourness, bitterness or savour the tongue is tuned to, and it does not announce itself to the mouth the way a sugar does. We can build a food around it, an animal may come to prefer that food, and the starch itself goes all but unremarked by the palate that eats it.

That is the paradox worth opening on, and the obligate carnivore states it most sharply. Here is an animal whose evolutionary brief was meat, eating willingly a food whose very architecture may rest on the one macronutrient it has least instinct to seek, and finding little to taste in it. Starch is the bowl's silent partner, the biggest thing in it that the tongue barely registers. So how can it have anything to do with whether the animal wants to eat?

Starch is the bowl's silent partner, the biggest thing in it that the tongue barely registers.

The dog meets the same bowl as a different animal. It can register a sweetness the cat cannot, and it tends to handle cooked starch more readily, though how readily depends on how the starch was processed and on the dog itself. So its relationship with carbohydrate, in the mouth and after, is not the cat's. But the sweetness a dog can find lives in sugars, and the bulk carbohydrate in a dry food is not sugar; it is starch, which is no sweeter to a dog than to a cat. Whatever divides the two species, and a good deal does, it sits on top of something they share: the structural carbohydrate that builds the food gives the tongue little to work with, in either of them, or in us.

So what is this essay about, if not whether a dog or a cat needs carbohydrate, or which grain belongs in which bowl? Those are arguments for another room. The subject here is narrower and stranger, the sensory life of an ingredient that is, for the most part, not sensed as itself, and it turns on a proposition the trade's vocabulary resists. An ingredient need not be pleasurable on its own tongue to make a food more pleasurable to eat, and its influence need not run for the better: the same carbohydrate can help a food or hurt it, depending on the chemistry, the amount, the processing and everything else in the bowl. Palatable is not the same as preferred, preferred is not the same as digestible, and none of the three is the same as good for the animal. A food can be relished and wrong; a carbohydrate can be digested and unwanted; a carbohydrate can be barely tasted and still decide the meal.

How, then, does carbohydrate reach the animal's judgement at all? By three routes, and only the first runs through taste. A sugar can be tasted, by the animal equipped to taste it. The energy a digestible carbohydrate delivers can, after the meal, teach an animal something it carries back to the bowl. And the carbohydrate can change what the food is as a physical and chemical object, how it fractures, how it floods the mouth, what it smells of once heat has had its way, so that an animal may prefer the food without preferring the carbohydrate in it. The cat is shut out of the first door, the one marked sweet. The other two stand open to it, as far as we can tell, and through them the carbohydrate it cannot taste still helps build its bite and make its aroma. That is where we are going.


Movement II

SWEETNESS IS NOT THE WHOLE STORY

Why does a dog take an interest in something sweet while a cat looks straight past it? Offer each the same taste and you meet one of the most reliable indifferences in biology. The cat is not being fussy. It is missing a part. Somewhere in the ancestry of the cats the gene for one half of the sweet-taste receptor, the subunit called Tas1r2, decayed into a pseudogene, and the receptor that reports sweetness to the brain was never again built. The dog keeps it. The cat does not. A sugar that can please one of our two animals leaves the other largely unmoved, at least by way of sweetness. How much any particular dog likes any particular sugar is its own question, turning on the sugar, the amount and the individual; the point here is simpler and deeper, that one species can enter this part of the conversation at all and the other cannot.

But sweetness of what, exactly? In the sense the receptor means, it is mostly a report on sugars, the small soluble molecules, the glucose and sucrose and maltose and their short-chain kin, though a handful of non-sugar compounds can trip the same receptor too. What it was never a report on is carbohydrate as a whole. The starch that makes up the bulk of the carbohydrate in a bowl is not a sugar and does not read as sweet, and neither does dietary fibre. So the great species drama of sweet taste, real as it is, is a quarrel over the sugars, a thin and soluble fraction of the whole. It leaves the structural carbohydrate just where Movement I left it, giving the tongue little to go on.

The species drama of sweet taste is a quarrel over the sugars, a thin and soluble fraction of the whole.

Does the mouth not get a head start on the starch, at least? In the human mouth it does: salivary amylase begins cutting starch into maltose while we chew, which is why a plain cracker held long enough turns faintly sweet. It is tempting to carry that experience into the dog's mouth and the cat's. We should not lean on it. The dog and the cat are reported to carry little amylase in the saliva, leaving the heavy work on starch for the gut, so whatever their kibble's starch becomes later, it is not likely becoming sweetness on the way in. The human cracker illustrates the mechanism. It does not prove the carnivore's case, which needs evidence of its own.

All of which should warn us off a comfortable assumption, that an ingredient has to taste good in order to do good at the bowl. Does a carbohydrate have to be sweet, or even much tasted, to help decide whether an animal eats? It does not. There may be taste-active compounds that travel with carbohydrates, and gustatory effects beyond sweetness worth taking seriously, but the dog-and-cat evidence for most of them is thin, and the honest course is to say so rather than reach past it.

And we should keep tasting and preferring apart, as Movement I insisted. The sweet-preference work that does exist tends to rest on particular sugars and sweeteners, offered under particular conditions, to particular animals; a response to one sugar in one test is not a law of the species. That a dog can taste sweetness does not tell us how much a given food's appeal owes to it. That a cat cannot does not tell us the carbohydrate in its food is idle. The tongue has cast its one clear vote, for the sugars, in the animal built to count them. The rest of the carbohydrate is still waiting to be heard, after the meal and in the mouthfeel, long after sweetness has had its say.


Movement III

THE CALORIES AFTER THE TASTE

What does a meal keep telling an animal once it is swallowed? The taste test ends at the mouth. The food does not. It goes on reporting for hours, as energy arriving, a stomach filling, a body settling or unsettling. Three quite different things can grow from that reporting, and they are easy to mistake for one another: what an animal learns to expect from a food, how much of a nutrient it will take, and what it comes to prefer over a lifetime. They lean on one another. They are not the same, and a finding about one is not a finding about the rest.

Take the first, what an animal learns to expect by tying a food's smell and taste to the consequences that follow. Where does the evidence for it come from? Chiefly from work on rodents and on people, and it would be a mistake to lift that wholesale into the carnivore's bowl. The honest position is that the route plausibly operates in dogs and cats, and that the species-specific evidence is not yet strong enough to say how much of any real food's acceptance it explains. One caution follows that the trade does not always observe. Energy is not a flavour, and delivering it is not the same as being liked. A carbohydrate can pour digestible calories into a food without the animal preferring that food one bite more; the calories may buy acceptance slowly, over many meals, or not at all. And the quick first-bite test the industry leans on measures the front of the meal, which is not the preference an animal settles into over days of eating. The two can disagree.

Energy is not a flavour, and delivering it is not the same as being liked.

The second thing, the amount an animal chooses to take, is where the cat turns strange. Allowed to compose its own diet from foods of differing make-up, does it take carbohydrate without limit? It does not. It settles toward a balance weighted to protein and fat, and appears to meet a ceiling on how much of its energy it will draw from carbohydrate, stopping short even when more is on offer. Dogs, given a comparable choice, have been reported to settle at a different balance, taking a larger share of their energy from carbohydrate than cats do, though what any such study finds depends on the foods it offered and cannot be read as a fixed appetite for the nutrient. What is arresting about the cat's ceiling is what it cannot be. It cannot be a verdict of the tongue, which, as Movement II showed, has almost nothing to say about the carbohydrate. The body casts a vote the tongue cannot.

But cast how, and for what? The line has to be read for exactly what it claims, and no more. The ceiling tells us only that the cat's intake of carbohydrate is held in check by something other than canonical sweet taste, because there is no sweet taste to hold it. What that something is remains unresolved. It might be another property the animal senses in the mouth, or a signal that arrives long after, of energy, of protein sufficiency, or of some consequence learned or innate. The experiment that reveals the limit does not reveal its mechanism. And we should resist calling the ceiling a dislike: regulating how much of something an animal eats is a different act from being pleased or displeased by its taste, and different again from the preference it forms over a lifetime.

So the carbohydrate's dealings with palatability neither end when the sweetness is tallied nor fail to begin where there is no sweetness to tally. They continue out of sight, in the energy the food delivers and the limits that govern how much of it an animal will take. That is one reckoning made away from the tongue. The next movement is about the other, made in plain contact with it, in the bite and the smell of the food itself, and it is the one the carbohydrate shapes most directly of all.


Movement IV

THE STARCH THAT BUILT THE BITE

What makes a kibble crunch? Listen to a dog work a piece of dry food and you are hearing a whole structure fail under a tooth: starch, protein, fat, air and water, set by heat and shaped by the die, each with a hand in how the piece breaks. But in a great many dry foods the starch has done much of the building. Cooked in the presence of heat and water, it swells, gelatinises and then sets as the piece dries, giving the kibble a rigid, porous body that holds its shape on the shelf and shatters in a particular way in the mouth. We spent a whole Conversation, No. 8, on the physics of that first bite. Here is one of the ingredients that most shapes it.

The crunch is not the sound of starch alone. It is the sound of a structure in which starch has often done much of the building.

Where does the water go in all this? Into that same structure. The grip starch keeps on moisture helps set a kibble's mechanics, which is why a piece left open to the air softens and loses its snap: starch meeting water, the handshake No. 13 described, running the wrong way. And the body starch helps build is the stage the other sensory actors stand on. The fat and the palatant an animal first meets sit on and in a surface that starch has helped make rigid and porous enough to carry them. The carbohydrate the tongue barely reads is holding up much of what the tongue is there to enjoy.

Change the format and does the carbohydrate change its nature? It changes its job, not its nature. In a semi-moist food there is no crunch to build; the work is to hold a soft, yielding, faintly tacky piece together, moist without being wet, and to keep it from spoiling at that moisture. Sugars do much of this, holding water in a form the food can keep and lowering its availability to spoilage without drying the piece to a biscuit, though they share the work with humectants that are not carbohydrates at all, glycerol and the like, a reminder that not every tool of water management is a sugar. What the animal meets is a texture as much as a taste, the give, the chew, the way the piece clings for a moment to the tooth. It is the water activity of No. 13 again, with the carbohydrate pressed into service as a tool of structure and stability, barely as a flavour at all.

And in a wet food? There the carbohydrate turns fluid mechanic. Starches and the hydrocolloids, the plant gums and their relatives, are what thicken a gravy, set a jelly and manage how water sits in the can. They are not one material doing one thing: starch gelatinises, gums hydrate and thicken, fibres bind water and add bulk, and they are different hands on the texture. What holds a chunk together is often not the gum at all but the setting of protein, with the carbohydrates working alongside it rather than in its place. A formulator who confuses these roles gets a sauce that breaks or a chunk that slumps. And the roster is still growing: novel plant fibres are being explored to reshape a wet food's body, binding water and, in some formulations, easing the stickiness of a chunk or a pâté, a sign that the carbohydrate's textural reach is still being extended, not exhausted.

Fibre deserves its own line, because it is the case that most tests the essay's logic. It is barely tasted, and we are tempted to call it barely nourishing, but that is only half right. The poorly fermentable fibres pass through largely for their bulk; the fermentable ones are broken down by the gut's microbes into short-chain fatty acids the animal can use, a quiet contribution of energy that varies with the fibre, the species and the microbes it meets. Set that aside, though, because energy is not where fibre earns its keep at the bowl. So how does it? Through bulk, through the way it holds water, through the body it gives and the things it dilutes. Here is a carbohydrate valued in the food for neither its sweetness nor its calories, and still it has a say in the texture, and the texture has a say in the meal.

And the smell? One correction keeps this honest, and it is the same one No. 14 turned on. The browning and the roasted notes that cooking builds come from reducing sugars meeting amino compounds, and starch, though it is built from glucose, behaves almost nothing like a free reducing sugar. A starch molecule carries just one reducing end, however many thousands of glucose units it strings together, which leaves very little reducing-end reactivity for its mass, far too little to drive much browning on its own. Starch can build the scaffold; the reducing sugars that help build the aroma are its smaller relatives and its breakdown products, not the intact starch itself. The jobs belong to the same chemical family. They do not all belong to the same molecule. That was the whole of No. 14 and need not be re-run here, beyond the reminder that the carbohydrate is at work in both the structure and the smell, by different members of its family.

This is the third route, and the most direct the carbohydrate has. It does not wait to be tasted or digested. It changes what the food is as an object, and an animal may prefer the food the carbohydrate helped build without preferring the carbohydrate in it. Which raises the last question, and the sharpest: what happens to all of this when we take the carbohydrate out?


Movement V

WHEN THE CARBOHYDRATE DISAPPEARS

What actually leaves the bowl when we decide the carbohydrate has to go? It is a fashionable decision, sometimes a sound one, and it is worth asking the question plainly, because the easy answer is wrong. The temptation is to picture subtraction: the same food, minus a nutrient someone judged unnecessary, revealed at last as what it should always have been. That is not what happens, and part of the reason is that there is no single thing called removing the carbohydrate. Take out a grain, a starch, the sugars, the fibre or the gums and you have performed five different operations, each with its own consequences. Which jobs vanish depends entirely on what was removed, and what, if anything, was put in its place.

Remove the wrong one and several things move at once. The structure that gave the kibble its crunch may need another agent to stand in, or the piece fractures differently. The water a starch was holding has to be managed by something else. If the removal also takes the reducing sugars that fed the browning, the smell that cooking makes is a different smell, built now from whatever remains to react. And the surface the coating sat on may have changed beneath it. The animal that meets the reformulated food is not tasting the absence of a nutrient. It is meeting a new object, and it will judge that object on its own terms, not against the ghost of the food it replaced.

Take the carbohydrate out and you have not found the true food underneath. You have made a different one.

Which brings us to the familiar grain-free food. Grain-free is not carbohydrate-free. Many grain-free dry foods simply replace the cereal with a pulse or a tuber, the potato, the pea, the lentil and their kind, so the carbohydrate stays and most of its palatability jobs stay with it; what changes is the source, and the new source brings its own baggage, a different flavour to account for, a different behaviour in the process, questions of its own that a later Conversation will take up. Removing the grain did not remove the job the carbohydrate was quietly doing. It handed the job to a different plant.

So we return, at the end, to the question the whole essay was shaped around. If an animal prefers a food made with carbohydrate, what has it preferred? The taste of the sugar, in the animal equipped to taste it? The energy that followed the meal, and the body's slow accounting of it? The texture the starch helped create, the crunch or the chew or the set of the gravy? Or the aroma that cooking, with the carbohydrate's smaller relatives, made possible? The least tidy answer is the true one. Several of them at once, in proportions that shift with the species, the format and the food, and we should distrust anyone who says confidently which.

The carbohydrate may never be tasted as carbohydrate. Yet take the right one away and the food may not taste, smell or feel the same. That is the paradox we opened with, and it is reason enough to retire a lazy word. To call an ingredient a filler tells us almost nothing about what it does in the food. Some carbohydrate is indeed there for bulk or for cost. Some of it is holding up the structure, managing the water, feeding the aroma and carrying the coat. The word cannot tell the two apart. The food can.

References

1.  Li, X., Li, W., Wang, H., Cao, J., Maehashi, K., Huang, L., Bachmanov, A.A., Reed, D.R., Legrand-Defretin, V., Beauchamp, G.K. & Brand, J.G. (2005). Pseudogenization of a sweet-receptor gene accounts for cats' indifference toward sugar. PLoS Genetics 1(1):e3. doi:10.1371/journal.pgen.0010003

2.  Hewson-Hughes, A.K., Hewson-Hughes, V.L., Miller, A.T., Hall, S.R., Simpson, S.J. & Raubenheimer, D. (2011). Geometric analysis of macronutrient selection in the adult domestic cat, Felis catus. Journal of Experimental Biology 214(6):1039-1051. doi:10.1242/jeb.049429

3.  Hewson-Hughes, A.K., Hewson-Hughes, V.L., Colyer, A., Miller, A.T., McGrane, S.J., Hall, S.R., Butterwick, R.F., Simpson, S.J. & Raubenheimer, D. (2013). Geometric analysis of macronutrient selection in breeds of the domestic dog, Canis lupus familiaris. Behavioral Ecology 24(1):293-304. doi:10.1093/beheco/ars168

4.  Tran, Q.D., Hendriks, W.H. & van der Poel, A.F.B. (2008). Effects of extrusion processing on nutrients in dry pet food. Journal of the Science of Food and Agriculture 88(9):1487-1493. doi:10.1002/jsfa.3247

5.  Slade, L. & Levine, H. (1991). Beyond water activity: recent advances based on an alternative approach to the assessment of food quality and safety. Critical Reviews in Food Science and Nutrition 30(2-3):115-360. doi:10.1080/10408399109527543

6.  Dainton, A.N., DoÄŸan, H. & Aldrich, C.G. (2021). The effects of select hydrocolloids on the processing of pâté-style canned pet food. Foods 10(10):2506. doi:10.3390/foods10102506

7.  de Godoy, M.R.C., Kerr, K.R. & Fahey, G.C. Jr. (2013). Alternative dietary fiber sources in companion animal nutrition. Nutrients 5(8):3099-3117. doi:10.3390/nu5083099

8.  Guichard, E. (2002). Interactions between flavor compounds and food ingredients and their influence on flavor perception. Food Reviews International 18(1):49-70. doi:10.1081/FRI-120003417


About the Author

Dr. rer. nat. habil. Dr. Seronei Chelulei Cheison is the founder and Chief Executive Officer of Sinonin Biotech GmbH, where he works with petfood companies on palatant sourcing strategies, the innovation of palatability enhancers, and the design of palatability assessment. A trained food enzymologist, he led alternative protein and palatant development at Mars Petcare before founding Sinonin, and his research on protein chemistry spans two decades, a doctorate from Jiangnan University, and a habilitation from the Technical University of Munich.


Sinonin Biotech GmbH is a partner in the ZEST project (Grant Agreement No. 101157382) and the PROSCALE project (Grant Agreement No. 101288362), both funded by the Circular Bio-based Europe Joint Undertaking (CBE JU) under the European Union's Horizon Europe research and innovation programme. Views and opinions expressed are those of the author only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union or CBE JU. Neither the European Union nor the granting authority can be held responsible for them.

Thursday, 22 October 2026

The Invisible Palatant: How Processing Shapes Petfood Palatability

The Invisible Palatant. The Friday Conversation No. 14. A hand holds a handful of warm, uncoated kibble on a petfood production line, with raw meat and pulses, an extruder and a coating drum behind, finished food in a bowl, and a dog and cat watching.

The Invisible Palatant. By the time the palatant reaches the coating drum, the food already has a smell, a texture and a sensory history. What the animal encounters was being shaped long before the final coating, and no single stage can claim all the credit.

Movement I

BEFORE THE DRUM

Stand at the end of the line in a petfood plant, past the extruder and the dryer, before the coating drum, and stop the belt for a moment. Reach in and take a handful of the kibble as it comes off the dryer. It is warm, dry, pale, finished in shape but not yet in anything else. Nothing has been sprayed on it. Nothing has been dusted over it. The fat, the palatant, the coating the industry thinks of as the flavour, all of that is still waiting a few metres downstream, in the drum the pieces have not yet reached.

Now put the handful to your nose.

It smells of something. Not of nothing, not of a blank pellet waiting to be given a character, but of something already: a warm, toasted, faintly meaty, faintly cereal smell that is unmistakably food. No one sprayed it on. It arose, somewhere back along the line, out of the raw materials and the cooking, and there it sits in your palm, a finished aroma on an unfinished food, before the part of the factory whose whole job is flavour has so much as touched it.

That is the fact this essay begins from, and it is stranger than it first sounds. We have organised much of the business of petfood around a convenient division: the base supplies the nutrition, the coating supplies much of the attraction. It is a useful division of labour, and no one who works in it imagines the base is odourless. But the division shapes how we speak and where we look, and the handful in your hand shows why it is not the whole account of the food. Because the base, before any coating, already smells. It already has a taste waiting in it. It already carries, written into its cooked and dried body, a sensory character the animal will meet whether or not another thing is ever added to it.

The invisible palatant is not something the factory adds. It is what the factory has already done.

Which turns the usual question inside out. We are used to asking what a palatant brings to a food. The handful of naked kibble asks the reverse. If the food already smells of something before the palatant arrives, then what is the palatant arriving at? It is not coating a blank. It is landing on a food that has already been made to smell and taste of something by everything that happened before, and whatever it adds will mix with, lean on, or work against a character that was there first.

And if that is so, a harder question follows, the one this Conversation is really about. When an animal empties one bowl and leaves another, and both foods wore the same coating, we reach by habit for the coating to explain the difference. But the coating was the last thing to happen to either. How much of what the animal was answering to had already been settled upstream, in the cooking, before the drum, before the stage we credit with flavour ever entered the story?

Keep the handful. We are going to follow it back up the line.


Movement II

THE FACTORY IS A KITCHEN

Follow the smell back and it leads where every good smell in a kitchen leads: to heat, and to what heat does to food.

For all its scale and steel, a petfood plant is doing something a cook would recognise. It takes raw materials, meats, grains, fats, and it cooks them. The extruder is an oven and a pan at once, driving heat and pressure through the mix; the dryer finishes the work. And cooking, whether in a pan or in a barrel the length of a room, is not a neutral warming. It is chemistry. The heat sets the food's own components reacting with one another, and out of those reactions come things that were not in the raw mix at all, among them the smells.

The chief of these has a name, though the cook who browns an onion or sears a steak has never needed it. When the amino groups carried by the food's proteins and their smaller building blocks meet reducing sugars under heat, a cascade of reactions begins. Some of what it makes is colour, the browning of a crust; some of it is aroma, the roasted, nutty, meaty and savoury notes we know from cooked food. It is the chemistry of the crust on bread and the sear on a steak, and it is running, at industrial scale, inside the machine that made the handful in your palm. No one reached for a bottle of meaty flavour. The cooking made one, out of the food's own flesh and grain.

The fats take their own part, reacting under heat into notes of their own, some the warm richness a carnivore reads as food, some, pushed too far, the first edge of the rancid. And moisture sits quietly behind all of it, as the last Conversation argued, deciding what can react and how, so that the water in the mix is not a bystander to the cooking but one of the hands shaping what the cooking makes. The point, for now, is only this: by the time the pieces reach the dryer, a great deal of sensory chemistry has already happened, unbidden and unbottled, written into the food by the plain fact that it was cooked.

But there is an awkward question sitting in all this. If the cooking makes the flavour, why might a dog find a piece of raw meat worth crossing a room for, with no cooking at all? Why might a cat approach raw flesh with an interest no coating drum was ever required to produce?

Because the cooking did not begin with nothing. Meat arrives already carrying its own chemistry, its own taste-active substances, its own quiet history of change since the animal it came from died. Heat can release what was bound inside it, transform what was already there, build compounds that did not exist before, and spend some of the signals the animal would otherwise have met.

Cooking is an author of flavour, but not its first author.

So the raw meat corrects something the factory makes easy to forget. The line we have been following back does not stop at the dryer, or even at the raw mix. It runs to the ingredient itself, which arrived already able to taste of something. Processing changes what was already possible; it does not conjure it from nothing.

And here it would be easy to draw exactly the wrong conclusion. If the cooking generates flavour, then surely more cooking, more reaction, more of that brown and savoury chemistry, makes a better food. It does not, and the error is worth naming because it is so tempting. Push the reactions too hard and the roasted turns scorched, the savoury turns acrid and bitter, and the nutrition suffers in the bargain, the building blocks the animal needed spent on compounds no one wanted. A reaction can make a new smell without making a better one. More chemistry is not more palatability; it is only more chemistry.

To generate a flavour compound is not to earn a preference.

Which is the discipline this movement insists on, against its own enthusiasm. It is genuinely remarkable that a food can cook itself a smell. But the machine that generates a thousand new compounds has not thereby chosen the ones an animal wants. Of all that chemistry, which did the dog or the cat actually ask for? We cannot read a preference off a chromatogram. The cooking tells us what was made. It does not tell us what the animal, with its own and different biology, will seek. That verdict was never the factory's to give.

So the handful in your hand is not a blank that flavour will later be added to. It is already the work of a kind of cooking, carrying a character the cooking built and the cooking could just as easily wreck. Which raises the question the next movement turns on. If the base food already has a character of its own, what happens when the coating finally arrives and meets it?


Movement III

THE SUBSTRATE HAS A MEMORY

Now let the pieces reach the drum, and let the coating arrive at last.

In the tidy division of labour, this is the moment flavour is supposed to happen. The fat and the palatant go on here, the same measured amount to every batch, and the industry speaks of the result as though the coating carried its performance within itself, a fixed quantity of palatability poured evenly over whatever passes through. Send the same coating down the line at the same rate and you should, on that picture, get the same food.

You do not, and the reason is the whole of this movement. The coating does not land on a neutral surface. It lands on the food we have just followed out of the kitchen, a food with a structure the cooking gave it, a surface the drying left, and an aroma the reactions already built. The base is not an empty page the coating writes on. It is a page already written, and what the coating becomes depends on what was there to receive it.

Consider only what the structure can do. A piece left more open and porous by its cooking may take the coating in and hold it, releasing it slowly from within, where a denser, more closed piece may carry more of the same coating on its surface, exposed and quicker to give itself up. That is one way a base can shape what the coating delivers, not a rule, and real pieces rarely sort themselves so neatly into kinds. But wherever such a difference runs, the identical spray, the identical amount, becomes a slower, deeper thing on one food and a quicker, brighter one on another. The coating specification alone might not tell them apart. The drum applied the same material to both. The food did not receive it in the same way.

And the aroma the base already carries does not stand politely aside while the coating speaks. The base's smell and the coating's meet, and where they meet the newcomer can be lifted by what was already there, or lost in it, or set against it. A savoury coating laid over a warm, savoury base is not the same event as the same coating laid over one the cooking left flat, or scorched. The coating's contribution is real, but it is never delivered into silence. It is delivered into a sound the food was already making.

A palatant does not carry its performance alone. It performs on the food it is given.

So the thing the industry treats as a fixed property turns out to be a meeting. The result at the bowl is not the base plus the coating, separate quantities laid side by side and summed. It is what the two did to each other, and that cannot be split cleanly back into a share for each. It is the same lesson this series has kept arriving at from every direction, that a signal has no worth on its own, only in the thing that receives it, carried now one step further back, into the food itself: the coating's worth, too, is less its own than it looks, decided in large part by the base that will hold it, release it, or drown it.

Which turns the usual verdict into a question. When a food is emptied and another, wearing the very same coating, is left untouched, we say the coating on the second failed. But did it? Or did it do exactly what it does, on a base that received it differently, so that the thing we blamed last was shaped by the thing we never thought to look at first? The palatant did not underperform in the abstract. It performed, as it always does, on the particular food it was given, and that food had a memory the sheet never recorded.

So before we ask who gets the credit, we have to admit the work cannot be cleanly divided. Which is exactly where the factory's neat departments begin to strain.


Movement IV

WHO GETS THE CREDIT?

A factory runs on division. The thing that lets a plant make tonnes of a complex food is that no one person makes it. The work is cut into parts, and each part is handed to someone who is very good at it.

One company grows and sells the protein, another the fat, another the grains. A process engineer owns the cooking, and knows that machine the way a chef knows a stove. A formulator sets the recipe and its targets. A palatant developer builds the coating and understands, better than anyone else in the chain, how it behaves. These are not naive people. Ask any of them and they will tell you that the parts interact, that the coating depends on the base, that the cooking shapes the smell. The knowledge is there, held in good hands, all along the line.

And yet something gets lost in exactly the seam that makes the whole thing work. Because each of these experts owns a part, and not one of them owns the animal's experience. The dog does not eat the supplier's protein, or the engineer's cooking, or the developer's coating. It eats the single thing all of them made together, and that thing belongs, in the end, to no department.

The factory is divided into departments. The animal is not.

Which makes the simplest question, whose result is it, strangely hard to answer. The last movement showed why the result cannot be split into clean shares, a quantity from the base and a quantity from the coating laid side by side and summed. If the contributions are not separable in the food, they are not separable in the credit either. The animal's verdict is real, but it is a verdict on the whole, and it does not come itemised. It will not tell you how much was the protein, how much the cooking, how much the drum.

So when a food performs, or fails to, the pull is always toward the same answer. We credit, or blame, the coating. Not because anyone believes it acted alone, but because it is the most visible stage and the easiest to change. The ingredients are contracted months ahead, the cooking is fixed in steel, the recipe is signed off. The coating is often among the last levers still available to adjust, and therefore among the first we reach for, so it becomes the stage we change, and in changing it we quietly hand it a responsibility the food never gave it alone.

The last thing added is the first thing blamed.

And there is a sharper turn of the same screw. Processing can remove sensory signals as readily as create them, and not every change will favour the animal's response. Could the coating sometimes be praised for recovering something an earlier stage quietly removed, the last operation credited for repairing the work of one no one examined? The possibility is worth sitting with, even if the share each stage took cannot be read off the finished food.

This is not a charge of ignorance. The specialists understand the interactions better than the essay does. It is a charge against the shape of the thing, against the way a problem that lives in the relationship between stages comes to rest on whichever stage is nearest to hand. The division of labour that makes the factory possible is the same division that scatters the authorship of the result across boundaries, between companies, between departments, between the people who built the base and the people who coated it, so that when the animal turns from the bowl, the cause may sit in a seam no single party was ever asked to watch. Where, then, should the responsibility rest?

That is the uncomfortable place this movement leaves us. The food is a joint work, and the responsibility for how it tastes to the animal is joint too, distributed along a chain that was organised, for every good reason, to be divided. We know how to assign credit to a stage. We are far less practised at assigning it to a relationship.

Which leaves only the one party who never divided anything, and never could: the animal, at the bowl, meeting all of it at once.


Movement V

THE ANIMAL EATS THE WHOLE FACTORY

Set the bowl down, and watch what happens to all of it.

The factory spent the length of a building keeping its work in order. The supplier's ingredient, the engineer's cooking, the structure the drying set, the smell the reactions built, the coating from the drum, each made in its own place, by its own hands, booked to its own account. And then the animal lowers its head and, in a single mouthful, undoes every division the factory was built on. It does not taste the protein, then the cooking, then the coat. It tastes a food. All of it at once, with no seam anywhere.

The animal does not taste a department. It tastes a food.

This is where the invisible palatant stands fully revealed, and it was never a thing at all. It is everything the factory had already done by the time the coating arrived: the aroma the cooking drew out of the raw mix, the structure that would hold the coat or shed it, the character written into the base before the drum was reached. The visible palatant, the one on the invoice, the one the drum applies, is real and does real work. But it lands into a performance already under way, and what the animal answers to is both at once, the added and the already-there, which it has no way of telling apart and no reason to try.

So the lesson this series has kept reaching lands, at last, at the scale of the plant. Palatability is not sealed in the coating, any more than in the recipe, the molecule, or the bowl; it is assembled, each time, in the animal, out of everything the food turns out to be. Which means the work of making a food an animal wants was never the last stage's alone. It began at the first, in the choice of what to cook and how.

And if that is so, one habit is worth retiring. Why do we still speak as though flavour begins at the drum, as though the food before it were a blank waiting to be made worth eating? The handful we took off the dryer, warm and already smelling of something, said otherwise on the first page. The food was telling its sensory story from the beginning. The coating only wrote the last line of it.

We divide the factory into operations. The animal encounters their consequences together.

References

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2.  Mottram, D.S. (1998). Flavour formation in meat and meat products: a review. Food Chemistry 62(4):415-424. doi:10.1016/S0308-8146(98)00076-4

3.  Tran, Q.D., Hendriks, W.H. & van der Poel, A.F.B. (2008). Effects of extrusion processing on nutrients in dry pet food. Journal of the Science of Food and Agriculture 88(9):1487-1493. doi:10.1002/jsfa.3247

4.  Guichard, E. (2002). Interactions between flavor compounds and food ingredients and their influence on flavor perception. Food Reviews International 18(1):49-70. doi:10.1081/FRI-120003417

5.  Koppel, K. (2014). Sensory analysis of pet foods. Journal of the Science of Food and Agriculture 94(11):2148-2153. doi:10.1002/jsfa.6597

6.  Aldrich, G.C. & Koppel, K. (2015). Pet food palatability evaluation: a review of standard assay techniques and interpretation of results with a primary focus on limitations. Animals 5(1):43-55. doi:10.3390/ani5010043

7.  van der Vyver, Y., Paul, A., Blecker, C. & Danthine, S. (2026). Gaps and controversies in feline food palatability. Animals 16(17):2721. doi:10.3390/ani16172721


About the Author

Dr. rer. nat. habil. Dr. Seronei Chelulei Cheison is the founder and Chief Executive Officer of Sinonin Biotech GmbH, where he works with petfood companies on palatant sourcing strategies, the innovation of palatability enhancers, and the design of palatability assessment. A trained food enzymologist, he led alternative protein and palatant development at Mars Petcare before founding Sinonin, and his research on protein chemistry spans two decades, a doctorate from Jiangnan University, and a habilitation from the Technical University of Munich.


Sinonin Biotech GmbH is a partner in the ZEST project (Grant Agreement No. 101157382) and the PROSCALE project (Grant Agreement No. 101288362), both funded by the Circular Bio-based Europe Joint Undertaking (CBE JU) under the European Union's Horizon Europe research and innovation programme. Views and opinions expressed are those of the author only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union or CBE JU. Neither the European Union nor the granting authority can be held responsible for them.

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