Now I Know More (21 page)

Despite this criminal activity, Michoacán has experienced an agricultural boom over the past few years, and limes are one of the largest growth areas. Going into 2014, six contiguous towns in Michoacán are, collectively, responsible for about 20 percent of the limes produced nationwide. That many limes in such a small, easily managed area was too good for the Templarios to resist. According to the
Washington Post
, the drug-fueled cartel used its muscle to slow the production of limes while taking ownership of the citrus supply chain. The Templarios bought up lime farms, often extorting the previous owners to sell for cheap or face threat of violence, then drastically reduced output. Many other lime farms were
de facto
operated by the Templarios, and they cut production as well. For those farmers who were somehow outside the control of the Knights Templar, they had few places that would take their fruit—food packagers were understandably wary, given the possible (if not probable) repercussions.

Ultimately, many in Michoacán started to join militias and took up arms against the Templarios. Mexico's federal government also sent in police, and the lime cartel began to crumble. NPR reported that “several top leaders [of the Templarios were] killed or arrested”and the limes began to flow freely once again.

There are many Mexican restaurant chains in the United States, most notably Chipotle, Qdoba, Taco del Mar, and Moe's Southwest Grill. Go into any and order a burrito and you'll get what's known as a “San Francisco” or “Mission-style” burrito. These burritos differ from their Mexican progenitors in size—they're just plain bigger—and by the number of items stuffed inside them—there's a lot more. It's a meal by any measure.

But is it a sandwich?

To most, such a question wouldn't matter. When the San Francisco burrito was created by a Mission-district grocer named Febronio Ontiveros in the early 1960s, he probably didn't care about the semantics. All Ontiveros cared about were the local firefighters who were hungry and wanted sandwiches—and the fact that he was out of bread other than some six-inch tortillas. So he threw meat, rice, and bunch of other items in it, rolled it up, and sold it for a dollar. The product—and price—has gotten larger since, but the item has maintained its defining traits. Whether the firefighters (or for that matter, Ontiveros) thought of it as a sandwich or a replacement product is anyone's guess. However, in 2006, a judge in Massachusetts had to make that guess.

Panera Bread operated a franchise at the White City Shopping Center in the Massachusetts town of Shrewsbury. In its lease, Panera had a clause preventing the shopping mall's operators from renting out space to another sandwich shop. White City offered to lease a spot to Qdoba, and Panera invoked this clause to prevent it. Qdoba and White City argued that Qdoba wasn't selling sandwiches; Panera countered by noting that Qdoba offered burritos, and argued that burritos are sandwiches.

The matter went to judge Jeffrey Locke who, according to the Associated Press, turned to Webster's Dictionary and a few expert witnesses. He concluded that a burrito was not, in fact, a sandwich: “A sandwich is not commonly understood to include burritos, tacos, and quesadillas, which are typically made with a single tortilla and stuffed with a choice filling of meat, rice, and beans.” With that Qdoba was able to move into the White City mall.

But in the end, Panera got the last laugh. As of this writing, the Qdoba at White City is no longer in business, but the Panera Bread is.

Tomatoes are a fruit. No, they're a vegetable. No wait—they're a fruit.

The truth: they're both. The two groups are not mutually exclusive. But if you're the American legal system, well, only one of the two definitions matters.

Fruits, botanically speaking, are the seed-containing ovaries of a flowering plant—and yes, this definition includes the tomato, as well as cucumbers, which are also often referred to as a vegetable.

This is because the term “vegetable” lacks scientific meaning and instead is defined loosely by the culture of food. When and how a specific food is served determines how the food is categorized. For example, plants that are most commonly used in soups, salads, or as side dishes to a main course are typically considered vegetables. This includes tomatoes and cucumbers, as well as sweet corn (a grain whose kernels are the fruit) and mushrooms (which is a fungus, not a plant). So while the term “vegetable” generally refers to the edible parts of plants other than the fruit or seeds, that distinction is imprecise and incomplete.

Tomatoes, therefore, are both fruits
and
veggies, and if you ask linguistic experts (and many dictionaries), you'll find them generally in agreement over the matter.

Much ado about nothing? Perhaps, but the U.S. Supreme Court found the issue important enough to address. In 1883, the U.S. government passed a tariff act, requiring that importers of vegetables pay a tax—a tax that did not apply to the importation of fruits. Ten years later, in
Nix v. Hedden
, a group of tomato importers filed suit against the government. The importers hoped to recover taxes already paid by arguing that botanically, tomatoes were a fruit and therefore not subject to the tariff. In a unanimous decision, the Court held in favor of the government. Noting that tomatoes were used typically with main courses and not as desserts, the Court concluded that tomatoes were subject to the import tax.

At the state level, three states—Arkansas, Ohio, and Tennessee—call the tomato the state fruit. (In Arkansas, it is actually the official fruit/vegetable.) However, this is not unanimous: In 2005, New Jersey relied on the reasoning in
Nix
when it considered making the tomato its official vegetable of the state.

The Supreme Court of the United States hears arguments from October through April. Photography and videography are prohibited, and therefore there are few opportunities to watch the proceedings in action. Unless you're working for the Court, are an attorney arguing the case, or one of the lucky few reporters to sit in the front rows of the visitors' gallery, you may be out of luck. There are about fifty or so seats open to the public, and the good news is that they're free, on a first-come, first-served basis. The bad news is that the line is usually at least a few hours long, so unless you're willing to get there early, you are unlikely to find yourself getting one of those few dozen seats.

Or you can buy one on the black market.

The problem is a simple, Econ 101 one—there's a scarce supply of seats and a lot more demand. Waiting in line, beyond being terribly boring, isn't a very good use of most people's time, including many of the people who truly want to be inside the courthouse when the nine Justices listen to arguments and pepper the attorneys with questions. This is America, though—so someone has turned the wait into cash. In some cases, a lot of cash.

For decades, people in the Beltway have volunteered to sit in line for you, for a fee. In 2005, according to a report by the
Washington Post
, a man named Kevin Rollins earned $350 for waiting in line on behalf of a law firm. The firm wanted one of its clients, whom it was representing in front of the Court, to be able to listen to the arguments, but the length of the line proved prohibitive. Rollins spent fourteen hours waiting on behalf of the law firm and its client for an hourly rate of $25.

In years since, line standing has become a boom industry in the Beltway. At least two different businesses in the Beltway have entered the market, playing the matchmaker role—for a cut, they'll find a line-stander for you, and for very long assignments, they'll find relief placeholders as needed. Prices have shot up to at least $50 an hour, and lines have gotten longer, sometimes requiring line sitters to hang out for two or three days. According to one report, one keep-my-place-in-line assignment for a highly visible case cost the purchaser $6,000. Note that observers do not have an opportunity to influence the case; they are, as the name suggests, merely there to watch the goings-on.

The businesses providing these services also tend to provide similar services for those who wish to attend congressional hearings, much to the chagrin of at least one senator. In 2007, Senator Claire McCaskill from Missouri proposed legislation to ban the practice, but as of this writing, any such efforts have been to no avail.