The Food Economy of The Outer Worlds

In the Halcyon colony, you aren't just a consumer; you are a line item on a corporate balance sheet. In The Outer Worlds, food is the ultimate tool of control. When mega-corporations replace effective governance, they don't just own your house and your wages—they own your stomach. From the genetic monstrosities of Monarch to the "flavor-enhanced" dirt of Edgewater, every bite in Halcyon is a brand, and every brand is a trap.

The Cysty Pig: A Masterclass in Grotesque Efficiency

Perhaps the most disturbing example of corporate-designed livestock is the Cysty Pig. Engineered by the C&P (Cannery & Plumb) corporation, these creatures—like the famous "Bubbles"—are designed to grow enormous, bacon-flavored tumors on their necks that periodically drop off for easy harvesting. The company calls it "sustainable meat production," providing an endless loop of self-regrowing protein.

At the Boarst factory on Monarch, foreman Slaughterhouse Clive Lumbergh runs a system so efficient it borders on the cannibalistic. The pigs are fed processed Boarst (made of their own kind), and their hooves are ground into feed for the next generation. Rumors even suggest that "terminated" employees who've been given their pink slips occasionally find their way into the feed pens. It is a closed loop of life consuming itself, marketed with the cheery slogan: "It’s not the worst unless it’s the Boarsturst!"

Spacer’s Choice: "It’s Not the Best, It’s Spacer’s Choice!"

No brand defines the "budget-friendly" misery of Halcyon more than Spacer’s Choice. In the company town of Edgewater, the diet consists almost entirely of Saltuna. However, decades of over-fishing mean there is no actual fish left. Modern Saltuna is a medley of mushrooms, sawdust, and actual dirt, seasoned with "natural flavoring" to mask the severe nutrient deficiency that the company rebrands as a "plague."

Spacer's Choice leans into its own mediocrity with marketing irony, offering products like:

• Tarmac and Cheese: Boldly advertised as containing "not real tarmac or real cheese."
• Plain and Pure Water: Now featuring 11% more "natural water flavoring" and—inexplicably—the same sugary drink buff as a soda.
• Mock Apple: A synthetic fruit that serves as a constant reminder that real Earth apples are a forgotten luxury.

Auntie Cleo’s: "Better Than Nature"

While Spacer’s Choice targets the bottom shelf, Auntie Cleo’s positions itself as the "scientific" and "upscale" alternative. Their slogan, "Auntie Cleo’s: It’s Better Than Nature," implies that natural food is inferior to their lab-grown, supplement-injected creations. The matronly "Auntie Cleo" herself is a fabrication—a role assumed by rotating executives who undergo extensive cosmetic surgery to match the brand's idealized image.

Behind the polished facade lies a history of unethical human experimentation. To perfect their Tripicale Pasta and Catch-Up (a synthetic ketchup with 37 secret spices), Auntie Cleo’s has been known to use test subjects in ways that make mother nature look kind by comparison. In Halcyon, the lack of regulation means the customer is always the final guinea pig.

Rizzo’s: The Purpleberry Narcotic

If Auntie Cleo is the "medicine," Rizzo’s is the reward. Rizzo focuses on the psychological niche of pleasure, flooding the market with Purpleberry—a completely engineered fruit designed to be addictively sweet with zero fiber to slow down the sugar rush. From Purpleberry Punch to Lemon Slapp ("Slap your whole family tonight!"), Rizzo’s products are the coping mechanisms that keep the workforce smiling through the rot.

Even their alcohol is a tool of social stratification. Spectrum Vodka is sold in multiple colors—a "glass for every class." The red variety is for the workers, while the violet is for the elite. In reality, the quality is identical; only the branding and the price change.

Defiance in a Can

Despite this oppressive machinery, humanity persists in small, flavor-filled ways. Whether it is Adelaide McDevitt growing "illegal" vegetables in a botanical garden or Parvati Holcomb longing to cook a genuine Dustback Casserole for a loved one, the act of making a real, homemade meal is the ultimate act of rebellion.

The food of The Outer Worlds is a sharp critique of runaway corporate control. Every bite of Woolly Cow chocolate milk (genetically grafted with cacao DNA) or Buncha Nanners reminds the colonist who their master is. Yet, as the player awakes on the Hope, there is a chance to change the recipe. In a world of fake flavors, the search for something "real" is the greatest quest of all.

Would you survive a week on a Spacer's Choice diet, or are you heading straight for the Purpleberry Orchards? Let us know in the comments!