S ome people sell homemade food as a hobby. Others need the revenue for survival. Fifth-generation farmer Gina Irons says many of her neighbors in Apache County, Ariz., use income from their kitchens to cover basic expenses.
“Jobs can be scarce here,” she says. “It is kind of desperate, so many of our residents here rely on home businesses to support their families, and food products are an essential and important output.”
FlatTop Farm, which Irons operates in Eagar, near the New Mexico state line, produces vegetables, herbs, and hand-gathered eggs using organic gardening techniques. Irons also sells homemade jams, jellies, pastas, and baked goods at farmers markets.
Her specialty is sourdough bread. Other vendors set up tables with cookies and cakes. But options are limited for “cottage food,” which refers to homemade food prepared for sale. Low-acid canned goods, fermented foods, and anything that requires refrigeration is illegal in Arizona unless produced in a commercial kitchen, which prices many cottage-food producers out of the market.
“I can sell fresh lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes,” Irons says. “But if I cut up those same vegetables and put them in a salad, it becomes illegal.”
Restrictions like these will end soon.
A new state law, which will take effect this summer, will legalize nearly all types of cottage food in Arizona, including refrigerated desserts and meals containing meat. Proponents call the measure the “Tamale Bill,” drawing attention to popular street vendors who operate under the constant threat of fines for selling homemade tamales and other ethnic dishes.
Favorite products in northeastern Arizona include fry bread tacos and roasted chilis. “These are traditional foods,” Irons says. “These are foods that have always been available. Legalizing [selling] them will free people who were hiding to come out.”
The change did not come easily. Arizona governor Katie Hobbs vetoed a previous version of the bill in 2023. But now, her state will leap to the front of a growing movement for food freedom, the right to buy and sell food from neighbors without unnecessary government interference.
All 50 states and Washington, D.C., allow the sale of shelf-stable cottage foods such as cookies, cakes, and breads. And seven states — soon eight with Arizona — allow the sale of homemade foods that require time and temperature controls for safety. The other cottage-food leaders include California, Iowa, Montana, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Utah, and Wyoming.
As time moves on, the main argument against cottage food gets harder to make. Critics express concerns about safety. But research from our public-interest law firm, the Institute for Justice, finds zero confirmed cases of foodborne illness related to cottage food in the seven states with the broadest laws.
Irons knows why. “Since time began, people — mostly women — have been making food in their homes for their families,” she says. “They understand safety.”
They also understand the importance of reputation. “If we make somebody sick, nobody will ever buy from us again,” Irons says.
Despite the strong safety record, resistance remains high in many places nationwide. County health inspectors showed up at a farmers market in Greensboro, N.C., and cited cottage-food producers in August 2022. Nobody had complained, but county officials decided to flex their authority anyway.
Kathy Newsom, who manages the market, says one tamale vendor shut down her stall and never returned.
New Jersey municipalities, meanwhile, use zoning laws to hinder cottage food. Delaware caps annual sales at $25,000, leaving almost no profit after expenses. Hawaii bans online sales. Pennsylvania requires laboratory testing for certain foods. And Georgia requires inspections, licenses, permits, and training.
The losers are not multinational companies with deep pockets but marginalized workers struggling to make ends meet. Most cottage-food producers are women living in rural areas with below-average income.
Covid-19 lockdowns forced people to get creative, especially in the restaurant industry. Deregulation in some jurisdictions helped ease the strain. Consumers rediscovered the joys of homemade food, while entrepreneurs discovered new opportunities for small, flexible businesses. Stopping their work would be cruel.
Cottage-food producers have proved their ability to feed people safely. Arizona will soon add to the data. “People will be elevated,” Irons says. “It is a huge opportunity.”
Paul Avelar is managing attorney of the Arizona office for the Institute for Justice. Daryl James is a writer at the Institute for Justice.