Business
Column: Black spatulas and mystery drones: Your guide to the unfounded panics of the season
The “silly season” of news coverage used to refer to the dog days of summer, when there was so little of importance happening that newspapers and cable channels filled the vacuum with fluff.
Not this year.
Starting in October and gaining intensity through the season, Americans have found themselves awash in panicky health and safety warnings about previously unappreciated threats.
Most people don’t look at the sky. They don’t know what airplanes look like up there, particularly at night, and they don’t know what the stars and planets look like.
— Scientist Cheryl Rofer explains the drone panic
It started with warnings about your black plastic spatulas and other such implements. Spurred by a study and press release issued Oct. 1 by the Seattle nonprofit Toxic-Free Future, news organizations from coast to coast — including The Times — posted articles advising consumers to ditch their black food utensils and children’s toys with black plastic pieces.
The black spatula panic was soon outrun by the drone panic, which has Americans scanning the skies for menacing aircraft.
As is typically the case, both of these panics springs from a nugget of truth. It’s true, for example, that chemicals that could theoretically harm people’s health at high exposure levels can be found in some household products — chiefly chemical flame retardants in black plastic electronic devices that have been banned from new uses but have been getting recycled into the consumer stream.
It’s also true that drones, ranging in size from the lightweight models deployed by hobbyists to large commercial models, are becoming a pain in the neck, with the largest craft posing a real danger to commercial aircraft.
But the distance between those nuggets of reality and the level of public hysteria is so great that the latter can be explained mostly by two factors: the desire for clicks on news sites and to fill newspaper columns, and the impulse of preening politicians to show they’re attentive to constituents’ concerns, no matter how dubious.
Let’s take these panics in order, starting with the black utensils. For a time, press advisories that people ditch their black spatulas were impossible to ignore. The most alarmist was probably an offering from The Atlantic, which was headlined: “Throw Out Your Black Plastic Spatula/It’s probably leaching chemicals into your cooking oil.”
The piece ran under an illustration of a black spatula dripping sinister goblets of melting plastic, against a background of bilious green. It gave prominent space to the Toxic-Free Future study, as well as to research papers by the British scientist Andrew Turner, who has been studying the contamination of household goods by those electronic flame retardants for years.
A few points about the Toxic-Free Future paper, which spurred all that news coverage. First, it’s based in part on a massive mathematical error. The paper calculates that users of “contaminated kitchen utensils” would have a median intake of BDE-209, one of the common flame retardants, of 34,700 nanograms per day. (A nanogram is a billionth of a gram.)
The paper states that this daily exposure “would approach” the reference dose set by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency of 7,000 nanograms per kilogram of body weight per day, which the the paper says pencils out at 42,000 nanograms per day for a 60-kilogram adult. Pretty good ground for concern, since the EPA uses the reference dose to measure the level of health risk from exposure to a toxin.
Except: 7,000 times 60 isn’t 42,000; it’s 420,000. The median intake for a 60-kilogram adult, in other words, isn’t anywhere close to the EPA’s reference dose.
Toxic-Free Future has issued a correction to its paper, acknowledging that the daily intake it calculated doesn’t “approach” the EPA reference dose but is one-tenth of the reference dose. (The Times has followed up with an article about the correction; several other publications that went to town on the black utensil threat have also done so.) But it also says “the calculation error does not affect the overall conclusion of the paper.”
Megan Liu, the paper’s lead author, told me that it wasn’t really designed as a risk assessment, but chiefly as a study of how much of these contaminants has entered the consumer economy through kitchen utensils, children’s toys and other products. “Flame retardants shouldn’t even be in these products at all,” she says, which is true.
Yet the issue for the average consumer is how dangerous are these products, really? The answer is, not very.
In a study cited by Liu’s paper, researchers found that some chemicals leached from a black spatula into cooking oil.
The Atlantic’s take on this was that the paper “found that flame retardants in black kitchen utensils readily migrate into hot cooking oil.” Not so readily, however: The researchers cut a black spatula into small pieces and basted them in 320-degree cooking oil for 15 minutes. Who does that? As epidemiologist Gideon Meyerowitz-Katz points out, “most people don’t leave their spatulas in the fryer and walk away for a quarter of an hour.”
More issues are related to this paper. One is that 60 kilograms, or about 132 pounds, isn’t the average weight of American adults. The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Preventgion places the average weight for an adult male at about 200 pounds, and for a female about 171.
Using those weights would have shown that the potential for health effects is even more remote than the overheated news coverage of the paper suggests. In any case, the evidence for long-term human health effects from the normal exposure to these chemicals is scanty. It comes almost entirely from experiments on lab mice and rats subjected to doses unlikely to occur in the real world, and to an experiment on human cells also in the laboratory.
Of course, if you’re inclined to eliminate all artifacts of modern commerce from your life, no one is stopping you. Liu and her colleagues observe that kitchen implements made from wood or stainless steel are widely available. They’ve also properly noted that among the real problems with the recycling of plastics in consumer goods is that we don’t know anything about how much goes into which products and where they’ve come from.
Some legislatures have moved toward requiring more disclosure, which is to the good. But if you spent the last few weeks or months doing a hard target search for black implements in your house, you probably didn’t have to.
Now on to the drones. When I first heard of New Jersey residents expressing panic over mysterious lights overhead, I flashed on the Firesign Theatre line, “Big light in sky slated to appear in East.” Except that the Firesign Theatre was a satire troupe of the 1960s and ‘70s, the line originated in their parody of a post-apocalyptic news broadcast, and the game was given away by the title of their best album, “Don’t Crush that Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers.” The current panic appears to be for real.
All the worrying got me thinking about the interview I conducted in September with Sean M. Kirkpatrick, who had recently retired as the Pentagon’s chief investigator of UFO reports. As he had written in a Scientific American op-ed, he and his team had been overwhelmed by a “whirlwind of tall tales, fabrication and secondhand or thirdhand retellings of the same,” producing “a social media frenzy and a significant amount of congressional and executive time and energy spent on investigating these so-called claims.”
Sound familiar?
The claims of an invasion of the Eastern seaboard by swarms of drones has every marker of a groundless social media frenzy. This started with some truly baroque partisan speculation; on Dec. 11, Rep. Jeff Van Drew (R-N.J.) cadged himself some airtime on Fox News by claiming that his home state was under attack from Iran.
“I’m going to tell you the real deal,” he said. “Iran launched a mother ship that contains these drones. It’s off the East Coast of the United States of America. They’ve launched drones.”
Three days later, New York Gov. Kathy Hochul, a Democrat, declared “this has gone too far,” grousing that mystery drones had closed down a metropolitan New York airport. The bare-bones reporting on this event might have made people think that JFK or LaGuardia had been attacked by mystery drones. In fact, the airport was Stewart Airport, which is 60 miles from Manhattan, is served mostly by the ultra-low-cost Allegiant Airlines with routes to Florida, and was closed for one hour.
My favorite performance was that of former Maryland Gov. Larry Hogan, a Republican, who reported via X that on Dec. 12 he “personally witnessed (and videoed) what appeared to be dozens of large drones in the sky above my residence … (25 miles from our nation’s capital). I observed the activity for approximately 45 minutes.”
It didn’t take long for Hogan to be inundated with responses from astronomers and meteorologists that what he had videotaped weren’t drones flying over his house, but the constellation Orion, which as meteorologist Matthew Cappucci informed him crisply, is “made up of stars between 244 and 1,344 light years away.”
Since then, neighborhood groups in New Jersey have organized “sky watches” to track the invading swarms and traded reports via their Ring doorbells. Donald Trump advised people to shoot the drones down, which is a good way to make things worse.
Some people conjecture that the drone hysteria is the product of the public’s mistrust of government. That doesn’t explain much, since a large share of the hysteria has been promoted by elected officials themselves. Politicians are naturally averse to calling their constituents idiots, so they have been responding by demanding more transparency from government officials at the Pentagon and other agencies. It’s always safe for politicians to assure voters that they’ll hold bureaucrats’ feet to the fire.
The problem here is that government agencies have been very clear about what’s happening overhead. The “drone” sightings, they say, are of commercial or U.S. military aircraft, helicopters, and perhaps drone flights by hobbyists wanting to get in on the fun. Most of it is surely the product of ignorance. How much more do we need federal agencies to explain?
“Most people don’t look at the sky,” notes Cheryl Rofer, a retired nuclear scientist. “They don’t know what airplanes look like up there, particularly at night, and they don’t know what the stars and planets look like. They can’t estimate distance — which is tricky in the sky — and they aren’t aware of how things can seem to move. They aren’t aware of how to check if those objects in fact are moving.”
There may be one other explanation for why there are so many purported drone sightings in New Jersey. As the blogger Kevin Drum writes, there are a lot of drones in New Jersey, in part because a state law “indemnifies drone fliers against lawsuits from New Jersey landowners for use of their property for drone overflights.”
So, sure. New Jersey loves drones, which nobody noticed until a local congressman decided to blame Iran.
That should cover the hysterias of the moment. Black spatulas won’t kill you, and the lights in the sky aren’t alien spaceships or Iranian bombers. Any questions?
After the dot-com bubble burst in the early 2000s, Candace Nelson reevaluated her career. She had just been laid off from a boutique investment banking firm in San Francisco’s tech startup scene, and realized she wanted a change.
From her home, she launched a custom cake service that soon morphed into an idea for a cupcake-focused bakery. Nelson and her husband — whom she met at the Bay Area firm where she had worked — then pooled their savings, moved to Southern California and together opened Sprinkles Cupcakes from a 600-square-foot Beverly Hills storefront.
The store quickly sold out on opening day in 2005, and over the next two decades, the Sprinkles brand exploded across the country, opening dozens of locations of its specialty bakeries as well as mall kiosks and its signature around-the-clock cupcake ATMs in several states.
“It was an unproven concept and a big risk,” Nelson told the Times in 2013, at which point the business had 400 employees at 14 locations and dispensed upward of a thousand cupcakes a day from its Beverly Hills ATM alone.
But now, the iconic cupcake brand is no longer.
Sprinkles abruptly shut down all of its locations on Dec. 31, leaving hundreds of retail employees across Arizona; California; Washington, D.C.; Florida; Nevada; Texas; and Utah in a lurch with little notice, no severance and scrambling to fulfill a surge of orders from customers clamoring to get their last tastes.
Candace Nelson, the founder of Sprinkles cupcakes, in Beverly Hills in 2018.
(Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
Although Nelson long ago exited the company, having sold it to private equity firm KarpReilly LLC in 2012, she shared her disappointment with its fate on social media.
“As many of you know, I started Sprinkles in 2005 with a KitchenAid mixer and a big idea,” Nelson said in the post. “It’s surreal to see this chapter come to a close — and it’s not how I imagined the story would unfold.”
The company, now headquartered in Austin, Texas, made no formal announcement regarding the closures and Nelson has not said more than what she posted online. The company did share a comment with KTLA, saying “After thoughtful consideration, we’ve made the very difficult decision to transition away from operating company-owned Sprinkles bakeries.” Neither Nelson nor representatives of Sprinkles and KarpReilly responded to The Times’ requests for comment.
Sprinkles’ demise comes at a tough time for the food and beverage industry. At brick-and-mortar food retail locations, the non-negotiable ingredient and labor costs can be high. And shifting consumer sentiments away from sugar-filled sweets and toward more healthy and functional options, strained pocketbooks, as well as pushes by federal and state governments to nix artificial colors and flavoring, are creating uncertainties for businesses, those in the food industry said.
A 24-hour cupcake ATM at Sprinkles Cupcakes in Beverly Hills in 2012.
(Damian Dovarganes / Associated Press)
“Over the last 10 years the consumer has wizened up tremendously and is looking at the back of the label and choosing where to spend their sweets,” said David Jacobowitz, founder of Austin-based Nebula Snacks, an online food retailer.
At the same time, it’s also not uncommon for businesses owned by private-equity firms to close on a whim, where relentlessly profit-driven decisions might be made simply to pursue more lucrative projects. In recent years, private-equity deals have been seen to milk businesses for profit by slashing costs and quality, and have appeared to play a role in the breakup of some legacy retail brands, including Toys ‘R’ Us, Red Lobster, TGI Fridays and fabrics chain JoAnn Inc. On the flip side, private equity can help infuse much-needed cash into a business and extend its life.
Stevie León and her co-workers received a text the night before New Year’s Eve informing them the franchise Sprinkles location in Sarasota, Fla., where they worked would close permanently after their shifts the next day.
León, 33, said her position as a scratch baker mixing batter and frosting cupcakes overnight had been a dream job, since she had been searching for ways to develop baking skills without paying for expensive schooling.
“I really thought it was my forever job and it was taken away literally in a day,” she said. “I’m just taking it one day at a time.”
Ivy Hernandez, 27, the general manager at the Sarasota store, said that after the news was delivered to her boss, the franchise owner, they rushed to learn their options to keep the store afloat but quickly learned it could be legally precarious to continue operating. The store had been open less than a year.
A nearby corporate store, Hernandez said, had been in disarray for months, with employees contending with broken fridges and lapsed ingredient shipments, as managers implored higher-ups to pay the bills so the business could operate properly.
“It really felt like they were trying to do everything they could to screw everyone over as hard as possible until the end,” Hernandez said.
Sprinkles did not respond to questions about the franchise program or allegations of mismanagement in the lead-up to the closure.
A person walks by Sprinkles on the Upper East Side in New York City in 2020.
(Cindy Ord / Getty Images)
The obsession with tiny cakes in paper cups traces back to an episode of “Sex and the City” aired in 2000 showing Miranda and Carrie savoring cupcakes on a bench outside a West Village bakery called Magnolia’s Cupcakes.
“Big wasn’t a crush, he was a crash,” Carrie says to Miranda as she peels down the wrapper on a cupcake topped with bright pink buttercream frosting. She punctuates the quip by taking a big bite, leaving a glob of frosting on her face.
The scene sparked a tourism phenomenon for the bakery — which went on to create a “Carrie” line of cupcakes — and helped propel the burgeoning cupcake industry and companies like Sprinkles Cupcakes, Crumbs Bake Shop and Baked by Melissa to new heights.
Within a decade there was already talk of a “Cupcake Bubble,” coined by writer Daniel Gross in a 2009 Slate article where he argued that the 2008 economic recession laid the groundwork for a proliferation of cupcake stores across America, because a lot of people could figure out how to make tasty cupcakes cheaply and scale up without a huge capital investment.
Amid the decimation of many other local retail businesses, one could take over storefronts in heavily trafficked areas for cheap. As a result, “casual baking turned into an urban industry,” Gross said.
The cupcake fervor hit its peak when Crumbs, which had started as a single bakery on Manhattan’s Upper West Side in 2003, went public in a reverse merger worth $66 million in 2011. The wildly popular mini-cakes were selling at $4.50 a pop. But it became clear very quickly that it had grown too large, too fast. It closed in 2014 after it lost its stock listing on Nasdaq and defaulted on about $14.3 million in financing.
Analysts at the time said consumers were cooling on opulent desserts and suggested tougher times were ahead for bakeries that focused solely on cupcakes.
But Baked by Melissa has thus far proved those analysts wrong. The company has remained privately owned, and according to its founder, is focused on nationwide e-commerce operations — and on expanding the brand beyond sweets. Founder Melissa Ben-Ishay has gained a following on social media by sharing recipes for nutritious, easy-to-make meals.
“Businesses that prioritize quick value increases to get acquired often crash,” Ben-Ishay told Forbes last year. “We’re committed to maintaining product quality and steady, long-term growth.”
Before its unceremonious and sudden closure, Spinkles company leadership had pushed to diversify its business as part of a strategy to recover from a pandemic-era lull.
Chief Executive Dan Mesches told trade publication Nation’s Restaurant News in 2021 that comparable sales had grown since pre-pandemic years. He said the company had ramped up its direct-to-consumer and off-premises offerings and created a line of chocolates made to look like the tops of their cupcakes. The company also introduced a new franchise program with the goal of opening some 200 locations in the U.S. and abroad over three years.
“Innovation is everything for us,” Mesches said.
Sprinkles was known for, among other things, inventive and somewhat corny methods of customer delivery. Besides the trademark ATMs, the company’s vending machines found at many airports made loud, attention-drawing jingles, drawing dramatic complaints and jokes from TikTok travelers. In the 2010s, the company debuted a custom-built truck — “the Sprinklesmobile” — to deliver cupcakes to cities without physical locations.
Frances Hughes, co-founder of online wholesale marketplace Starch, said there’s no question that gourmet sweet treats are still in vogue. But brick-and-mortar locations are much more risky, with more unpredictability. Having large fixed costs makes a business “extremely sensitive to small changes in traffic or frequency,” while online or e-commerce models can be more flexible.
“I think cupcakes as a product still have demand. But the novelty paths that support that rapid retail expansion have passed,” Hughes said.
When Nelson, the Sprinkles founder, posted her somber message about the closure, she asked people to share memories of the company. Many offered heartfelt responses, her comments flooded with stories, for example, of poor college students making the trek to the Beverly Hills location for a limited number of first-come, first-served free cupcakes.
But many of the comments also criticized Nelson’s sale to private equity.
“You sold it to PE and expected it to not close?? What planet are you living on? I don’t begrudge you for selling as that’s entirely your choice but to think any PE firm cares about a company in the slightest is insanity,” one Instagram user said.
Nicole Rucker, an L.A.-based pastry chef and owner of Fat+Flour Pie Shop, said she didn’t observe a decline in the quality of the product after the private-equity takeover. She has been a longtime admirer of the company, driving up from San Diego to sample the cupcakes when its store opened. The simple attractiveness of the box and the logo, and the consistency in the way cupcakes were decorated, “was inspiring,” she said.
“It had a strong hold on people for years,” Rucker said.
Rucker said however that when a private-equity-owned business shutters, she doesn’t feel sadness: “I would rather give my money to a fellow small-business owner, because I would rather know that every dollar and every sale matters.”
Michelle Wainwright, the owner and founder of Indiana-based bakery Cute as a Cupcake! said that although the niche cupcake industry may no longer be in its heyday — with “Sex and the City” no longer airing and competitive baking show “Cupcake Wars” (which Candace Nelson served as a judge on) now canceled — they are still versatile treats, with great potential for creativity.
And they are sentimental to her, because she uses her grandmother’s recipe.
“Cupcakes are still a winner,” Wainwright said. “It’s my belief that a life with out cupcakes is a life without love.”
Semiconductor testing equipment company FormFactor is laying off more than 200 workers and closing manufacturing facilities as it seeks to cut costs after being hit by higher import taxes.
The Livermore, Calif.,-based company plans to shutter its Baldwin Park facility and cut 113 jobs there on Jan. 30, according to a layoff notice sent to the California Employment Development Department this week. Its facility in Carlsbad is scheduled to close in mid-December later this year, which will result in 107 job losses, according to an earlier notice.
Technicians, engineers, managers, assemblers and other workers are among those expected to lose their jobs, according to the notices.
The company offers semiconductor testing equipment, including probe cards, and other products. The industry has been benefiting from increased AI chip adoption and infrastructure spending.
FormFactor is among the employers that have been shedding workers amid more economic uncertainty.
Companies have cited various reasons for workforce reductions, including restructuring, closures, tariffs, market conditions and artificial intelligence, which can help automate repetitive tasks or generate text, images and code.
The tech industry — a key part of California’s economy — has been hit hard by job losses after the pandemic, which spurred more hiring, and amid the rise of AI tools that are reshaping its workforce.
As tech companies and startups compete fiercely to dominate the AI race, they’ve also cut middle management and other workers as they move faster to release more AI-powered products. They’re also investing billions of dollars into data centers that house computing equipment used to process the massive troves of information needed to train and maintain AI systems.
Companies such as chipmaker Nvidia and ChatGPT maker OpenAI have benefited from the AI boom, while legacy tech companies such as Intel are fighting to keep up.
FormFactor’s cuts are part of restructuring plans that “are intended to better align cost structure and support gross margin improvement to the Company’s target financial model,” the company said in a filing to the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission this week.
The company plans to consolidate its facilities in Baldwin Park and Carlsbad, the filing said.
FormFactor didn’t respond to a request for comment.
FormFactor has been impacted by tariffs and seen its growth slow. The company employs more than 2,000 people and has been aiming to improve its profit margins.
In October, the company reported $202.7 million in third-quarter revenue, down 2.5% from the third quarter of fiscal 2024. The company’s net income was $15.7 million in the third quarter of 2025, down from $18.7 million in the same quarter of the previous year.
FormFactor’s stock has been up 16% since January, surpassing more than $67 per share on Friday.
Two people allegedly used $100 counterfeit bills at dozens of In-N-Out Burger restaurants in Southern California in a wide-reaching scam.
Glendale Police officials said in a statement Friday that 26-year-old Tatiyanna Foster of Long Beach was taken into custody last month. Another suspect, 24-year-old Auriona Lewis, also of Long Beach, was arrested in October.
Police released images of $100 bills used to purchase a $2.53 order of fries and a $5.93 order of a Flying Dutchman.
The Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office charged Lewis with felony counterfeiting and grand theft in November.
Elizabeth Megan Lashley-Haynes, Lewis’s public defender, didn’t immediately respond to a request for comment.
Glendale police said that Lewis was arrested in Palmdale in an operation involving the U.S. Marshals Task Force. Foster is expected in court later this month, officials said.
”Lewis was found to be in possession of counterfeit bills matching those used in the Glendale incident, along with numerous gift cards and transaction receipts believed to be connected to similar fraudulent activity,” according to a police statement.
A representative for In-N-Out Burger told KTLA-TV that restaurants in Riverside, San Bernardino and San Diego counties were also targeted by the alleged scam.
“Their dedication and expertise resulted in the identification and apprehension of the suspects, helping to protect our business and our communities,” In-N-Out’s Chief Operations Officer Denny Warnick said. “We greatly value the support of law enforcement and appreciate the vital role they play in making our communities stronger and safer places to live.”
The company, opened in 1948 in Baldwin Park, has restaurants in nine states.
An Oakland location closed in 2024, with the owner blaming crime and slow police response times.
Company chief executive Lynsi Snyder announced last year that she planned to relocate her family to Tennessee, although the burger chain’s headquarters will remain in California.
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