This story was originally published by Wired and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

At an upscale sushi bar in New York last week, a smattering of media and policy types chowed down on a menu of sushi rolls, Peking duck tapas, and mushroom salad. But what made this menu unusual was the one ingredient that ran through the dishes—foie gras made from quail cells brewed in a bioreactor. The event, catered by the sushi chef Masa Takayama, was a launch party for Australian cultivated meat firm Vow, which will sell its foie gras at a handful of restaurants in Singapore and Hong Kong.

The meal was decadent—one course featured a mountain of black truffle—but that was mostly the point. Vow and its CEO, George Peppou, are angling cultivated meat as a luxury product—an unusual positioning for an industry where many founders are motivated by animal welfare and going toe-to-toe with mass-produced meat. But while growing meat in the lab still remains eye-wateringly expensive, Peppou is trying to turn the technology’s Achilles’ heel into his advantage.

“I feel like the obituary has already been written for our industry,” he says. “But just because Californians can’t do something doesn’t mean something can’t be done.”

It’s for venues that want “to use ingredients to distinguish themselves,” or “that have removed foie gras from their menus due to cruelty.”

That something is making cultivated meat while turning a profit. The big challenge facing the industry—along with the bans and the lack of venture capital cash—is that it costs a lot to grow animal cells in bioreactors. Reliable figures are hard to come by, but one research paper with data provided by companies in 2021 put the cost of cultivated meat between $68 and $10,000 per pound, depending on production methods. A lot of startups say they have drastically cut production costs since their early experiments, but prices are still way higher than factory farmed chicken at around $2.67 per pound.

The two best-funded startups in the space—Eat Just and Upside Foods—have both brought out cultivated chicken products. But Peppou, who leans into his reputation in the industry as something of a provocateur, says that approach doesn’t make sense. “Making chicken was always a terrible idea,” he says.

The fundamentals of cultivated meat are pricey. The business of growing animal cells outside of their bodies is usually the domain of medical researchers and pharmaceutical companies. Animal cells grown in culture are used to make vaccines and medicines, which are sold in tiny volumes for sky-high prices. The cultivated meat industry needs some of the same ingredients to grow the cells it wants to sell as meat, but unlike the pharma industry, it needs to grow huge volumes of cells and sell them at grocery store prices.

The major cost right now is what’s called cell media—the broth of liquid, nutrients, amino acids, and growth factors fed to cells while they’re growing. The off-the-shelf standard cell media for growing stem cells is called Essential 8, and it costs upwards of $400 per liter. That’s fine if you’re a scientist growing a few cells in a petri dish, but growing a single kilogram of cultivated meat might require 10 of liters of media, quickly sending costs sky-rocketing. Cultivated meat companies need to find cheaper sources for their ingredients and buy them in bulk in order to drive their costs down.

“Ultimately the industry needs to prove that it can scale,” says Elliot Swartz, principal scientist for cultivated meat at the Good Food Institute, a nonprofit focused on advancing alternative proteins. Just a few crucial ingredients in cell media are a major factor pushing up costs for cultivated meat companies, most of which are still operating at a tiny scale, producing kilograms of meat per production cycle rather than the tons they are aiming for.

“My biggest concern is always the scalability and the ability to industrialize something,” says Ido Savir, CEO of Israeli cultivated meat company SuperMeat. His company has just released a report estimating that—if produced at scale—it could grow chicken meat at $11.80 per pound, close to the price for pasture-raised chicken in the US. But this assumes production in bioreactors up to 25,000 liters—several orders of magnitude higher than the 10-liter scale the company is currently working at. “We’re improving every month,” he says.

Savir is aiming at a much lower price point than Peppou, and hopes to partner with food manufacturers who might license his technology to add cultivated meat into their mix of options. “We’re more interested in the mass market,” he says. Dutch company Meatable has indicated it wants to follow a similar approach—licensing its technology to the handful of firms that already produce much of the US’s meat. Other cultivated meat companies want to sell to consumers under their own brands, but are still targeting the mass meat industry.

Peppou is skewing decidedly in the opposite direction. He declines to name a price, but says his foie gras is at the “higher end” of the market—somewhere in the region of hundreds of dollars per pound. The foie gras is 51 percent Japanese quail cells—which also make up the parfait that Vow has sold in Singapore since April—plus a plant-based fat mix and corn husk flavorings. “It’s either for a venue that wants to use ingredients to distinguish themselves,” says Peppou, or it’s for “large hotels or caterers that have removed foie gras from their menus due to cruelty.”

Conventional foie gras is made by force-feeding ducks or geese until their livers swell with fatty deposits. Production is banned in the United Kingdom, Germany, Italy, and California among other places. Another cultivated meat company, France-based Gourmey, also makes foie gras, although its product is not currently on sale anywhere.

“If you look at a lot of deep technology companies, it’s kind of a game of just not dying.”

Vow’s quail parfait is on the menu at around six restaurants in Singapore, including being sold as a $15 (USD) bar snack and as part of a $185 tasting menu. In Peppou’s telling, going high-end is a way to spin cultivated meat’s high costs and low production volumes as a luxury proposition. “I believe the biggest challenge we have is how to shape consumer sentiment around this category. And the most efficient way to do that in my mind is to be in the most influential places with the relatively limited volume we have available.”

SuperMeat’s Savir says that luxury cultivated meat products “have a place,” but that he is more interested in the mass market where he can complement the current production of meat. That will mean continuing to drive production costs down. One option is to mix cultivated meat with much cheaper plant-based ingredients. Savir says that they’re aiming at products that are around 30 percent cultivated meat cells and 70 percent plant-based ingredients. Several other firms are taking a similar strategy. In Singapore, Eat Just sells cultivated chicken strips that are only 3 percent chicken cells.

The industry is also hoping that customers will pay premium prices because of the potential environmental benefits of making meat outside of animal bodies. Savir says he has spoken with a “very big” pizza company that says replacing just 5 to 10 percent of its chicken toppings with cultivated chicken would make a substantial dent in its carbon footprint.

Even replacing a fraction of a percent of the $50 billion broiler chicken industry in the US would require a monumental scaling-up of cultivated meat production. “If you’re competing against chicken, which is the lowest-cost meat product, then you either have to go to very large scales or create hybrid products that have lower inclusion rates,” says Swartz of the Good Food Institute. But with investor dollars in short supply, companies are having to get creative about how they plan to get products into the world and achieve many founders’ ultimate goal of displacing at least some conventional meat production.

Even though he’s targeting the luxury market, Peppou says he still isn’t turning a profit on his cultured quail parfait or foie gras, although his margin is much better than it would be if he were competing with factory-farmed chicken. “If you look at a lot of deep technology companies, it’s kind of a game of just not dying,” he says. “And it’s figuring out ways to not die long enough to get good enough to win in a market which probably doesn’t exist yet.”

That means the route ahead for Vow might not look totally different from other cultivated meat companies. “The volumes are going to be low, it’s mostly going to be in restaurants. They’re going to be iterating on these products over time before they get any sort of mass market entry point,” says Swartz. “In the short term, what I’m looking forward to is getting more people that are trying this for the first time, not trying it because they’re excited about cultivated meat, but generally because they’re interested.”

This story was originally published by Wired and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

At an upscale sushi bar in New York last week, a smattering of media and policy types chowed down on a menu of sushi rolls, Peking duck tapas, and mushroom salad. But what made this menu unusual was the one ingredient that ran through the dishes—foie gras made from quail cells brewed in a bioreactor. The event, catered by the sushi chef Masa Takayama, was a launch party for Australian cultivated meat firm Vow, which will sell its foie gras at a handful of restaurants in Singapore and Hong Kong.

The meal was decadent—one course featured a mountain of black truffle—but that was mostly the point. Vow and its CEO, George Peppou, are angling cultivated meat as a luxury product—an unusual positioning for an industry where many founders are motivated by animal welfare and going toe-to-toe with mass-produced meat. But while growing meat in the lab still remains eye-wateringly expensive, Peppou is trying to turn the technology’s Achilles’ heel into his advantage.

“I feel like the obituary has already been written for our industry,” he says. “But just because Californians can’t do something doesn’t mean something can’t be done.”

It’s for venues that want “to use ingredients to distinguish themselves,” or “that have removed foie gras from their menus due to cruelty.”

That something is making cultivated meat while turning a profit. The big challenge facing the industry—along with the bans and the lack of venture capital cash—is that it costs a lot to grow animal cells in bioreactors. Reliable figures are hard to come by, but one research paper with data provided by companies in 2021 put the cost of cultivated meat between $68 and $10,000 per pound, depending on production methods. A lot of startups say they have drastically cut production costs since their early experiments, but prices are still way higher than factory farmed chicken at around $2.67 per pound.

The two best-funded startups in the space—Eat Just and Upside Foods—have both brought out cultivated chicken products. But Peppou, who leans into his reputation in the industry as something of a provocateur, says that approach doesn’t make sense. “Making chicken was always a terrible idea,” he says.

The fundamentals of cultivated meat are pricey. The business of growing animal cells outside of their bodies is usually the domain of medical researchers and pharmaceutical companies. Animal cells grown in culture are used to make vaccines and medicines, which are sold in tiny volumes for sky-high prices. The cultivated meat industry needs some of the same ingredients to grow the cells it wants to sell as meat, but unlike the pharma industry, it needs to grow huge volumes of cells and sell them at grocery store prices.

The major cost right now is what’s called cell media—the broth of liquid, nutrients, amino acids, and growth factors fed to cells while they’re growing. The off-the-shelf standard cell media for growing stem cells is called Essential 8, and it costs upwards of $400 per liter. That’s fine if you’re a scientist growing a few cells in a petri dish, but growing a single kilogram of cultivated meat might require 10 of liters of media, quickly sending costs sky-rocketing. Cultivated meat companies need to find cheaper sources for their ingredients and buy them in bulk in order to drive their costs down.

“Ultimately the industry needs to prove that it can scale,” says Elliot Swartz, principal scientist for cultivated meat at the Good Food Institute, a nonprofit focused on advancing alternative proteins. Just a few crucial ingredients in cell media are a major factor pushing up costs for cultivated meat companies, most of which are still operating at a tiny scale, producing kilograms of meat per production cycle rather than the tons they are aiming for.

“My biggest concern is always the scalability and the ability to industrialize something,” says Ido Savir, CEO of Israeli cultivated meat company SuperMeat. His company has just released a report estimating that—if produced at scale—it could grow chicken meat at $11.80 per pound, close to the price for pasture-raised chicken in the US. But this assumes production in bioreactors up to 25,000 liters—several orders of magnitude higher than the 10-liter scale the company is currently working at. “We’re improving every month,” he says.

Savir is aiming at a much lower price point than Peppou, and hopes to partner with food manufacturers who might license his technology to add cultivated meat into their mix of options. “We’re more interested in the mass market,” he says. Dutch company Meatable has indicated it wants to follow a similar approach—licensing its technology to the handful of firms that already produce much of the US’s meat. Other cultivated meat companies want to sell to consumers under their own brands, but are still targeting the mass meat industry.

Peppou is skewing decidedly in the opposite direction. He declines to name a price, but says his foie gras is at the “higher end” of the market—somewhere in the region of hundreds of dollars per pound. The foie gras is 51 percent Japanese quail cells—which also make up the parfait that Vow has sold in Singapore since April—plus a plant-based fat mix and corn husk flavorings. “It’s either for a venue that wants to use ingredients to distinguish themselves,” says Peppou, or it’s for “large hotels or caterers that have removed foie gras from their menus due to cruelty.”

Conventional foie gras is made by force-feeding ducks or geese until their livers swell with fatty deposits. Production is banned in the United Kingdom, Germany, Italy, and California among other places. Another cultivated meat company, France-based Gourmey, also makes foie gras, although its product is not currently on sale anywhere.

“If you look at a lot of deep technology companies, it’s kind of a game of just not dying.”

Vow’s quail parfait is on the menu at around six restaurants in Singapore, including being sold as a $15 (USD) bar snack and as part of a $185 tasting menu. In Peppou’s telling, going high-end is a way to spin cultivated meat’s high costs and low production volumes as a luxury proposition. “I believe the biggest challenge we have is how to shape consumer sentiment around this category. And the most efficient way to do that in my mind is to be in the most influential places with the relatively limited volume we have available.”

SuperMeat’s Savir says that luxury cultivated meat products “have a place,” but that he is more interested in the mass market where he can complement the current production of meat. That will mean continuing to drive production costs down. One option is to mix cultivated meat with much cheaper plant-based ingredients. Savir says that they’re aiming at products that are around 30 percent cultivated meat cells and 70 percent plant-based ingredients. Several other firms are taking a similar strategy. In Singapore, Eat Just sells cultivated chicken strips that are only 3 percent chicken cells.

The industry is also hoping that customers will pay premium prices because of the potential environmental benefits of making meat outside of animal bodies. Savir says he has spoken with a “very big” pizza company that says replacing just 5 to 10 percent of its chicken toppings with cultivated chicken would make a substantial dent in its carbon footprint.

Even replacing a fraction of a percent of the $50 billion broiler chicken industry in the US would require a monumental scaling-up of cultivated meat production. “If you’re competing against chicken, which is the lowest-cost meat product, then you either have to go to very large scales or create hybrid products that have lower inclusion rates,” says Swartz of the Good Food Institute. But with investor dollars in short supply, companies are having to get creative about how they plan to get products into the world and achieve many founders’ ultimate goal of displacing at least some conventional meat production.

Even though he’s targeting the luxury market, Peppou says he still isn’t turning a profit on his cultured quail parfait or foie gras, although his margin is much better than it would be if he were competing with factory-farmed chicken. “If you look at a lot of deep technology companies, it’s kind of a game of just not dying,” he says. “And it’s figuring out ways to not die long enough to get good enough to win in a market which probably doesn’t exist yet.”

That means the route ahead for Vow might not look totally different from other cultivated meat companies. “The volumes are going to be low, it’s mostly going to be in restaurants. They’re going to be iterating on these products over time before they get any sort of mass market entry point,” says Swartz. “In the short term, what I’m looking forward to is getting more people that are trying this for the first time, not trying it because they’re excited about cultivated meat, but generally because they’re interested.”

This story was originally published by Wired and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

For five years, reactor one at Three Mile Island nuclear power station in Pennsylvania has lain dormant. Now, thanks to a deal with Microsoft, the reactor will start running again in 2028—this time to exclusively supply the tech firm with oodles of low-carbon electricity.

It’s all part of an ongoing flirtation between Big Tech and nuclear power. In March, Amazon Web Services agreed to buy a data center powered by Susquehanna nuclear power station in Pennsylvania. At an event at Carnegie Mellon University on September 18, Alphabet CEO Sundar Pichai mentioned small modular nuclear reactors as one potential source of energy for data centers. The links don’t stop there either: OpenAI CEO Sam Altman chairs the boards of nuclear startups Oklo and Helion Energy.

The AI boom has left technology companies scrambling for low-carbon sources of energy to power their data centers. The International Energy Agency estimates that electricity demand from AI, data centers, and crypto could more than double by 2026. Even its lowball estimates say that the added demand will be equivalent to all the electricity used in Sweden or—in the high-usage case—Germany.

This surge in energy demand is music to the ears of the nuclear power industry. Electricity demand in the US has been fairly flat for decades, but the sheer scale and intensity of the AI boom is changing that dynamic. One December 2023 report from a power industry consultancy declared the era of flat power demand over, thanks to growing demand from data centers and industrial facilities. The report forecasts that peak electricity demand in the US will grow by 38 gigawatts by 2028, roughly equivalent to 46 times the output of reactor one at Three Mile Island.

“[AI] is really taking off, and it’s garnering a lot of attention in the energy industry,” says John Kotek, senior vice president for policy development and public affairs at nuclear industry trade association the Nuclear Energy Institute. Kotek says there’s also a national security angle. “People legitimately see AI as a field of competition between the US and our global competitors.” The US falling behind in the AI race because it doesn’t have enough power “is something that’s really causing people to focus attention,” he says.

Nuclear power is attractive to tech companies because it provides low-carbon electricity round-the-clock, unlike solar and wind, which run intermittently unless coupled with a form of energy storage. Reactivating reactor one will provide Microsoft with 835 megawatts of low-carbon energy over the 20 years that the deal will run for. Since Microsoft has pledged to be carbon negative by 2030, spiraling electricity demand from AI poses a major threat to the firm’s climate plans unless it can find sources of low-carbon power. In 2023, Microsoft’s emissions increased by 29 percent compared with 2020, primarily driven by the construction of new data centers.

Three Mile Island nuclear power station has two reactors. The second reactor was infamously the site of a partial meltdown in 1979 and it has remained out of action ever since. But reactor one kept on chugging away without incident until 2019, when it was taken offline for financial reasons—mainly due to competition from gas- and wind-powered electricity. Kotek says there are relatively few idle reactors that could also be brought back online fairly quickly, but that a lot of power plant owners are interested in extending their operating licenses of their existing plants to try and ride the AI power wave.

“For some, the prospect of the site of the US’s most notorious nuclear disaster being used to power the AI revolution might sit uneasily. “

Part of the enthusiasm from power plant operators is due to government incentives to keep low-carbon power online. The Inflation Reduction Act includes tax credits tied to electricity production at existing nuclear power plants, but Kotek says that the industry will also have to get busy building new reactors if it wants to capture that projected energy demand. The number of operating nuclear reactors in the US peaked at 112 in 1990 and declined to 92 by 2022, and the most recently built reactors in the US—at Vogtle power plant in Georgia—took more than 14 years to build and came in at more than double the expected budget.

“The US showed at Vogtle that we’re not very good at building plants,” says Todd Allen, chair of nuclear engineering and radiological sciences at University of Michigan. But Allen points out that China seems to build nuclear power plants much more quickly than the US, so speeding up is possible, and that if energy demand from data centers continues to grow, then building entirely new plants will increasingly look like an attractive option.

These potentially lengthy timescales are part of the reason why Microsoft is interested in small modular reactors, which should be quicker and cheaper to build. But tech firms have tended to emphasize searching for new sources of energy rather than improving the efficiency of their artificial intelligence operations, says Sasha Luccioni, AI and climate leader at Hugging Face, a company that develops tools for building applications using machine learning. “Regulation could be one way to incentivize [great efficiency], starting with mandatory reporting and transparency for companies providing AI tools and services,” she says.

At the Carnegie Mellon University event, Pichai said that work on improving the consumption side of AI’s energy usage was still in its “early phases.” “We are all inefficiently pretraining these models, absolutely,” he said, but added that inference—actually asking an AI model to perform a task—could become “dramatically more efficient over time.”

Google’s emissions in 2023 were 48 percent higher than their 2019 baseline, primarily due to increases in data center energy consumption and supply chain emissions, putting Google’s goal to reach net zero emissions by 2030 increasingly under threat. “The energy demands of AI are rising right now,” says Luccioni, but the renewable or low-carbon energy to fuel AI isn’t keeping pace quickly enough.

For some, the prospect of the site of the US’s most notorious nuclear disaster being used to power the AI revolution might sit uneasily. But Allen points out that reactor one did not shut down because of operational issues. Restarting the reactor, he says, will mostly be a question of making sure it is still in good operating condition and that there are enough trained staff to run it smoothly.

This story was originally published by WIRED and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

Over the past few years, the United States has become the go-to location for companies seeking to suck carbon dioxide out of the sky. There are a handful of demonstration-scale direct air capture (DAC) plants dotted across the globe, but the facilities planned in Louisiana and Texas are of a different scale: They aim to capture millions of tons of carbon dioxide each year, rather than the dozens of tons or less captured by existing systems.

The US has a few things going for it when it comes to DAC: It has the right kind of geological formations that can store carbon dioxide pumped underground, it has an oil and gas industry that knows a lot about drilling into that ground, and it has federal grants and subsidies for the carbon capture industry. The projects in Louisiana and Texas are supported by up to $1.05 billion in Department of Energy (DOE) funds, and the projects will be eligible for tax credits of up to $180 per ton of carbon dioxide stored.

“It’s quite clear that the United States is the leader in policy to support this nascent sector,” says Jason Hochman, executive director at the Direct Air Capture Coalition, a nonprofit that works to accelerate the deployment of DAC technology. “At the same time, it’s nowhere near where it needs to be to get on track—to the scale we need to get to net zero.”

The Heritage Foundation doesn’t just doubt the carbon removal industry—it is openly skeptical about climate change

But support for carbon storage is far from guaranteed. Project 2025, the nearly thousand-page Heritage Foundation policy blueprint for a second Trump presidency, would dramatically roll back policies that support the DAC industry and carbon capture more generally. The Project 2025 Mandate for Leadership document proposes eliminating the DOE’s Office for Clean Energy Demonstrations, which provides funds for DAC facilities and carbon capture projects, and also calls out the 45Q tax credit that supports DAC as well as carbon capture, usage, and storage—filtering and storing carbon dioxide emitted by power plants and heavy industry. (The Heritage Foundation did not respond to WIRED’s request for comment.)

Sucking carbon out of the sky is not uncontroversial—not least because of the oil and gas industry’s involvement in the sector—but the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change’s Sixth Assessment Report says that using carbon dioxide removal to balance emissions from sectors like aviation and agriculture is unavoidable if we want to achieve net zero. Carbon dioxide removal can mean planting trees and sequestering carbon in soil, but a technology like DAC is attractive because it’s easy to measure how much carbon you’re sequestering, and stored carbon should stay locked up for a very long time, which isn’t necessarily the case with forests and soil.

As DAC technology is so new, and the facilities constructed so far are small, it’s still extremely expensive to remove carbon from the atmosphere this way. Estimated costs for extracting carbon go from hundreds of dollars per ton to in excess of $1,000—although Google just announced it is paying $100 for DAC removal credits for carbon that will be sequestered in the early 2030s. On top of that, large-scale DAC plants are likely to cost hundreds of millions to billions of dollars to build.

That’s why government support like the DOE Regional DAC Hubs program is so important, says Jack Andreasen at Breakthrough Energy, the Bill Gates–founded initiative to accelerate technology to reach net zero. “This gets projects built,” he says. The Bipartisan Infrastructure Law signed in 2021 set aside $3.5 billion in federal funds to help the construction of four regional DAC hubs. This is the money that is going into the Louisiana and Texas projects.

Climeworks is one of the companies working on the Louisiana DAC hub, which is eligible for up to $550 million in federal funding. Eventually, the facility aims to capture more than 1 million tons of carbon dioxide each year and store it underground. “If you do want to build an industry, you cannot do it with demo projects. You have to put your money where your mouth is and say there are certain projects that should be eligible for a larger share of funding,” says Daniel Nathan, chief project development officer at Climeworks. When the hub starts sequestering carbon, it will be eligible to claim up to $180 for each ton of carbon stored, under tax credit 45Q, which was extended under the Inflation Reduction Act.

“You cannot start an industry with a societal good in mind unless you get governments to take an active role.”

These tax credits are important because they provide long-term support for companies actually sequestering carbon from the atmosphere. “What you have is a guaranteed revenue stream of $180 per ton for a minimum of 12 years,” says Andreasen. It’s particularly critical given that the costs of capturing and storing a ton of carbon dioxide are likely to exceed the market rate of carbon credits for a long time. Other forms of carbon removal, notably planting forests, are much cheaper than DAC, and removal offsets also compete with offsets for renewable energy, which avoid emitting new emissions. Without a top-up from the government, it’s unlikely that a market for DAC sequestration would be able to sustain itself.

Most of the DAC industry experts WIRED spoke to thought there was little political appetite to reverse the 45Q tax credit—not least because it also allows firms to claim a tax credit for using carbon dioxide to physically extract more oil from existing reservoirs. They were more worried, however, about the prospect that existing DOE funds set aside for DAC and other projects might not be allocated under a future administration.

“I do think a slowing down of the DOE is a possibility,” says Andreasen. “That just means the money takes longer to get out, and that is not great.” Katie Lebling at the World Resources Institute, a sustainability nonprofit, agrees, saying there is a risk that unallocated funds could be slowed down and stalled if a new administration looked less favorably on carbon removal.

The Heritage Foundation doesn’t just doubt the carbon removal industry—it is openly skeptical about climate change, writing in one report that observed warming could only “theoretically” be due to the burning of fossil fuels, and that “this claim cannot be demonstrated through science.” In its Project 2025 plan, the foundation says the “government should not be picking winners and losers and should not be subsidizing the private sector to bring resources to market.”

But without government support, the private sector would never develop technologies like DAC, says Jonas Meckling, an associate professor at UC Berkeley and climate fellow at Harvard Business School. The same was true of the solar industry, Meckling says. “You cannot start an industry with a societal good in mind unless you get governments to take an active role,” says Nathan of Climeworks.

While there are some question marks over the future of DOE grants for DAC, the industry appeals to legislators on both sides of the aisle. The Texas DAC hub is being built by 1PointFive, a subsidiary of Occidental Petroleum, and both DOE projects are located in firmly red states. When it was announced that DOE DAC hubs funding would be spent in Louisiana, Senator Bill Cassidy said: “Carbon capture opens a new era of energy and manufacturing dominance for Louisiana. It is the future of job creation and economic development for our state.”

In the long run, Nathan says, the aim is for DAC to be viable on its own economic terms. In time, he says, that will mean regulation that requires industries to pay for carbon removal—a stricter version of emissions-trading schemes that already exist in places like California and the European Union. Eventually, that should lead to a place where the direct air industry no longer requires government support to remove carbon from the atmosphere at scale. “I’m looking at the fundamentals, and those aren’t driven by who’s in office,” Nathan says