“Healthy” Spray’s Shocking $25M Hazard

A father and daughter happily preparing vegetables in a bright kitchen, while a woman observes.

A can of “healthy” butter-flavored cooking spray became the kind of invisible hazard most people associate with factory floors, not breakfast.

Quick Take

A Los Angeles jury awarded Roland Esparza $25 million after finding a link between his “popcorn lung” and long-term inhalation of fumes from PAM butter-flavored cooking spray.
The core claim wasn’t that cooking spray is inherently dangerous, but that consumers weren’t warned about an inhalation risk tied to diacetyl, a butter-flavor chemical.
Conagra removed diacetyl from PAM in 2009, but the lawsuit centered on years of earlier use beginning in the 1990s.
Conagra disputes the verdict and says it will pursue appeals, keeping the payout and precedent in play.

The $25 Million Verdict That Turned a Pantry Staple into a Liability Case

Roland Esparza, 58, described as a health-conscious bodybuilder and martial artist, didn’t get sick from a guilty pleasure. He built a routine around protein-heavy meals and used PAM butter-flavored spray multiple times a day on a hot stovetop. A Los Angeles Superior Court jury concluded that habit exposed him to inhaled fumes tied to bronchiolitis obliterans, better known as “popcorn lung,” and awarded him $25 million for the damage.

The financial number grabs headlines, but the human detail explains why juries pay attention: “popcorn lung” is rare and irreversible. Esparza’s attorney, Jacob Plattenberger, underscored the bleak math of the disease—money cannot restore lung tissue once scarred; it can only buy time, care, and options. Reports indicate Esparza’s condition has progressed to the point that a double lung transplant may be necessary.

Why “Popcorn Lung” Keeps Returning to the News, Decades After the Factory Cases

Bronchiolitis obliterans earned its nickname when microwave popcorn and flavoring-plant workers developed severe, permanent airway scarring after inhaling airborne flavoring chemicals. Diacetyl, a buttery flavor compound, became the most notorious suspect because workers breathed it in concentrated industrial settings. That history matters because Esparza’s claim essentially drags the hazard out of the plant and into the home, arguing that repeated stovetop aerosol exposure can add up.

The irony is sharp enough to stick: Esparza wasn’t chain-smoking or working in a chemical plant; he was trying to cook lean and controlled meals. That’s also what makes the case culturally combustible. Americans accept personal responsibility as a baseline, especially around health. This story frustrates that instinct because the alleged risk wasn’t intuitive. People understand “don’t inhale oven cleaner.” Few expect a butter-aroma cooking aid to belong in the same warning universe.

Diacetyl, Aerosols, and the Missing Warning Question the Jury Had to Answer

The heart of the verdict wasn’t a scientific seminar on every ingredient in cooking spray. The jury focused on duty and warning: did Conagra fail to tell consumers about an inhalation hazard tied to diacetyl in a butter-flavored aerosol product used over hot pans? Conagra reportedly removed diacetyl from PAM in 2009, a fact the company points to as proof of safety today. The dispute centers on what consumers should have been told before that.

Common sense says aerosolized anything near heat will create fumes, but common sense also says the manufacturer knows far more than the shopper about which fumes can scar lungs. Conservative values tend to favor limited litigation and personal accountability, yet they also demand that companies level with customers. If a product includes a chemical with a known inhalation risk history, a clear warning respects consumer choice and reduces the need for courtroom after-the-fact justice.

Conagra’s Appeal and the Quiet Stakes for Every Reformulated Product

Conagra’s response has been direct: the company says PAM Butter Flavor cooking spray is safe and has been diacetyl-free for nearly two decades, and it plans to contest the verdict through all available legal avenues. That position foreshadows the next phase: appellate courts scrutinize trial rulings, evidence standards, and jury instructions. Esparza, meanwhile, lives with the practical reality that appeals take time, and chronic lung disease doesn’t pause for legal calendars.

The larger stake extends beyond one brand. Reformulation often becomes a corporate reset button in the public mind: “We changed it, so the problem is over.” Courts don’t always treat it that way when the claim involves long-term exposure that allegedly began earlier. If the verdict survives appeal, companies across food and household goods may face renewed pressure to document when they learned what, and how clearly they communicated risk during the years before change.

What This Case Signals to Home Cooks Who Trust Labels More Than Lawsuits

The case lands in a cultural moment when people feel whiplash: one decade’s “safe” becomes the next decade’s cautionary tale. Adults over 40 have watched that cycle with trans fats, tobacco “light” claims, and assorted consumer products that took years to litigate into clarity. The most practical lesson isn’t panic; it’s skepticism toward products that market convenience and “better living” while relying on chemistry the average shopper can’t evaluate.

Esparza’s story also highlights a neglected angle in safety debates: exposure isn’t only about what you eat, but what you breathe while making it. Stovetop aerosol use concentrates mist where your face often is—leaning over eggs, flipping protein, checking heat. If companies want trust, they earn it with plain-language warnings that respect the customer. If they don’t, juries will keep doing what regulators and labels failed to do.

Man awarded $25M after getting lung disease from popular cooking spray: ‘Nothing will give him his health back’ https://t.co/fzlC5it0wF pic.twitter.com/2m7JSVVppt

— New York Post (@nypost) February 14, 2026

The $25 million headline will fade, but the question it raises won’t: how many “everyday” products quietly depend on consumers not asking what happens when convenience becomes airborne?