Corey Mintz is the author of The Next Supper: The End of Restaurants as We Knew Them, and What Comes After.
For a country notorious for going to war over oil, the United States seems to be overlooking a different kind in its trade war with Canada: cooking oil.
If U.S. President Donald Trump’s 25-per-cent tariffs on Canadian goods come to pass, and Canada responds with its own retaliatory tariffs, it will have devastating effects across both countries. Manufacturers will halt production. Supply chains will be disrupted. People will lose jobs. From the trade agreements that bind our countries’ economies to the average person’s ability to pay their bills, this trade war will be felt.
And yet, it feels like no one is really talking about it in the U.S. To be fair, Americans have enough to worry about – like the purging of federal employees and the potential mass deportation of undocumented immigrants – but it may also be that they don’t quite understand how these tariffs could affect them.
But when this trade war hits Americans where it counts – in the French fries – I think those feelings will change.
The U.S. produces US$5.3-billion of cooking oil domestically, and it imports US$4.8-billion of canola oil (in addition to US$1.7-billion of frozen French fries) from Canada. That’s twice as much as the U.S.’s imports of olive oil, and in 2022, 96 per cent of America’s canola oil imports came from Canada. Mr. Trump would make it 25-per-cent more expensive for Americans to import, and there are few other countries that could step in to replace the world’s largest single-country producer of canola. Losing this relatively affordable cooking oil means American businesses will have to deal with increased costs.
In hospitality, that leaves owners with three choices: absorb the cost and make less profit, pass the cost on to consumers by raising menu prices or change ingredients.
While menu prices have increased dramatically in recent years, they have not made up for the historic levels of food inflation. For example, since 2020, the cost of cooking oil has exploded by 59 per cent. As the price of meat has risen to make a pastrami sandwich almost a loss leader, many restaurants depend on the higher profit margins of French fries. An additional 25-per-cent cost to fill up a fryer is a potential death sentence for these businesses.
That leaves two choices: Either the price of French fries goes up (along with chicken wings, onion rings, corn dogs and green tomatoes) or companies like McDonald’s, which uses a blend of canola and other oils, will have to maintain prices by using less expensive oils.
But there aren’t any that are as readily available. Corn, peanut and sunflower oils are all more expensive than canola. And while soybean oil has a similarly high smoke point and is relatively close in price, it’s spoken for: The U.S. exports a quarter of its soybean crops and turns half of its soybean oil into aviation fuel. Pubs won’t be outbidding airlines any time soon.
Outside of smaller-batch cheffy circles, animal fats have not been in fashion since 1990, when McDonald’s switched from frying potatoes in tallow to vegetable oil (which, it should be noted, led to an 8.3-per-cent drop in stock price). So it’s unlikely that corporate giants will pivot to lard or duck fat.
So if American businesses can’t use an alternative ingredient or swallow the increased cost, that means they have only one option left: passing it on to consumers.
That is likely to be felt in everyday lives. More than any of those other fried comfort foods, French fries hold a special place – not just on our menus, but in our hearts. From fast food to nice restaurants to school cafeterias, fries are a favourite of every child I know. The crisp exterior, housing a steaming, creamy centre, dipped in treacly ketchup, is universally adored. They are the currency of parental bribery. And for grown-ups, French fries are an indulgence. We know they’re not good for us. But when we’re upset, they’re an affordable pick-me-up that can be found on pretty much every city block in North America.
Fries, in particular, capture something in the American popular imagination, too. Twenty years ago, following France’s refusal to participate in the invasion of Iraq, some American businesses and public institutions attempted to rebrand French fries as Freedom fries. We remember that because of how awkward that effort was – and how ultimately unchanging even their name is, in the face of the forces of patriotism.
To many, adding even one dollar to the price of an order of fries turns them into a luxury. The thought that they could become a financial indulgence as much as a nutritional one – “do you want fries with that?” replaced by “can you afford fries with that?” – is a threat to the American way of life. With middle-class expectations of home ownership and postsecondary education now further out of reach, the loss of affordable, plentiful French fries could be too much to bear.
And most importantly, it may be too much to bear for the American who matters most. Donald Trump has long expressed a love for McDonald’s, serving the drive-thru at a suburban Philadelphia location while on the campaign trail. His son-in-law, Jared Kushner, even wrote in his 2022 memoir about one of the President’s favourite meals: a Big Mac, a Filet-o-Fish, a vanilla milkshake and fries. Mr. Trump is not likely to notice an uptick on his receipt, but tariffs and fries will be a tough combo meal for the average American to swallow.