The thick cut chip is making its way into French supermarkets
ALAMY
The last few decades have represented a fighting retreat for French gastronomy, a gradual yielding to the culinary barbarians at the gate. In 2000 a farmer in France’s southwest was elevated to cult status after attacking a new, invasive branch of McDonald’s (his gastro-patriotism earned him three months in jail). Since then, la malbouffe (junk food) has continued to make inroads into cuisine designated by the United Nations in 2010 as an intangible ingredient of human heritage. And now comes a new invader, battering at the walls of that last citadel of French cooking, the evening family meal: British-style, thick-cut chips.
It gets worse. The chips are not of the freshly peeled and cut variety, but frozen. In bags. From the local supermarché. According to Ward Claerbout, a director of a Belgian frozen chip company, ease of preparation is driving demand. “Young generations no longer peel much,” he laments.
So strong is the market for this Anglo-Saxon interloper that the hedges and meadows of France’s most northerly region are being torn up to accommodate additional potato fields. The so-called Vallée de la Frite (Chip Valley) in Hauts-de-France is a flat, featureless testament to the pulling power of the simple processed spud.
France’s frozen chip market rose by a quarter between 2019 and 2023 and land values have risen as a result. Chip Valley fields worth €15,000 per hectare three years ago are now selling for €25,000.
This is a victory worth crowing about. The British have long understood that the scrawny French fry (it was probably invented in Flanders sometime in the late 17th or early 18th centuries) is no match for the classic thick-cut in taste, texture or nutritional value. Finally, even the chippy French have woken up to the fact. Farewell to steak frites, hello to poisson et chips et purée de petits pois.