Kendal, such was the interest and hype surrounding these amazing things. Birds Eye frozen peas were also the first brand ever to be advertised in colour on British television.
But though owning a freezer was considered a major achievement for many families, frozen food after a while took on the air of inauthenticity, of food without distinction. And fish fingers, introduced in 1955, became the primary villain. The story goes that they were going to be called ‘frozen cod pieces’, until just a few weeks before the launch and someone pointed out how foolish Birds Eye would look. Children loved them. Thick Japanese-style breadcrumbs (the secret to the M&S Kiev) and an unthreatening-shaped piece of cod were promoted aggressively by television advertising – a primary black mark for many foods in a Wood Burning Stover household. Linda Shanovitch, revising for her 11-plus exam as a north London schoolgirl in the 1960s, recalled: ‘My parents were frightfully middle class so it would have been a disaster not to pass the 11 plus. I was terrified of failing. I remember on the day of the exam I got home and for a special treat my mother let me have fish fingers, which I was usually never allowed as she saw them as working-class food. All of my friends were working class, so I always wanted fish fingers. As it turned out I passed the exam and did really well.’10 When Elizabeth David revised her epic of French provincial cooking in 1977, she listed the deep freeze and prefabricated sauces as two of the evils of modern cooking.
After a washing machine and a television, a separate freezer was the most likely of all durable goods to be owned by a household headed up by an unskilled manual worker by the mid-1990s.11 Easy access to frozen pizzas, ready meals and ice cream was considered at the time a higher priority than even a telephone or video recorder.
Today’s fish fingers are Cheese Strings, Cocoa Pop Mega Munchers, Fruit Shoots – all highly processed, heavily advertised foods aimed at children and jeered at by the those who email the You and Yours programme on Radio 4. Sunny Delight was briefly catapulted into the position of Britain’s third most popular drink (behind Coke and Pepsi) after a relentless TV campaign. But after reports suggesting it turned toddlers orange it became so vilified that it has all but disappeared from view.
All of these products may be detested by Wood Burning Stovers, but they are a godsend for Asda Mums, who have an instinctive trust in big brands and a willingness to succumb to the pester power of advertising, while also managing to fret about the nutritional content of their children’s food. Asda Mums are one of those rare demographic groups that were invented by marketing executives but took on a life of their own. Originally brought together by the supermarket’s own PR team in the run-up to the 2010 election, they were latched onto by the politicians – becoming the heirs to Mondeo Man and Worcester Woman, these mythical hard-working, aspirational, floating voters that had swung it for both Margaret Thatcher and Tony Blair. Both Cameron and Gordon Brown were persuaded to record special video messages for Asda Mums, along with famously taking part in biscuit-based webchats on Mumsnet.
Asda Mums now live on in the form of focus groups that the supermarket convenes to help it understand its customers better. I met some of them in Bootle, Liverpool, one of the poorest areas of the country, where the shiny new Asda stands across the road from the bleak Strand shopping centre, forever etched into the national consciousness as the setting of a grainy ten-second CCTV film – showing the last recorded moments of James Bulger’s life.
Asda attracts 18 million shoppers through its doors every week, so it is ludicrous to suggest its customers are one particular type. But Asda Mums are a particular sub-section and are more definable. They are mostly council house tenants, relentless about finding bargains and cutting down on food bills for themselves, but keen to give their children lunch-box treats of packaged goodies such as Dairylea Dunkers or Rice Krispie Squares. The name of a big, highly advertised manufacturer on the package makes them confident rather than sceptical about the wisdom of their purchase. And their anxiety about providing good food translates into buying a surprisingly large amount of organic food for their toddlers even though they know it costs more and is probably no better than standard. Again, it is the label rather than the content that gives reassurance. Strawberries are another popular snack among Asda Mums – further proof that this particular fruit has become so mass-market that it has lost all snob value. Raspberries are much smarter, but Rockabillies know that the only truly posh summer fruit to impress your guests with at a dinner party are gooseberries – preferably picked from your own garden.
Asda Mums, of course, can be found not just in Asda, but also in Tesco, Morrisons, Iceland and even Sainsbury’s. The key defining factor is not the name above the supermarket door as much as the attitude towards what they put in their basket. Despite their need and desire to keep their shopping bills down, they are curiously attracted to premium brands, with many of them unwilling to buy Smart Price goods. This is Asda’s range of own-label value food. One said: ‘I don’t know why I wouldn’t, I just presume it wouldn’t taste as good. There’s got to be a reason why it’s so cheap, and it’s not just the advertising. The quality would not be as good.’ Another said: ‘Two days before pay day, I would have nothing in the house, I would buy Smart Price. But I wouldn’t get Smart Price meat. I just wouldn’t buy Smart Price ham. Think of the tubes.’
Smart Price is at the bottom of Asda’s little ladder of brands, with Asda Chosen by You in the middle and Asda Extra Special at the top. Asda Mums know their place – firmly in the middle, and only reluctantly slipping down to the bottom when circumstances force them to.
This is in sharp contrast to Rockabillies, who don’t give two hoots about food brand, as long as it tastes nice and isn’t too expensive (in their eyes). They are happy to pop into Tesco or Asda without any hint of condescension; Sainsbury’s is their default supermarket but they would prefer Waitrose if one was available. This explains the success of the Waitrose Essential range of food. Waitrose is clearly at the top of the supermarket tree – it has been the champion of the Prince of Wales’s Duchy Originals produce, and seller of Charlie Bigham’s steak and ale pies which come in their own porcelain ramekins. The charity shops of Swaffham and Uckfield are awash with these little cast-off dishes. Stacked on a kitchen table, they are as obvious a trophy for a Waitrose shopper as a stolen Quaglino ashtray was for a Portland Privateer back in the early 1990s. Which other supermarket stocked £412 bottles of Château Mouton Rothschild? But during the recession of 2009 it started to lose customers, not just to Tesco but also to Aldi and Lidl. In response it brought out a value range called Waitrose Essential, which many thought would be a disaster – if you need to save money, stop shopping at Waitrose. Except it wasn’t really value at all. In fact, 1,200 of the 1,400 in the range were exactly the same – and the same price – as previous Waitrose own-brand products, but just repackaged in basic, white labels, I was told by the supermarket. It was all about kidding the customers that Waitrose wasn’t as expensive as they thought it was. When I asked, at the time, wouldn’t the well-heeled customers feel a little embarrassed about being seen popping a value range into their basket, the commercial director told me: ‘Far from it. We have found some customers putting their Waitrose goods in Tesco bags, because they are nervous that their neighbours will think they are decadent for shopping at Waitrose.’12 Rockabillies hate showiness when it comes to food, but quite like the good things in life, so they had found a brand just for them. Waitrose Essentials just a few years down the line sells more than £1 billion every year. That’s the power of reverse snobbism.
These clever sub-brands within supermarkets were the brainchild of Tesco – as so many supermarket innovations are – and were a response to another recession. It was its way of competing with the European supermarket companies known as ‘hard discounters’ coming to Britain in the early 1990s. They included Aldi and Netto, who, along with Kwik Save, started a major supermarket price war. This was the era of the 7p loaf of bread and the absurd situation of the 3p tin of baked beans – priced at less than the cost of the aluminium and beans themselves, let alone the cost of transporting the cans to store.
Tesco decided to make the price war permanent by launching Tesco Value. This would not just be a short-term promotion selling bargain beans,
