So which trolley tribe are you?
As Asda and Sainsbury’s look to merge, Debora Robertson takes a closer look at what your weekly shop reveals about you
This weekend, there was consternation over breakfast tables across the country as the news broke that Sainsbury’s was striking a deal with Asda to create Britain’s biggest supermarket company. So far, so business pages. But wait. In some quarters, there is barely concealed anxiety that where branches of Asda sit cheek by jowl with branches of Sainsbury’s, the latter may be the one to close. (Mike Coupe, chief executive of Sainsbury’s, swears there will be no closures, but let’s see what the Competition and Markets Authority says about that before we plough into a celebratory Taste The Difference Victoria sponge, eh?) Fans of Sainsbury’s are hitting the camomile infusion hard.
Forget how egalitarian we’re all supposed to be now, forget that no one dresses up anymore as we’re all athleisuring in no-crease knits and messy Meghan buns, that aitches are as likely to be dropped by a duchess as a dinner lady – we still make massive assumptions about people based on where they shop. Perhaps you remember the breaking news last year when Lady Somerleyton lost her diamond and emerald pendant while doing the big shop? There was much rattling of teacups across her home county of Suffolk, not merely in sympathy at losing a precious family heirloom, but that she lost it in the humble, decidedly un-fancypants-y Morrisons.
Sainsbo’s Solid Crew
Solid, dependable Sainsbury’s, like the good, home-town boyfriend – you know what to expect, they’re around when you need them, they’re not going to let you down, and they might just surprise you with what they have to offer. Their kitchen and homeware department is the secret style weapon of many keen cooks, cheaper than John Lewis, chicer than Ikea, copperbottomed smartness in an edge-oftown shopping centre near you. Unlike the Fauxgalitarians (more on which later), Sainsbury’s shoppers are likely to keep their cheap little secrets to themselves. Thank goodness.
The Asdanaughts
Cheaper, and often distinctly more cheerful than some of its smarter rivals, Asda has a place in the hearts of many because of its no-frills approach and friendly, well-trained staff. My brother, a confirmed Asdanaught, favours the one near his house in County Durham, I am sure, because it combines the down-to-earth practicality of an agricultural store with a strong chance of being called “bonny lad”. This better not change, Sainsbury’s. Just so you know.
The Essentialists
Forget about decent schools, the Essentialists fork out a premium to live within the catchment area of Waitrose’s wholesome, artisanal, organic embrace so they never have to be more than a mile from cooking chorizo and Fevertree tonic ever, ever again. They feel comforted and a little less alone in the world knowing that the “essentials” range includes amber bath foam, profiteroles, gooseberry fruit fool and champagne flutes. They don’t even mind that the explosion in the alliteration factory lead to perfectly innocent herbs being labelled “Simple Sage”, “Romantic Rosemary” and “Tantalising Tarragon”. A herb by any other name would not taste quite so expensive, after all.
On your Marks, get set, gastro
Even among those who have viciously criticised Marks & Spencer’s clothes for decades now (seriously, someone who is in the market for slow-cooked pork ribs with pomegranate molasses and chilli is not going to lose their heart to a sweater with appliqué and ribbons all over it), there still remains a strong core of customers who are fiercely loyal to the food hall. There’s a slight whiff of dad-dancing about the relentless pursuit of the latest food trends straight-outta-dalston, which sometimes leads them to trip up (cauliflower steaks, anyone?), but there’s a soothing feeling that they’re seldom going to steer you wrong with their Gastro Pub lasagnes and fish pies – comfort food with the ultimate comfort of being able to enjoy them at home, without the risk of anything being served up on a slate of utter wrongness.
Tescoooh, matron
If you were ever in any doubt as to how much where you buy your groceries is bound up with class and snobbery in this country, look no further than A Chip in the Sugar, part of Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads series of monologues: “He was had up for exposing himself outside Sainsbury’s. As Mother said, if it was Tesco’s, you could understand it.” Poor Tesco, but they’re putting up quite a good fight for hearts and minds at the moment with their Food Love Stories campaign of emergency breakfast pittas and “cheeky” tortilla quiches. Play to your strengths – every little helps – and if that’s a seaside-postcard matey-ness, go for it.
The Fauxgalitarians
We all know it is incredibly naff to crow about how expensive something is, but we are yet to impose the same kind of sanctions on those modern-day Micawbers who can’t get through dinner without boring on, decidedly uncharmingly, about how cheap everything is. That delicious bottle of white? Lidl. The perfect olive oil they slosh over everything? Aldi. Those delicious chocolate-coated cherries? Costco (they’ve got a whole pallet of them in the garage). If you give them half a chance, the Fauxgaletarians will give you the full Powerpoint on Iceland’s admirable attitude to plastics and palm oil over an ironically deployed Viennetta for pudding. (Don’t give them half a chance. Please.) And they may still turn their noses up a bit at Asda for reasons best known to themselves.