The crème de la crisp: putting Leicester on the culinary map
Say what you like about British food (actually don’t) but there is at least one truth internationally acknowledged: we are really, really good at crisps. Every country has its culinary talents, and while foodie folk may wax lyrical about French sauces, Italian cheeses or Spanish ham, the UK—often and unjustly seen as a poor relation—can hold its head up high among colossuses of cuisine. The crisp de la crisp of salty snacks is most definitely British.
It’s not only the quality that outstrips our neighbours, it’s the sheer variety. Wander around a supermarket abroad and you can easily spot confused Brits, staring in disbelief at a crisp section that comprises—how could this be?—just three flavours. Pop into your local store, on the other hand, and you may trip over piles of tourists who came for some ready salted but got overcome halfway down the mile-long crisp aisle and lost the will to go on.
So how come? Why, where continental types are happy with the unholy trinity of ready salted, paprika and sour cream, do we find ourselves the lucky noshers of a range straight out of a pub menu? Chargrilled steak. Prawn cocktail. American cheeseburger. To what do we owe the very real pleasure of Worcester sauce flavour, or even the humble cheese and onion? The answer is Walkers—and the pilgrimage site, should you wish to pay your respects, is Leicester.
Spuds you like, in Leicester
Right, so we’re not saying that Walkers invented the crisp. But it could fairly be said that they wrote the rulebook. The one that says—somewhat counterintuitively—that cheese and onion is blue, that salt and vinegar is green and that crisps aren’t just fried potatoes, they’re slices of endless possibility. Inventiveness started late in the Walkers firm, however. Founded in Leicester in the 1880s by one Henry Walker, a butcher from Mansfield, it was not until meat rationing hit in the 1940s that a bright spark suggested the whole crisp thing as a money-spinning sideline. Soon enough, the good folk of Leicester proved they weren’t averse to a good bit of crispery and the operation split in two: one kept with the meat, going on to make the celebrated Walkers pork pies and the other made crisp history.
So what makes a Walkers crisp? The company boasts that all its potatoes (chiefly Lady Rosetta, Hermes and Saturna varieties, to the tune of 800 tonnes a day for the Leicester plant) are British-grown and that some of their suppliers have been working with them for three generations. But it’s also nailed the principle that variety is the spice of life, venturing far beyond the simple fried slice of tuber, adding Quavers, Monster Munch, Frazzles, Chipsticks and Wotsits to its brands—and if you can’t find something to get childishly excited about in that list, then you’re probably not British. Or you may be allergic to potatoes.
Staying ahead of the pack
And despite its long history, Walkers has kept innovating. Recent years have seen a crisp explosion (mmm … crisp explosion). I don’t know about you, but when I was growing up there were salted, salt and vinegar and cheese and onion. Possibly beef, and prawn cocktail. Walkers’ invention of Sensations, however, has prompted a proliferation of exotic flavours, as well as adjectives: Thai sweet chilli, southern-style barbecue, vintage cheddar and onion chutney. Lately, it’s also followed the healthy eating trend, reducing the saturated fat and sodium in its little bags of loveliness.
From little crisp shops, big crisp factories grow and nowadays Walkers is Britain’s largest crisp maker, owned by PepsiCo and now churning out a colossal 10 million bags a day in seven locations. But though it’ll no doubt keep adapting to the UK’s ever-developing palate, two things will surely never change: Brits will keep on loving crisps – and they’ll be getting them from Leicester.
