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[title]A woman in a white cap and floury black apron is looking at me with disapproval. ‘No comment,’ she says firmly, when I ask her about the new Greggs that’s opened in Truro. A customer waiting for her order inhales sharply when she overhears my question. ‘We don’t want to be involved in anything political,’ the woman behind the counter adds.
She is a pasty-maker at one of Cornwall’s many independent bakeries: a not-all-that-uncommon profession in this part of the world. So when did opening a place where you can nab a cheap sausage roll become political, you might be wondering? Well, in Cornwall, pastry is political.
It started in 2019, when Greggs opened its first blue-and-yellow shop west of the Tamar, just off the A30 in Saltash. It was a total flop. After being boycotted by locals – and even called ‘the devil’s franchise’ in the local press – it closed after only seven months. When the dust settled, Greggs quietly opened two branches on the outskirts of the county, but neither caused quite as big a splash as its new shop in Truro: three years later Greggs has opened up in the capital, right in the heart of Cornish Pasty Land. So what do the locals think this time around?
The first Greggs in Cornwall was boycotted by locals and closed after only seven months
‘Hand on heart, I don’t think Greggs could stand up against a good pasty shop,’ says Fergus Muller, owner of Ann’s Pasties. ‘The pasty is our national dish. I’m a Cornishman, and we’re very proud of our county.’
Greggs, which hails from Newcastle, has more than 2,200 branches across the UK, making it the country’s biggest bakery franchise. In Cornwall, however, pasty shops remain a stalwart. While Greggs’s bean-and-cheese melts and vegan sausage rolls were nowhere to be seen until the Truro outpost opened, you can get your hands on one of the D-shaped pastries in virtually every village and high street in the county (a whopping 120 million of them are produced here each year). ‘People follow pasty shops like football teams,’ says Muller. ‘Everyone’s got their favourite.’
Although they believe their product is superior, pasty shop owners like Muller are concerned about the competition. ‘It’s like a supermarket opening,’ Muller says. ‘Local shops might lose trade.’ And while pasties aren’t exactly expensive – at Ann’s, a medium steak pasty is £4.25, which Muller points out is ‘a good pound under a pint of beer’ – Greggs’s criminally cheap prices are something indie shops will struggle to match. ‘They’re going to offer very cheap food which we can’t on our life compete with.’
Putting a crimp in the pasty economy
So, why all this hoo-ha over a handheld pie filled with beef, potato and swede? Simply put, pasties are essential to the Cornish identity. In fact, they’re legally recognised as such: in 2011, the Cornish pasty was granted Protected Geographical Indication (PGI) status, meaning that for a pasty to be classed as Cornish, it has to be made in the county using a set recipe.
According to the Cornish Pasty Association (CPA), a proper pasty must be made of shortcrust or rough-puff pastry, and filled with skirt beef, potato, onion, swede (or yellow turnip) and lots of black pepper. ‘Therefore no peas, no carrots – none of that malarkey – and it has to be made in a D-shape,’ says Mark Norton, managing director of Prima Bakeries and board member of the CPA.
It’s also all about the crimp, which Muller calls ‘a dying art’. Crimping is the technique of folding the edge of the pasty into a perfect rope-like profile, snaking around only one edge of the pastry pocket. It’s a skill that’s passed down for generations, and it’s competitive: the best crimpers can do up to five pasties a minute.
The pasty is good for Cornwall’s circular economy, too. Before sustainability and sourcing became trendy buzzwords for brands, the humble Cornish pasty was doing just that. While it might not offer a vegan alternative, many pasty-makers use local beef and vegetables, while the goods are made on site by Cornish workers. In the case of Ann’s, the goods are delivered by Muller himself. ‘I won’t use anything but ingredients sourced within ten miles from me,’ he says. ‘I know where my beef comes from, I know my potatoes right down to the farms. I won’t just put some Argentinian beef in a patty and charge £1.’ According to the CPA, pasty makers spend at least 25 percent of their turnover within the local economy, handing £15 million to Cornish farmers every year. Pasty producers also generate £300 million worth of trade in the area – making up 20 percent of the region’s food and drink economy.
‘The industry felt very strongly that this was an iconic product that needed to be protected,’ says Norton. He’s not too worried about the rivalry, because Greggs isn’t actually allowed to sell Cornish pasties. ‘Greggs can come to Cornwall, but unless they open a pasty factory here they can’t make a Cornish pasty.’
‘Anything that reminds existing customers in Cornwall that their existing pasty shop is pretty good already is no bad thing,’ he adds. ‘May the best man win.’
Greggs can come to Cornwall, but unless they open a pasty factory here they can’t make a Cornish pasty
But many locals feel differently. Just head to Google to see how well the bakery has been received by the Kernow massive. It’s currently got a miserly 1.4-star rating on the site, and it’s getting lower by the day. This is mostly down to popular Cornish memer, Jam and Meme, who waged war on the chain by leaving a slew of one-star reviews earlier this month, encouraging others to do the same.
‘I made a fake account and reviewed it,’ Jam tells us. ‘It was just just a bit of comedy.’ In the comments, customers complain of ‘ugly pastries’ and ‘wet and sloppy’ sausage rolls that taste like ‘an ultra-processed early grave’. Reviewers also urge people to avoid the ‘monstrosity’ and ‘find a Rowe’s [pasty bakery chain] instead’. Others comment that the shop ‘doesn’t belong in Kernow’.
Jam says the chain is ‘emmet [tourist] fodder’. ‘When holidaymakers come to Cornwall and eat at Greggs, it’s like when Brits go abroad and try to find a McDonald’s,’ he jokes. But other than getting his hands on one of the ‘Kick Greggs out of Cornwall’ bumper stickers he spotted recently, he’s not sure what more there is to be done about the bakery invasion. ‘I won’t be eating there and maybe I’ll just carry on making memes about it,’ he concludes.
Feeling the pinch
Is trolling alone enough to bring down the biggest bakery chain in the UK? Probably not. Despite the backlash, the Truro Greggs is thriving. Sadly, the same can’t be said for many of the county’s independent pasty shops. With the cost-of-living crisis still raging, small businesses across the country are feeling the pinch. Shortly before Greggs Truro opened its doors, two locally famous bakeries (Denzil Trethevicks and Aunt Avice’s) had to close due to rising costs. Muller tells me he’s operating at a loss this winter after the annual energy bill at his Porthleven shop rocketed from £8,000 to £24,000.
And it seems the outrage directed at Greggs is part of something bigger. With an Airbnb crisis, a serious lack of jobs and small businesses in jeopardy – all exacerbated by the triple whammy of austerity, Brexit and unprecedented inflation – Cornish locals are worried. While some, like Norton, see Cornwall’s rejection of Greggs as closed-minded, it also makes sense: in a county that often feels forgotten, where income largely comes from transient shiftwork that relies heavily on tourism, the erosion of the county’s own culture makes the future seem even bleaker. ‘Cornwall is slowly losing its identity,’ Jam says. ‘I make memes because I don’t know what else to do. We’re all trying to hold on to our culture.’
It’s worth remembering the humble origins of the Cornish pasty: one of the UK’s OG worker foods, it was created as a cheap portable lunch to be carried down tin mines in miners’ back pockets. While Greggs might continue to spread throughout the South West (it’s announced plans for a return to Saltash), the Cornish pasty will always remain supreme in quality and taste. ‘The pasty might be a pasty, but it is a huge part of our identity in Cornwall,’ says Jam. ‘When you lose those little pasty shops you’ve been eating at since you were a kid and massive chains move in, it does rock the boat.’