Can Morrisons come between me and Ocado?

Andrew Neather
14 Sep 2009

Could Morrisons get the last laugh on the middle-class urbanites like me who turned their noses up when the cut-price northern store first moved south? Last week the supermarket posted half-year pre-tax profits up 45 per cent to £449 million. And supposedly, ciabatta-eaters like me are now loyal shoppers.

I laughed when homespun Yorkshire tycoon Ken Morrison snapped up Safeway in 2004. I'd only once been to a Morrisons, in the Lake District and it didn't strike me that the shelves of rubbish wine and pies would go down well in Islington. The recession appears to be proving me wrong. Like even-cheaper budget stores Aldi and Lidl, Morrisons says its growing profits are built in part on middle-class consumers who care more about low prices than the supposed social death that is admitting that your dinner party's fresh pasta came from Bradford's answer to Kwik Save.

Actually Ken Morrison stepped down as chairman last year, and he handed over day-to-day control to chief executive Marc Bolland in 2006. But the frugal image Morrison established in his 55 years there has survived. So should I abandon my family's chosen food store (Ocado, obviously) for the new cheap chic?

To find out, I strode into Shepherd's Bush's gritty West 12 centre. The overpowering smell of cheap fat just inside Morrisons' doors quickly dissipated. I'd been expecting scenes like those at Brixton Tesco, the store with arguably the most mad people per square metre in London but it was clean and quiet, the calm broken only by a gaggle of schoolgirls arguing over a mobile phone: “Nah, don't believe it, Charmaine!”

There's a pretty clear pattern to the prices. Fresh fruit and vegetables are markedly cheaper than at Waitrose — nectarines, at five for £1, are about half the cost. They're also cheaper than in the small local Sainsbury's where I buy most of my fruit and veg. Meat and fish were less expensive in Morrisons, too.

Then there are the basic household items — tinned tomatoes, milk, toilet paper, beer, spaghetti, Marmite — which are basically the same price everywhere. Sometimes exactly the same, in fact: Ocado's website boasts that these are “Tesco price-match” items; Morrisons doesn't say so but it is doing the same.

Finally there is the range of processed foods and ready meals. And this is where the class appeal — or pitfalls — are clearest. You probably wouldn't feel too bad about your guests knowing the provenance of the Waitrose spinach and potato pakoras they're snacking on. But Morrisons mini onion and red pepper pakoras at 10 for £1? In parts of Dulwich, them's fighting words. As for Morrisons' roast counter — well, if I ever need to buy crackling by the piece, I'll know where to come.

It's not just a question of snobbery, though. A pot of hummous, a staple for my family, costs £1.28 from Ocado against 75p at Morrisons. Sure, I could live on the cheap one, but the Waitrose version tastes a lot closer to Beirut. Morrisons Serrano ham? Half the price of Waitrose, and acceptable — but not great.

As for those Morrisons pakoras, they appeared to be constructed almost entirely from starch, fat and curry powder. I started to feel slightly queasy (in fairness, I had scoffed three, along with a prawn cocktail — 99p, gloopy, very retro — and half a packet of Thai chilli crisps).

So I won't be moving to Morrisons just yet (abandoning internet shopping would in any case threaten my marriage). But don't get me wrong: invite me to dinner around a centerpiece of Morrisons roast lamb and I won't judge you for it. Unless you serve the pakoras on the side.

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