Starmer should counter Trump's tariffs with a 145 per cent rate on US junk food

Yahoo

12-04-2025

Thursday evening at home, all was quiet. The boys were asleep, and my wife was at the cinema watching a Botoxed American actress pretending to be a British single mother being pursued by a chiselled 20-something. There had been talk of reheating a lasagne but I had better ideas.
I popped some thinly sliced sourdough into the toaster and reached to the back of a cupboard for a small white pot. The toast was nicely charred – what my wife would mistakenly call burnt – and I spread over butter and then a layer of grey paste from the little pot.
I poured myself a glass of cool white burgundy, winked at Cyrus the Labrador and relished this moment of heavenly paradise.
Naturally I was also stirred knowing that what I was doing was bang on trend. According to Statista, the savoury spreads market, featuring the likes of Patum Peperium – that secret ingredient of my perfect dinner for one; anchovy paste also known as Gentleman's Relish – rose by 4.35 per cent between 2018 and 2023, taking the value of sales to £393 million.
This is heartening news to a foodie like me who clings to what some disparage as 'Grandpa's Larder': the likes of Fortt's Bath Oliver biscuits, Lea & Perrins Worcestershire Sauce and, of course, lashings of marmalade.
These things, in moderate doses, alongside seasonal ingredients and locally made or reared products (in my case, we enjoy the likes of Longstraw sourdough, Wonky Horn longhorn beef and Exmoor Ale), make for a wholesome, healthy diet.
Yet seeking such exquisite simplicity has become a huge battle. The post-war post-rationing years saw a natural embracing of the freedom to choose, a revolution in global trade and advances in food and drink-producing technology, all of which ushered in a democratising emporium of range. And technology now provides access to and delivery of that range, sometimes within minutes. But it has wrought a disaster on health.
Obesity is now a greater burden on the UK economy than terrorism. The food and drink so many Brits consume has made this nation fat and lazy. And much of it comes from the United States.
Brightly coloured, and marketed alongside beloved characters of television, these peddled consumables offer instant textural and flavour bombs, but little nutrition. What author Chris van Tulleken calls 'edible substances', and which none of us should flatter with the label of 'food', they are ultra-processed and ultra-responsible for what is a cultural disaster.
And yes, the US is much to blame. I need only throw names at you such as Cheerios, Coco-Pops, Coca-Cola and Cheetos. Those are just a few beginning with the letter C. There are filthy products for almost every letter of the alphabet.
Because of devilish marketing skills and the food's addictive qualities, it's an uphill battle to stop such things landing on shelves, coming into the house, and ending up in the fridge.
Tell friends that you don't allow your kids to eat popular cereals for breakfast and they look at you as if you're some kind of weird cult, Anabaptists or Latter Day Saints.
It's time we stopped putting up with what has become industrialised mass-poisoning. And this week shows us that action can be taken, that leaders can make decisions. The Trumpian approach – executive orders dished out and tariffs unleashed – may cause some chaos, but it should show our leaders that when they get power they can wield it.
With a dose of British restraint, a modest measure of protectionism should be administered to both encourage better eating and promote British producers.
That means, for example, abandoning the new tariff-free quota system on New Zealand lamb. Don't believe it when UK supermarkets say British producers can't deliver consistent quantities of lamb all year round. There are varieties that, if supported and encouraged, can fill the counters of Britain's supermarkets 12 months a year. And there's also something called a freezer if you need a back-up. Buy Kiwi lamb if you like, but it should cost more, should be tariffed, with the money raised ploughed into British farming.
And where we have other equitable products, we should similarly encourage, and not hobble, British producers: I'm thinking cheese, cheese biscuits, cereals, cider and, of course, beef.
Especially US beef. It should be enough that we dress in American-made clothes, watch American-made television, listen to American-made music and function with American-made computers and phones.
As a riposte to Trump's 10 per cent tariff on UK products entering the US, we should make an exception to our classic British reserve and sting them back with China-level 145 per cent tariffs on food.
If prices leap, that's fine. Poison, as with cigarettes, should become unaffordable. And if you must have Oreo cookies or Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, then by all means purchase such things as an occasional and expensive treat.
The only diet that works is the one imposed upon Britain during the Second World War. And rationing saw a nation emerge from that conflict with negligible national rates of obesity. But until Putin's tanks approach the cliffs of Dover, that solution is impractical.
But a penalising levy on goods that create nothing but lard and lethargy, while encouraging home-grown produce, would be a bonanza for both British health and the economy.
And, my American friends, here's a deal-breaker: of course we'll still wave through, tariff-free, your Californian pinot noir, but we'll also take your chlorinated chicken. Then let's see if anyone here is stupid enough to pay for it.
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