Clubcard Cornucopia

Anyone else plagued by the decision fatigue that comes at the Tesco Meal Deal section? You go in for something easy but spend 10 minutes stood in everyone’s way, staring at the fridge like it might offer something different you didn’t already know was there?

Suddenly, you're at the self-checkout with a chicken Caesar wrap, a Yazoo, and a small sense of shame.

The Meal Deal is a transaction, a coping mechanism, and a need for structure. It’s also a sociological experiment. One the British public is very happy to participate in. The “Rate My Meal Deal” trend from Facebook circa 2016 (where people uploaded their choices to be judged en masse) is still thriving across Reddit and TikTok.

A dive into the archives showed me some quintessential British commentary, like:
“3/10 go put your head in the oven.” and “Ripped jeans. Instant nonce.”

We are nothing, if not a nation of poets.

Where does that leave us in 2024?

Are you protein-maximising with the egg and spinach pot (the bestselling Tesco snack of 2024). Playing it safe with a cheese sandwich? Bold enough to go for one of those tomato pasta pots that leaves a metallic aftertaste in your mouth?

Unsurprisingly, most of us still try to hack the deal. Picking the most expensive items to maximise value. Innocent smoothie? Absolutely. Chicken strips over crisps? Obviously. And yet, despite the rise of high-protein everything, a full-fat Coke remains the most popular drink.

You’re familiar with the formula: sandwich, snack, drink. But each retailer’s raison d'être? Wildly different.

Tesco is the people’s champion. Sainsbury’s is trying but never feels quite right. Why are the drinks always warm? Boots, you went in for paracetamol and left with a falafel wrap and Ribena.

Wildcards. WHSmith in a train station. Londis on the corner. The petrol station Meal Deal featuring a can of Monster and a suspicious unbranded baguette. You go for a bag of Haribo that costs £3.99 instead because you’ve got two hours of driving left and a stomach lining worth protecting.

Then came the price creep. It’s currently £3.60 with a Tesco Clubcard. Tiered pricing. “Premium” ranges. Bao buns. Salmon bowls. It still technically counts as a deal, but it doesn’t feel like one anymore. You still pick the same sandwich you always have done because it doesn’t require any extra thought. You know the drink you like. You avoid the mini sushi selection.

What the Meal Deal offers is structure in a format that doesn’t ask for too much. It’s not exciting or aspirational but it’s consistent. And in a world of Deliveroo fatigue, content fatigue, fluctuating grocery prices, and a general sense of discomfort about literally everything, consistency in a plastic triangle is, in it’s own way, enough.