Strained yogurt? Greece is the word
Greek yogurt, so thick and serene, does not seem a substance to arouse high passions. But it was recently the subject of a fierce legal dispute between two rival firms, a reflection of the fact that it has become big business. Though it's been around for decades, Greek yogurt has been newly embraced by fitness enthusiasts as a high-protein snack (it typically contains twice the protein of normal natural yogurt). "Greek-style" is something else, meaning anything from creamy bio yogurt to strange fruit desserts thickened with starch.
I first realised that strained yogurt was a thing at a nutrition conference in November. No fewer than three brands – Chobani, Danio and Total – were handing out samples. Everywhere you looked there were dietitians talking shop and eating complimentary yogurt.
But what is strained yogurt? It's yogurt with much of the watery whey removed to make it thicker. In other words, Greek yogurt. But you can only call it that in Britain if it is properly Greek, as the recent legal battle confirmed. In January the Court of Appeal ruled that Greek yogurt must be made in Greece; otherwise it's merely "strained".
This was bad news for Chobani, an American brand. In America Chobani, set up by Hamdi Ulukaya, a Turkish immigrant, is a phenomenon. It has totally changed American tastes in yogurt, achieving sales of more than $1 billion a year, and hoped to do the same in Britain, launching as "Greek yogurt" in Tesco in 2012. It was nice-tasting stuff, but, ridiculously, it was being shipped all the way from the US. Fage, which makes Total yogurt, brought a successful injunction against Chobani calling it "Greek". Chobani promptly changed its packaging but has temporarily pulled out of Britain, though the company says it will be back.
Meanwhile, Total, the number-one British brand – which really is made in Greece – goes from strength to strength. Last year it enjoyed record sales. I should be pleased. I've been buying Total for years. I'd always choose it for a cooling dish of tzatziki, and there is no finer vehicle for honey. With thinner yogurts the honey disappears, but with Total it floats pleasingly in amber pools. The most luxurious summer breakfast is Greek yogurt with watermelon, toasted pumpkin seeds and orange-blossom honey. I love the tangy, almost cheesy taste and the ritual of removing the little circle of paper before you dig in.
And yet I feel ambivalent about Greek yogurt's new popularity as a health food. As so often, there's a trade-off between perceived healthiness and flavour. Two and a half years ago Total slashed the fat content of its original Greek yogurt from 10 to five per cent. It still tastes lovely, but it lacks the richness it had. Total has also stopped using sheep's milk in any of its yogurts.
Meanwhile, its bestselling line – accounting for two thirds of sales – is the zero per cent fat version. It may be thick and high in protein, but it gives me no more satisfaction than a body-building shake. You end up eating more, searching for a bite that actually tastes of something. And wasn't Greek yogurt meant to be about pleasure?
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