SHRINKFLATION À LA SUISSE

It’s that magical time of year again – the air is crisp, the leaves are turning gold, and my inner Swiss is screaming for those Swiss delights that remind me of my childhood. Yes, winter is here, and with it comes the irresistible craving for raclette and fondue, those glorious dairy-based dishes that warm both the belly and the soul.

So off I trotted to our favourite upscale supermarket, visions of bubbling cheese and crusty bread dancing in my head. This place had always been a reliable oasis of Alpine comfort: Emmi fondue in their standard 400g packs, and a lovely French raclette that melted like a dream.

But as Bob Dylan once said, the times they are a-changin’. Though I’m fairly sure he wasn’t talking about cheese.

First up: Raclette. In Swiss supermarkets, it's everywhere – shelves lined with glorious, pre-sliced raclette glory in every flavour imaginable. Garlic? Sure. Peppercorn? Absolutely. Unicorn tears? Probably.

In Japan, you technically have “options,” but calling them satisfactory is like calling McDonald's a five-star dining experience.

Option 1: Regular supermarkets. Yes, they sometimes have raclette cheese! But only in portions so microscopic (100g!) that even if you slice it with the precision of a neurosurgeon, you’ll still end up with raclette that looks like it’s on a diet.

Option 2: The elusive cheesemonger. First you need to find one. And if you do, brace yourself for prices so outrageous you’ll need a second mortgage. One visit and you’ll swear off raclette until the next ice age.

Option 3: Buy a whole wheel of Swiss cheese online. Sounds romantic, right? Until you realise you’ll need a gym membership to lift it, a cellar to store it, and a chainsaw to cut it.

Option 4: French pre-sliced raclette. Perfect size, perfect convenience… and perfect betrayal. It feels like melting your national pride along with the cheese. You’ll hear the faint sound of Swiss ancestors weeping as you eat.

Back home, ordinary folks go for the convenient pre-sliced packs, keeping it efficient. So, that's what also seems the most practical (and affordable) option here, even if I know I'm committing cultural treason.

But this time, there was no raclette at all. I checked the shelf. I checked behind the camembert. I even crouched down to inspect the lower racks like a desperate cheese detective. Nothing. The raclette had vanished.

I seemed to have more luck with the fondue: There it was: our beloved Emmi fondue, smiling at me from the shelf… but something was off. It looked smaller. Suspiciously smaller. I picked it up and gasped – 250g. That’s not fondue. That’s a sample.

And to add insult to injury, it’s now called “Fondue Petit.”  Petit?! This is fondue, not a macaron! In Switzerland, fondue packs are 800g and feed two people - maybe three if one is pretending to be "not that hungry."

This “Petit” version claims to serve two, which I assume means two people who hate cheese.

Oh, and the price? Still the same, naturally. Welcome to the age of shrinkflation — where your favourite products quietly lose weight.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get sneakier, I noticed something else.

Japanese shops used to show prices without tax, which meant you’d always get a surprise 10% bonus at the register. To fix this, the government made it mandatory to display tax-included prices, as is practice in other countries. A noble, transparent idea.

Except... the law didn't say you couldn't still show the untaxed price.

So now, many stores proudly display the smaller pre-tax price in huge, bold red letters – while the real, tax-included price hides below it in microscopic font, like a guilty secret.

Our supermarket used to be one of the honest ones. Not anymore. They’ve joined the dark side – bold red net price up front, true price much smaller underneath, as if hoping that it won't be detected.

Coincidence? I think not. When everything’s getting more expensive, what better trick than making the real price harder to see?

So instead of coming home with armfuls of cheese, I left empty-handed and slightly betrayed.

Fortunately, online shopping came to the rescue. Crisis averted – fondue and raclette secured. My wife and I won't have to starve through the winter without those cheesy delights.