Nutri-Score is a distraction Europe can’t afford right now

This week’s unexpected 90-day pause in US tariff plans has sparked relief across global markets. European officials, already preparing retaliatory measures, are now in limbo — unsure whether this is a genuine de-escalation or just another feint in Donald Trump’s unpredictable behaviour. What is clear, however, is that the risk of a prolonged trade confrontation remains very real. Supply chains are strained, inflation is high, and food insecurity is rising. And yet, amid all this, major European supermarkets are focused on food labels.

Dutch retailer Albert Heijn recently announced it would expand Nutri-Score labeling across all its products. Carrefour is pressuring suppliers to do the same, threatening to publicly shame those that resist. The message is clear: food labelling, not affordability, is the priority.

It’s hard to overstate how disconnected this is from the real crises unfolding. Tariffs from the United States under Trump’s second term have already hit European steel and aluminum. Even with the recent pause, a broader trade war still looms — one that promises higher prices, fewer jobs, and worsening food insecurity. That’s the context in which Europe’s biggest retailers are championing Nutri-Score — a labeling system that continues to divide scientists, alienate food producers, and confuse shoppers.

The idea behind Nutri-Score is seductively simple: a color-coded A-to-E grade on the front of food packaging to help consumers make “healthier” choices. But simplicity is precisely the problem. The algorithm behind the score often penalizes traditional, minimally processed products — like olive oil, cheese, and charcuterie — while rewarding foods manipulated and reformulated to hit arbitrary nutritional targets. It reduces food to a mathematical formula and assumes consumers will benefit from oversimplified guidance. That assumption is far from proven.

What’s worse, Nutri-Score distracts from far more urgent problems. Millions of low-income households are already being forced to choose between quality and price. In this environment, the most pressing challenge isn’t how foods are labeled — it’s whether people can afford them at all.

Supermarkets like Carrefour and Albert Heijn have chosen to moralize rather than adapt. They’ve put pressure on suppliers to comply with a labeling regime that is both voluntary and scientifically contested. Danone, once a major advocate, has now abandoned Nutri-Score on several products after changes to the algorithm lumped dairy and plant-based drinks in with soft drinks. The company warned the updated score “creates a major inconsistency” — a diplomatic way of saying the system is flawed. Smaller producers, especially those in southern Europe, have protested more bluntly, arguing that Nutri-Score undermines traditional food cultures and penalizes heritage products.

That hasn’t stopped major retailers from pushing forward. Carrefour has gone so far as to threaten to calculate and publish the Nutri-Score of suppliers who refuse to cooperate. This coercive approach reveals what Nutri-Score really is: a branding exercise disguised as public health policy.

It is not hard to see why supermarkets like the idea. It gives them an easy talking point on health and sustainability, while shifting the burden — and blame — onto producers. But consumers don’t benefit. A green “A” label on a cereal bar does not make it healthy, just as a red “E” on a wedge of Parmigiano Reggiano doesn’t mean it should be avoided. These labels risk creating confusion where nuance is needed.

The fixation on Nutri-Score also comes at the worst possible moment. Europe is heading into a period of economic uncertainty not seen since the financial crisis. Even if Trump’s tariff threats have momentarily softened, the broader pattern is clear: protectionism is back, and Europe will be caught in the crossfire. Supply chains are already fragile. Energy costs remain high. Add to this a likely drop in disposable income, and food affordability becomes a defining issue for the months ahead.

Rather than pushing pseudo-scientific labels, supermarkets and policymakers should be focused on securing food supply chains, supporting struggling producers, and offering consumers real value. That means investing in local agriculture, reducing reliance on imports, and cushioning the impact of global price shocks. It means expanding discount lines, promoting short supply chains, and resisting the urge to offload the costs of reformulation onto consumers.

It also means recognizing that front-of-pack labels will not solve the structural issues driving obesity or poor nutrition. Public health is not a matter of logos and colors — it requires sustained investment in education, community support, and access to fresh food. It requires pricing policies that make healthy options affordable, not just visible. And above all, it requires resisting the temptation to confuse visibility with value.

Europe has prided itself on being a bastion of regulatory foresight, often rightly so. But in this case, it is indulging in a form of policy theatre that adds little to the lives of ordinary citizens. If Brussels is serious about protecting consumers, it should start by protecting their wallets. Supermarkets, too, must decide what kind of responsibility they want to claim: the responsibility to lecture, or the responsibility to feed.

In a world of shrinking budgets and growing insecurity, the answer should be obvious. But in Europe’s glossy supermarket aisles, clarity is apparently harder to come by.

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