Every summer in France, a familiar exodus begins like clockwork. The first week of July marks the end of the school year, and with it comes les grandes vacances, France’s grand summer holiday. Roads thrum with traffic, airports burst with activity, and ferry terminals swell with anticipation. Among the millions heading south are members of France’s immigrant communities—especially the large North African diaspora—who prepare for what they call le retour au bled: the return to the homeland.
More than just a trip, le retour au bled is a pilgrimage of identity, memory, and family. Children with French accents are bundled into cars with yawns and sun hats; their parents carry carefully packed bags—filled not just with gifts and summer clothes but with a quiet longing to reconnect. It’s a journey across a sea, and across selves.
On the return leg, the suitcases come back equally heavy—if not more so. But this time they’re filled with the precious cargo of culture: culinary mementos smuggled through customs and lovingly wrapped in socks, foil, and clingfilm. From Turkey, it might be sweet ketchup and homemade pickles. From Cameroon, shea butter and dried okra. For Algerians, staples like Medjool dates, Bimo biscuits, olive oil, and grenadine syrup are perennial favourites.
But in the summer of 2024, a new star joined the pantheon of diaspora treasures: El Mordjene, a hazelnut chocolate spread proudly manufactured in Algeria.
For Algerians across Europe—especially those born in France, Belgium, and the UK—El Mordjene wasn’t just another sweet treat. It was a revelation. Affordable, locally made, and rich in flavour, it stood as a symbolic rebuttal to European dominance in food branding. It offered an alternative to the globalised, industrially produced spreads that monopolise supermarket shelves—chief among them, the Italian giant, Nutella.
The product quickly went viral in diaspora circles. Social media was awash with TikToks and reels of returning travellers proudly unpacking jars of El Mordjene from their suitcases. For many, it was a taste of home, free of the preservatives and palm oil that have long drawn criticism in European consumer debates. Algerian expats saw it not only as a superior product, but as a quiet cultural assertion: “We can make it too. And we can make it better.”
But as quickly as the buzz grew, so too did the backlash. By early 2025, reports emerged that El Mordjene had been banned from several European markets, citing non-compliance with food safety regulations. Some countries claimed the labelling did not meet EU standards. Others questioned the use of certain additives or alleged inconsistencies in production batches. The result was the same: retailers were instructed to pull the spread from shelves, and customs officials began seizing jars at borders.
The Algerian diaspora erupted in frustration and confusion. To many, the ban felt arbitrary—if not politically motivated. “It’s not about food safety,” said one café owner in Marseille. “It’s about control. They don’t want our products to compete.”
Some analysts argue that the El Mordjene ban reveals deeper fault lines in Europe’s trade and regulatory system—particularly its unequal treatment of goods from the Global South. While large multinationals can navigate compliance with teams of lawyers and labs, small producers from countries like Algeria often face impossible hurdles. The ban, critics claim, serves as a form of economic gatekeeping, effectively locking out competition before it even reaches the table.
And yet, the story of El Mordjene has only grown in stature since the ban. If anything, its removal from stores has turned the spread into a coveted icon. Algerians abroad continue to smuggle it in. Photos of the distinctive red and yellow jar circulate like contraband currency on WhatsApp groups. In the eyes of many, El Mordjene has become more than a product. It is a symbol of pride, resilience, and the desire for economic independence.
It is, perhaps, ironic that in trying to suppress the spread, European regulators only magnified its importance. A spoonful of chocolate and hazelnut, yes—but also a spoonful of belonging.
As summer 2025 approaches, and the great retour au bled begins again, one thing is certain: El Mordjene will be making the trip—quietly nestled between the Bimo biscuits and olive oil, ready to defy borders and breakfast tables alike.