American fried chicken has taken over the UK. I went to Popeyes to find out why

Friday morning on Clapham High Street and, standing outside a recently opened Popeyes restaurant, I’m close to sensory overload. In quick succession I’ve been hit by the luminous bright orange signage; the smell of fried chicken; a wall of bassy music as I open the door and an ever so slight greasiness to the air as I walk in.

I’m here to spend the day at the American fried chicken chain that has burst beyond national borders. The brand, which prides itself on its Louisianian origins, has been expanding rapidly across the UK ever since its debut in London’s Stratford Westfield in 2021 (where it became the top performing store in the world).

Popeyes has since opened 49 restaurants across the UK, from Aberdeen to Plymouth, as well as 11 delivery kitchens and six more to come by the end of the year. Fifteen of its outlets are in London, including, as of early September, one on my local high street.

While Clapham cannot aspire to the heady heights of Streatham (whose high road boasts 12 chicken shops within just over three kilometres), it already has six chicken shops within a 250m stretch of road.

Britain, it seems, can’t get enough of fried chicken. Cheap, colourful and celebrity-backed, it’s now our favourite fast food – we spend £4.6bn a year on it – while fish and chip shops are in decline.

According to market research company Kantar, more than 800 million chicken items were sold at UK quick-service restaurants (the industry term for fast-food restaurants) in the year to May. By contrast, the vinegar company Sarsons recently estimated that more than half the country’s fish ‘n’ chips shops “could disappear” by 2025.

Despite, or perhaps because of the place that this dish holds in British hearts, chicken shops are divisive. Critics say they are a source of litter, child obesity and loitering teenagers.

Indeed local residents here in Clapham, if social media comments are anything to go by, aren’t particularly impressed by the opening of yet another chicken shop.

But ever since Popeyes opened it has been packed. On the day I visit, a steady stream of customers and delivery drivers come in and out: construction workers grabbing bags, students digging into their first meal of the day, UberEats drivers with their helmets still on, office workers taking a solitary moment with their burger, headphones firmly in place.

Part of Popeyes’ cult status is undoubtedly down to the American experience it offers – the New Orleans’ music is loud, the branding is playful and you are repeatedly reminded by wall art and by the food itself, that this is proudly Cajun cuisine. As well as Louisianian fried chicken in all its forms, Popeyes serves biscuits (the American kind) and Cajun gravy, Cajun seasoned fries, Cajun rice and mac and cheese.

Shamina at the till says the chicken deluxe – a burger-style sandwich that comes in at 855 calories – is the most popular offering at this branch, so I order one with Cajun fries and a Diet Coke on the side. She brings it to my table: part of the job for Popeyes staff, who I learn are also known as “joy creators”.

The spicy chicken sandwich (Americans would never call it a burger) is good. The chicken is well-seasoned, tender, and the crunch of the batter is satisfying. The bun (brioche) is soft and the pickles, salad, cheese and spicy mayo all compliment without dominating. I’m less impressed by the Cajun fries which are a bit limp – but I still finish them.

Having sampled the product, I begin my field research. A couple of minutes into a conversation the man I’m speaking to tells me I have mayonnaise on my cheek. Ricky, 26, tells me this is his first time here (on his friend’s suggestion) and he’s not particularly impressed.

Popeyes offering is not, he says “a great first meal of the day. It tastes exactly like a normal chicken shop.” The chicken shop next door to where he lives, says Ricky, is half the price – although there’s no seating there, just a counter.

The next person I speak to is far more enthusiastic. He’s sitting on his own with a bottle of water, wearing a Popeyes branded hat and gilet. He either works for the company or is a superfan. I hope for the latter but Hashim, 35, tells me he’s the operations manager for Popeyes and looks after London, Northern Ireland and Scotland.

“I opened Belfast about four weeks ago, but we’ve since opened Wakefield and Dartford. One a week for the next 10 years – that’s the plan, that’s the goal.”

Popeyes appears to be riding a wave. Certainly, it has benefited from a lot of social media hype – including a chicken sandwich ‘battle’ with rival US brand, Chick-fil-A – along with celebrity fans. Popeyes catered Beyoncé’s wedding and, according to its UK chief executive Tom Crowley, has been delivered to the Kardashians’ jet.

Later in the afternoon, at the end of the school day, I talk to AJ (12) and Bara (13), who agree to share their thoughts with me in exchange for borrowing my phone to call a friend. Why Popeyes?

“We didn’t want to go to a normal chicken shop,” Bara says. Plus, these boys don’t go to McDonald’s any more because of the brand’s involvement in Israel – “boycott boycott” they rush over each other to tell me.

“Chicken shops are kind of dirty, but Popeyes is really nice,” adds AJ, who says that he was recently served pigeon meat at his local chicken shop.

It’s true that quality varies significantly. Both KFC and Popeyes have signed up to the Better Chicken Commitment, a voluntary commitment to meet higher welfare standards by 2026. This includes using chickens that grow slower and live longer than six weeks, as well as stocking chickens at 30kg/m2 compared to the denser Red Tractor standards of 38kg/m2.

The British Poultry Council tells me that this differs from the majority of the market in the UK – 85 percent meet the Red Tractor standards, with the remaining 15 percent broken up into free range (about 3 per cent), organic (less than 1 per cent), and BCC (about 10 per cent).

As for price, at the KFC down the road, a burger meal matches Popeyes at £7.99, while the three piece meal is £8.49 at KFC, but £9.50 at Popeyes. Roosters Spot and Chicken Hub, both a few doors down from Popeyes, both sell a chicken burger meal for £4.99, and a three-piece meal for £5.99 respectively.

It’s worth noting that the wider cultural interest in fried chicken on both sides of the Atlantic was driven initially by black audiences. In the US, Aaron Ross Coleman noted that “like so many Internet phenomena, hype for Popeye’s chicken sandwich first sparked on Black Twitter”. In the UK, as Bridget Minamore wrote in 2017, “chicken shops have been a cultural marker for black and brown kids long before white art students began wearing ironic Chicken Cottage T-shirts”.

But British chicken shops have also become their own cultural juggernaut. Independent shops have become the subject of art books and settings for music videos. In 2016, Elijah Quahsie a.k.a the Chicken Connoisseur had a series of viral hits with his YouTube series Pengest Munch. And comedian and presenter Amelia Dimoldenberg’s Chicken Shop Date, which she started in 2014, has now become an essential stop for any celebrity on a press tour.

Throughout the day I see young people going into and out of other shops before settling in at Popeyes with Roosters Spot bags or McDonald’s burgers. At one point Hashim asks a group of teenagers who are taking up a booth, but eating food from another place, to leave. Staff are discussing getting security at particularly busy times, especially with the nightclub Inferno’s down the road.

Teenagers and kids do not make up the majority of the fried chicken consumer base. Catlin Topping, client insight director at Kantar, says: “It’s people aged between 25 and 54 that have the biggest appetite for chicken when they’re out and about” – but chicken shops remain a target for child obesity campaigners.

Wes Streeting, the health secretary, has vowed to stop fast food outlets from building new locations near schools, name-checking KFC.

Barbara Crowther, Children’s Food Campaign Manager at Sustain tells me that “the explosion of fast food takeaways in our high streets and shopping centres is hugely concerning.”

She believes the proximity of these shops to schools is a problem, also citing the bright colours, mascots and meal deal advertising as “constantly nudges children and young people into craving these types of meals.”

“Whilst some councils have put in place policies to limit new outlets within 400 metres of schools, this is not happening everywhere, which is why national planning guidance is so badly needed, as well as further restrictions on junk food advertising in outdoor spaces,” she adds.

Crowley says that Popeyes is aware of the issues around health, pointing to its kids meal which comes with salad, not fries, and the lower calorie snacking range.

The most popular item across all Popeyes’ sites, I’m told, is the chicken sandwich – one is sold every three seconds in the UK. Compared to KFC’s equivalent, it’s richer in both calories and fat – although, says dietitian Nichola Ludlam-Raine, neither are particularly healthy. The discrepancy could well be due to size, though: “the Popeyes burger provides almost double the amount of energy per serving!”

From my day spent there, no one is under any delusions that they’re eating healthy food when they’re in a chicken shop. Most say it’s a treat rather than a regular occurrence. For some of the kids and students it is the last Friday before half term. Yodit, 36, has brought her two kids to Popeyes because her nine-year-old daughter Yohanna did well on her arithmetic and spelling, and they’ve just come from their swimming lessons.

“I really like their food and it’s all very tasty,” she adds. “I’ve been here a few times, so it’s not my first time, and I really like how they give me food and the people that work here give me kindly respect.”

It’s a very particular type of American service and culture, playing on the aspirational authenticity that America is so good at selling: the fast food so good that the world’s wealthiest, most glamorous celebrities will have it at their wedding or on their private jet – and you’re perhaps less likely to interrogate how healthy it is.

That’s not to say it’s seamless. Being called a “joy creator” when you’re a server feels a bit much for the British sensibility. It’s cloying and forced in that chirpy American way that rankles in such a dour nation.

But maybe that’s what all of us, not just kids, really want right now – the nation’s favourite food, dressed up in shinier packaging.