French Farmers Protest Hénaff Imports Amid Supply Crisis

On a chilly Friday, January 16, 2026, the usually quiet town of Pouldreuzic in Brittany found itself at the center of a heated debate. Farmers, frustrated and waving banners, gathered outside the Hénaff factory, voicing their concerns over the origins of the beef tongue used in the company’s famed products. The protest, though local in its staging, tapped into a much broader anxiety sweeping through French agriculture and society: the growing gap between what France can produce and what its people consume.

Just days later, on Monday, January 19, Loïc Hénaff, the CEO of the Hénaff group, took to the airwaves on ICI Breizh Izel to clarify his company’s position. With candor and a touch of exasperation, Hénaff explained that importing beef tongues from Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina was not a recent development, but rather “a historical practice for over 40 years.” According to Hénaff, the reason is simple: “There is just not enough beef tongue in France” to meet the demands of consumers, especially in Brittany, where the product enjoys enduring popularity.

“No one has called me to offer French beef tongue,” Hénaff remarked, underlining the lack of domestic supply. The CEO was quick to point out that, unlike some competitors who mask their sourcing with ambiguous labels such as “EU” or “non-EU,” Hénaff’s packaging is explicit. “We write in full on the cans where it comes from, no need for cabalistic codes. It’s written openly, with an explanation behind it.” This, he argued, is a matter of transparency and respect for the consumer, a value he believes is sometimes lost in the wider food industry.

Yet, the controversy over beef tongue is just a small slice of a much larger pie. According to a recent analysis by Jean-Pierre Robin in Le Figaro, 2025 was a year marked by a “curious collision” of two deficits in France: one demographic, the other agro-food related. The country’s fertility rate dropped to 1.56 children per woman, the lowest since the end of World War I, as reported by INSEE in their annual demographic summary published the week before January 19, 2026. For the first time, the fertility rate for men was also disclosed, matching the women’s figure at 1.56 children per man—a parity that, while statistically interesting, underscores the broader issue of a shrinking future generation.

This demographic dip is more than a statistical anomaly; it’s a symptom of deeper malaise. As Robin wryly observed, “Have the French suffered nutritional deficiencies to the point of no longer having babies?” The question, posed half in jest, points to a country struggling not only to feed itself with homegrown produce but also to maintain its population. The link between agriculture and demography may be more symbolic than causal, but the parallel crises have become impossible to ignore.

Adding to the sense of urgency, the French Customs Directorate is expected to confirm, on February 6, 2026, a new record related to agricultural or food production deficits. The details are still under wraps, but the anticipation reflects the growing anxiety over France’s ability to provide for itself—a nation long proud of its culinary heritage and agricultural prowess now facing uncomfortable questions about its self-sufficiency.

Back in Brittany, Hénaff is keen to emphasize that the company’s reliance on imported beef tongue is an exception, not the rule. “Local is our thing, it’s been our DNA forever,” he insisted. The numbers bear him out: 98% of the meat used by Hénaff is French, and 91% comes from Brittany itself. Pork, the company’s mainstay, is sourced within 150 kilometers of the Pouldreuzic factory, supporting local farmers and ensuring short supply chains. “The alliance between agriculture and agri-food is what unites Brittany,” Hénaff said, highlighting the importance of the “Produit en Bretagne” label as a symbol of local processing and job preservation.

Indeed, the label carries weight in a region where identity and food are closely intertwined. For Hénaff, it’s not just about business—it’s about community and continuity. “If this controversy gives everyone the chance to look, to read labels, and not buy products blindly… For us, it’s written in big letters, there are no cryptic codes, it’s written without hiding, with an explanation behind it.” The hope, he suggests, is that greater transparency might encourage more thoughtful consumption—and perhaps, in the long run, more support for local producers.

But the challenges facing French agriculture go well beyond labeling. Recent trade tensions, such as the new Chinese taxes on imported pork, threaten to destabilize an already fragile sector. Thierry Meyer, vice-president of the pork interprofessional association, has warned of the potential fallout from this “trade war” between China and Europe over electric vehicles—a conflict with very real consequences for Breton pig farmers. As global markets shift and political winds change, even the most locally rooted businesses can find themselves at the mercy of forces far beyond their control.

Meanwhile, the debate over the EU-Mercosur trade agreement, signed in Paraguay on January 17, 2026, has further inflamed passions. Farmers worry that increased imports from South America could undermine French producers, already struggling to compete on price and scale. For companies like Hénaff, which have long relied on South American beef tongue due to domestic shortages, the issue is not one of preference but necessity. Still, the optics are tricky, and the company’s efforts at transparency—however well-intentioned—have not shielded it from criticism.

As the dust settles in Pouldreuzic, and as France awaits the next round of official statistics and trade data, one thing is clear: the country is at a crossroads. The intersection of demographic decline and agricultural vulnerability has forced a national reckoning. Can France find a way to reconcile its proud traditions with the realities of a globalized food system? Will local initiatives and consumer vigilance be enough to stem the tide, or are deeper reforms needed to revitalize both the fields and the family?

For now, the answers remain elusive. But as Hénaff and his fellow Bretons can attest, the conversation is far from over—and the stakes are nothing less than the future of France’s table and its people.