I learned why the supermarket duopoly is making butter a luxury grocery item last week. Features Editor Hanna patiently explained to me how competition is important to ensure that prices meet demand, and why there being two major supermarkets in Aotearoa means prices inflate to the point of there being $10 blocks of butter. It took about three goes, but I eventually got it (check out the feature for an explainer). And it made me think about scones.
Butter and cheese are key ingredients in cheese scones. Earlier in the year, Critic noticed that the campus scones seemed smaller. The University confirmed our suspicions: “After reviewing costs at the beginning of 2025, it was noted that milk and butter costs, plus other key ingredients including flour had increased, so we decided to maintain our scone price and reduce the size – this was the only product we have reduced in size.” This is known as ‘shrinkflation’. It’s a sneaky way that manufacturers pass on a hidden price increase. By keeping the prices of scones the same, it means that you’re effectively paying more for less.
The University of Otago has a near monopoly of campus scones. Anywhere you go – from St Dave’s cafe to Café Albany, Auahi Ora to the Business School – the scones are made by the University. There isn’t any direct competition for these cheesy morsels, and they can quietly give you less bang for your buck without telling you, in some twisted café edition of Roald Dahl’s The Twits – the story where the husband incrementally makes his wife’s chair taller, making her think she’s shrinking. It’s psychological warfare.
Betrayed, I’ve sought refuge in Dispensary’s bosom. Not only do they have the best coffee on campus (as voted by students in the 2024 census and my daily caffeine habit) and have the best vegetarian sandwich in the tertiary sector (Big Lizard takes the win in the city) – but their scones have captured my heart. Nestled in a steaming, warm pile in a glass display case, these glorious big boys are hefty and the rotating door of flavours are always a pleasant surprise. The pesto and capsicum was a personal favourite.
Deciding that the University needed some direct competition after taking liberties with the size of their scones, I bought one of each and ate them side by side. Dispensary’s was notably larger, whilst the Uni’s had a golden crown of cheese. Both were delicious, but if you’re after value for money, Dispensary is the clear winner, adopting the student attitude of stretching food across multiple meals. These bad boys give those struggling with the cost of living an excuse to treat themselves. It’s $6, but really $3 per sitting – almost as good value as OUSA’s $4 lunches (almost).
I’m no expert when it comes to baking – one time I used a quarter cup of baking powder in a cake rather than a quarter teaspoon, it was foul – but I can only assume that Dispensary sidestepped the inconvenience of hiked ingredient prices by doing what every broke student has since the dawn of time: getting creative with the recipe. Former Critic food columnist Alice Taylor does just this on her popular Instagram page dedicated to cheap, nutritious cooking (you can read more about her in the feature). One way in which Alice combats the inflated costs of ingredients is by creatively altering recipes to be more cost-effective, like swapping butter for oil and chocolate for cocoa to make budget brownies.
Dispensary’s scones are the innovative, ‘we’ll-make-do’ Kiwi student to the University’s decision-makers who reportedly still catered events with sushi whilst cutting courses and staff members to plug that gaping budget hole. The Uni’s small, sad little scones are indicative of the unimaginative, privileged decision-makers who haven’t had to make trade-offs that aren’t by the book – and it shows. In comparison, Dispensary aren’t just feeding students’ stomachs, they’re feeding their souls. After my commerce crash-course on the concept of competition, my mini head-to-head definitely won’t affect the University’s scones – you’d need a bigger competitor than Dispensary’s humble business to do that – but to students: if you’re craving a scone as a break from the Depression-era muffins your flatmate’s been cooking, I reckon Dispensary is the way to go.