Blackpool may aspire to become a British Las Vegas. The Channel Island of Jersey does not. It is blessedly devoid of one-armed bandits, kiss-me-quick hats and candyfloss culture.

The ribbon development sprawl along the south coast around St Helier is ugly but the island's interior is leafy green and the pace is as gentle as the climate. The maximum speed permitted on any road in Jersey is 40mph. On the happily named Green Lanes, where priority is given to walkers, cyclists and riders, the maximum is 15 mph.

Supermarkets have arrived but a proper respect for food is alive and kicking. This may have something to do with the fact that Jersey is physically closer to France than England. St Helier's superb covered markets operate daily and appear to be a hub of social life, as often happens in France. Cafés and bars sprinkled among the market stalls encourage friends to meet and linger as well as to shop for fine fresh local produce and outstanding seafood caught in adjacent waters by day-boats and divers.

The finance industry now accounts for most of Jersey's gross national product but the island's traditional wealth was founded on fishing and farming. For many centuries, pickled eels, oysters, Newfoundland cod (the most handsome island mansions were built on cod fortunes) and cider apples were significant exports. More recently Jersey became famous for early vegetables and flowers, particularly tomatoes and Jersey Royal potatoes. But best loved and renowned worldwide is the Jersey cow.

The Jersey cow is small, amiable and very pretty, with fine deer-like limbs, enviably long-lashed eyes and caramel colouring, sometimes embellished with cream or dusky markings. Farmers and breeders laud the Jersey's capacious udder, her impressive conversion of fodder into milk, her ability to calve early and easily. The rest of us marvel at the special richness of Jersey milk, like liquid silk to drink, and cream that churns to deep golden butter.

Anne Perchard, president of the World Jersey Cattle Bureau, told me that all Channel Island cattle were known as Alderneys until the 19th century, when Guernseys and Jerseys were recognised as individual breeds. Subsequently, the already popular Jersey shot to international fame. The exceptional composition of her milk, her tolerance of poor pastures and hot climates proved unbeatable in world markets. Butter-producing countries such as Denmark, New Zealand, Australia, Canada and America embraced the Jersey wholeheartedly. Places as diverse as India, Mexico, Russia and South Africa crossbred the Jersey with local cattle to raise their milk standards dramatically.

The fashion and passion for Jersey cows was at its height from the 1860s to the first world war. Wealthy Englishmen bought the most expensive Jerseys for the sake of their beauty, to grace their Capability Brown parklands, to provide thick cream and buttercup coloured butter for their grand social tables, and to compete in the show ring.

In 1919 an island-bred bull called Sybil's Gamboge was auctioned in the US for $65,000, a price that has never been equalled since in real financial terms. It caused such a stir that the bull was paraded down Wall Street - a living example of a bull market. But Sybil's Gamboge was an exceptional PR smoothie. Unlike docile Jersey cows, Jersey bulls have a reputation for grievous bodily harm. Only a few years ago, a handsome example owned by the Queen of England, destined for sale to Brazil, never got further than Heathrow airport: the creature grew so aggressive it had to be shot on the Tarmac.

Seeing herds housed in barns and yards in March in their native country brought home to me the diminutive size of the island.

Animals have to wait their turn in the agricultural year; grazing is often delayed until after the earliest premium-earning potatoes have been cropped. And I was amused to note that cattle that had already been let out sported smart woollen coats bound with contrasting braid and bearing the monogram of their owners - just like racehorses.

Then I remembered that the Jersey cow used to be called "the Arab of the dairy world". The real reason for the coats, however, is warmth. For, though Jersey cows tolerate hot climates well, they do not care for cold weather.

There are no cattle other than Jerseys on Jersey and I was glad to learn that daily milk rounds survive. Unlike in England, where cut-price supermarket deals have largely destroyed the doorstep delivery service, in Jersey the only real price difference between shop-bought and home-delivered milk is the delivery charge: about 50p a week.

Jersey Dairy, the farmers' co-operative that collects and processes all island milk, now makes and sells a splendid range of butters, yoghurts, cream, crème fraîche and ice-creams as well as milk. Exports of all except the ices began recently and are climbing steadily, available at Harrods in London and supplied to the top end of southern England's catering trade.

A newer and potentially even more exciting private venture is the development of Jersey meat. This began as an effort to save bull calves that are traditionally shot at birth - a tragedy inherent in booming sales of dairy produce - and now involves selling the meat at three different stages of growth.

According to Rob Stevenson of Trinity Manor, consumer response has been so vigorous locally that export inquiries, both retail and restaurant, have been put on hold. He offers "genuine Jersey pink veal" (the meat of 16 to 20-week-old animals reared under welfare standards like "rosé veal" in England). Then there is "baby beef" ("tender beef" if you favour euphemisms), grown to 12 or 14 months and full of juicy flavour. And, finally, "dairy beef".

More than ever now, the evaluation made by Anne Perchard seems true: "the Jersey is the number one cow for all reasons and all seasons." I join her in raising my glass (of creamy Jersey milk) to that.

The Country Butcher, Rondell's Farm Shop, Trinity

www.jerserydairy.je

www.worldjerseycattlebureau.je

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