Why ARE people travelling across the world and queuing for hours to eat a £5 baked potato from a van?
TOM PARKER BOWLES meets the Spudman of Tamworth – and says his scrummy jacket spuds are well worth the trip
They start at dawn. A trickle at first, queuing patiently in the early morning gloom, wrapped up warm against the bitter Midlands chill.
Then, as thin winter sun fails to break through skies grey as slate, that trickle turns to a deluge and the line grows ever longer, snaking back from the shuttered food truck emblazoned with ‘JACKET SPUDS’, through Tamworth’s St editha’s Square.
By 10am, when the wagon opens for business, it’s two hours to the front. These potato pilgrims hail from every corner of the globe. And they’re all here to see one man — Ben Newman, better known to his 2.3 million TikTok followers as Spudman.
‘It’s like this every day,’ says Ben, luxuriously bearded and sporting his now trademark pink Mohican. ‘It’s just crazy.’
he’s warm, friendly, and possibly one of the nicest men I’ve ever met, responding to the near-incessant requests for videos and selfies with the same patient charm.
‘This stall has been in the same spot since the 1970s. I took it over in 2003. I had left college and didn’t really know what to do.
‘And I was sat in the pub with my dad, who was a potato merchant, when he told me Phil, the stall’s owner, was retiring. So I thought, “I’ll buy it and take it over.” ’
And he did, his wagon becoming a much-loved and popular local fixture. But never, well, this popular.
Now, Spudman serves more than 800 potatoes a day, costing between £3 and £7. ‘We sell them until we run out. Then shut up shop and start again from scratch the next day.’
But it was after Covid, ‘when retail was on its backside’, that one of his sons, 13, introduced him to TikTok. ‘I started off using it just to keep an eye on my kids. Then I thought, “what the hell”, and posted a few videos.’
The third one got half a million views and ‘totally opened my eyes’. (A recent post had an incredible 100 million.)
‘And suddenly I’m being followed by millions of people all across the world. I get recognised wherever I go, and I’ve got celebrities doing stints on the wagon.’ he shakes his head then grins. ‘I still can’t quite believe it.’
But behind the upbeat bonhomie is a rather more gruelling reality.
he styled his pink Mohican to raise money for kidney research, having been through three failed transplants (in 10 to 15 per cent of patients, the immune system ‘attacks’ the transplant, according to the NHS). ‘My body kept rejecting them,’ he says with a shrug. he’ll remain on dialysis for the rest of his life.
But Ben has little time for selfpity. ‘The business works around me and my illness. I can live a long time if I stay healthy.’
Fundraising for kidney research is one passion; the other is Tamworth itself. ‘This is not about me, or making money,’ he says, stopping for yet another selfie.
‘It’s about breathing life back into Tamworth. And I’m also being totally selfish. I want a business that will be here in ten years’ time, and I want a town to trade in. I love this place, but Tamworth doesn’t market itself well. Did you know it was once the capital of the Kingdom of Mercia?’
Now, Tamworth is not just about pigs and manifestos (it was in the town that Tory prime minister Robert Peel issued a famous appeal to the electorate in 1834). It’s about baked potatoes, too.
While Ben disappears to serve up more hot spuds, I talk to PC Wakely, a policewoman, who has come up to the back door to plead for a fan. ‘his satnav took him the wrong way,’ she sighs, ‘and now he’s parked where he shouldn’t be. he’s driven from Walsall, and I want to get him off the Square.’
She asks Ben if he’ll do just two potatoes, as a special favour. For the first time, the smile falters. ‘No one jumps the queue,’ he says firmly. ‘It’s just not fair.’
Please, says the lovely PC, and he relents. ‘Just this once. And don’t tell anyone, I’ll be lynched.’
Once the potatoes are wrapped and dispatched, PC Wakely is full of praise. ‘It’s a phenomenon. I’ve never seen anything like it. And it is so great for Tamworth, too.’
The queue may be long, and the wind bitter, but there are no complaints. It’s all very British. Aya is from Milton Keynes. ‘I saw him on TikTok,’ she says, her teeth chattering. ‘he seemed so nice. So I came up on my day off and have waited an hour-and-a-half so far.’
‘John’ has travelled four hours from Blackburn. ‘ Please don’t give my real name, as I’m skiving off work.’ Lee has made the trip up from Southampton, staying in Tamworth the previous night. ‘everyone’s a potato fan,’ he says, ‘and I love his TikTok stuff. I’m really excited to meet him.’
Nicole and Leann have taken a two-hour detour en route home to Manchester from London. ‘It was our son who persuaded us to come.’ Ricky and Nicole come from Barnsley. ‘She’s here for a photo, but I’m here for the spud.’
A few weeks back, a couple travelled all the way from Malaysia. ‘They caught a flight from Kuala Lumpur, booked a hotel, hired a car and came all the way here. Just to see me,’ says Ben. ‘It’s all very humbling.’
But there are a smattering of locals, too, who’ve been coming for years. ‘Best value, best potato and what a lovely man,’ says Molly. ‘A Tamworth legend.’
TikTok, of course, is mainly responsible for this potato phenomenon. When I tell my 13- year- old son ( a Spudman superfan) I’m going to interview him, he can barely contain his glee. I become, briefly, the ‘sickest’ dad in the world when Ben sweetly films a personalised message.
This video has made his month. And he’s not alone. Those huge TikTok numbers bring in income, which in turn allows him to do things like ‘ Free Potato Day’ where he gives away 2,000 potatoes. And it helps raise money for kidney research, too.
But what about the baked spuds? Can they really be that good, or is this simply more empty social media hype, a butter-drenched trend, a half- baked craze? Ben really does know his, ahem, potatoes.
They come from Lowes farm, ten miles away, mainly a variety called Melody. The butter is also local,
‘It’s about breathing life back into town’
This really is a sensation, every mouthful a joy
from Burton- on-Trent. he’s ordered his cheese (80 per cent cheddar, 20 per cent mozzarella for ‘melty stringiness’) from the same supplier for the past 20 years.
The team (and there are usually three, plus him) get into work at 5am, and wrap around 800 potatoes in foil. ‘you get one-and-ahalf potatoes per portion, which is about 18 bags on average.’
They make their chilli fresh every day, ‘but there’s only so much you can do. We’re not pretending to be a £15 gourmet Smashburger.’
Once wrapped, the potatoes are baked for an hour, before being lavished with butter and lustily seasoned. you can add anything from baked beans and tuna mayonnaise to coleslaw and chilli.
enough talk, though, it’s time to tuck in. ‘Leave it wrapped up for a couple of minutes, to let everything melt,’ Ben tells me, handing over a precious polystyrene box.
The skin is crisp and brown, with just the right amount of chew, the earthy undertone of the potato shining through. Inside, a magnificent hot mess of melted butter and cheese. The chilli has a whisper of cumin, and the baked beans add bite. This really is a spud sensation, every mouthful a joy.
‘It’s all very simple,’ he says, as I get ready to leave. ‘This brings so much happiness to Tamworth. And so much happiness for me too.’ With that, Ben Newman slips back into the wagon.
Cook. Social media sensation. Philanthropist. All round good egg. I won’t be forgetting the man behind one of the finest baked spuds to ever pass my lips.