Emer McLysaght: Do I fancy Mr Tayto?

I worked in a newsroom a few years ago. Newsrooms handle breaking stories and antisocial hours and regular office-side fits of laughter as people who work hard and play harder share a preposterous joke. Enda Kenny was taoiseach, and he was one of many visitors who came in to be grilled on camera while we beavered away in the background pretending not to notice because we were very, very busy and important. So busy and important in fact, that a scheduling clash for the ages was about to befall us. With word that the taoiseach’s arrival was imminent a colleague suddenly went ashen faced. “Mr… Mr Tayto” was all he could manage to blurt out. You see, newsrooms are also places where the leader of the country and a giant potato in a suit might be on a collision course, one to deliver messaging about employment numbers and election priorities, the other to deliver crisps.

My colleague flew into action to delay Mr Tayto’s arrival; having him bumble into the office as the taoiseach was enjoying his guided tour of the printers and where we kept the snacks was always going to be a recipe for helpless laughter. Mr Tayto doesn’t speak and to have to watch Enda Kenny make one-sided conversation about cheese and onion being his favourite would be too much to bear. Crucially Mr Tayto is arguably Ireland’s biggest celebrity. It might have been against protocol to have him outshine the taoiseach. Who would you rather get a photo with? I’m going with the dapper fella in the red and yellow every time. Tellingly, Mr Kenny’s visit was met with low level frisson; Mr Tayto’s reception was feverish.

It feels like a self-own to have a spud in a suit as a national icon. Oh, there go the Irish again, worshipping potatoes. Have you heard about their theme park? It’s sponsored by crisps. In the 2007 general election Mr Tayto ran as a novelty candidate, leading to a number of spoiled votes. The long and complicated history of Northern Ireland? Well, they have their own unique Tayto brand and there are different packets, recipes and leading men north and south of the Border – Northern Ireland’s Mr Tayto is dressed completely in red and has a much larger head and face. He’s more expressive too, exhibiting a maniacal grin compared with his counterpart’s more benign smile. Northern Mr Tayto doesn’t have his own theme park which must be crushing. Tayto even became a symbol of Brexit rows when Boris Johnson visited the factory in Armagh and stated that “the idea that Tayto crisps from Tandragee are going to be vetted by some process is just nonsense”.

There has been public debate about whether Mr Tayto is a potato or a crisp. Northern Ireland’s version has the body of a man and what seems to be a crisp for a head, while Meath’s “Free Stayto” is arguably a singular spud with mystery legs. Are they chiselled out of potato? Is he half-man, half-spud like a friendly mute minotaur?

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We talked about his kind face, sturdy body and gentle confidence and I wish I could say we stopped ourselves before the talk turned to the bedroom

This is a pub conversation I found myself having with a friend over a few drinks recently. Mr Tayto – truly a marketing genius – had been spotted on a whimsical and borderline melancholy tour of Dublin, feeding ducks in St Stephen’s Green, having a go on the Viking Splash Tour, all filmed and uploaded to his Tik Tok account. At the same time, a new limited-edition flavour of Tayto crisps appeared on the market. Fizzy cola bottle flavour. Sounds rank and by all accounts it is, but there’s no such thing as bad publicity and Mr Tayto knows this. He’s been known to experiment, launching a more palatable crisp-flavoured chocolate bar back in 2013. The fizzy cola flavour isn’t something that’s going to stick around, but it’s drumming up enough conversation to warrant whatever cursed production line is spitting out those sick little packets. Tayto’s sponsorship of Tayto Park is finishing at the end of this year. Maybe the new flavour is a diversion tactic with a new brand deal for the park imminent? Or maybe Tayto is just really leaning into silly season.

Anyway, back to the pub where the conversation turned, as it so often does, to crisps. Favourite brand? Corn snack or traditional potato slice? Best crisps eaten out of a bowl? When a debate over Mr Tayto’s spud-or-crisp status led to imaginings of the man himself in the nip, he suddenly took on the role of viable romantic partner. “Do you fancy Mr Tayto?” I asked my friend and when she wasn’t immediately horrified by the suggestion I was forced to look inward and ask myself, do I fancy Mr Tayto? We talked about his kind face, sturdy body and gentle confidence and I wish I could say we stopped ourselves before the talk turned to the bedroom. The pub was quiet, and our shrieks of mutual disgust were noted by several patrons. Do I fancy Mr Tayto? Maybe. Am I proud of myself? No. Am I proud of him? Eternally.