They begin at daybreak. A trickle at first, queuing patiently within the early morning gloom, wrapped up heat towards the bitter Midlands chill.
Then, as skinny winter solar fails to interrupt by way of skies gray as slate, that trickle turns to a deluge and the road grows ever longer, snaking again from the shuttered beige meals truck emblazoned with ‘JACKET SPUDS’, by way of Tamworth’s St Editha’s Square, and again, deep into the procuring precinct.
By 10am, when the wagon opens for enterprise, it is two hours to the entrance. These potato pilgrims hail from each nook of the globe, as far afield as Australia. And they’re all right here to see one man — Ben Newman, higher identified to his 2.3million TikTok followers as Spudman.
‘It’s like this each day,’ says Ben, luxuriously bearded and sporting his now trademark pink Mohican. ‘It’s simply loopy.’
He’s heat, pleasant, and probably one of many nicest males I’ve ever met, responding to the near-incessant requests for movies and selfies with the identical affected person allure.
Tucking in: Tom Parker Bowles with Ben Newman at his meals truck in Tamworth, Staffordshire
Customers queue within the early morning gloom from the shuttered beige meals truck, by way of Tamworth’s St Editha’s Square, and again
‘This stall has been in the identical spot because the Seventies. I took it over in 2003. I had left faculty and did not actually know what to do.
‘And I used to be sat within the pub with my dad, who was a potato service provider, when he informed me Phil, the stall’s proprietor, was retiring. So I assumed: ‘I’ll purchase it and take it over.’
And he did, and his wagon turned a much-loved and widespread native fixture. But by no means, effectively, this widespread.
Now, Spudman serves over 800 potatoes a day, costing between £3 and £7. ‘We promote them till we run out. Then shut up store and begin once more from scratch the following day.’ But it was after Covid, ‘when retail was on its bottom’, that one among his sons, aged 13, launched him to TikTok.
‘I began off utilizing it simply to keep watch over my children. Then I assumed, “what the hell’, and posted a few videos.’
The third one got half a million views and ‘totally opened my eyes’. (A recent post gained an incredible 100million views.)
‘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 different 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, and he’ll remain on dialysis for the rest of his life.
But Ben has little time for self-pity. ‘The business works around me and my illness. I can live a long time if I stay healthy.’
Ben Newman, known as Spudman, serves over 800 potatoes a day, costing between £3 and £7
The potatoes are baked for an hour in two vast iron ovens, before being unwrapped, lavished with spectacular amounts of butter. Toppings include baked beans, tuna mayonnaise, coleslaw and fresh chilli
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). Tamworth’s about baked potatoes, too.
While Spudman disappears back into the wagon to serve up more succour and hot spuds, I talk to PC Wakely, a local 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 just 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 bloody tell anyone, I’ll be lynched.’
Once the potatoes are wrapped and dispatched, and the satnav-challenged punter sent back on his way, PC Wakely is full of praise. ‘It’s a phenomenon. I’ve never seen anything like it. And it so great for Tamworth, too. We all love him.’
‘Potato pilgrims’ hail from every corner of the globe and as far afield as Australia to visit Spudman’s truck
Ben styled his pink Mohican to raise money for kidney research, having been through three different failed transplants
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. ‘And 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.’ He also saw Ben on TikTok.
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 my son who persuaded us to come. He’s so into TikTok.’
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, shaking his head. ‘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.
‘OMG!!!!’ comes the awed response.
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 they helps raise money for kidney research too.
‘I believe in karma. You put good things in, and get good things back. We had a lovely group of people from Skegness this morning. All are suffering from dementia. But they came with pink Mohawks, and had a great time. That motivates me.’
You must have had a few juicy offers, I say, with businesses keen to get a taste of that sweet TikTok fame. ‘I’m still totally overwhelmed,’ he admits.
‘And have turned down some insane offers to franchise. But I decided to concentrate on Tamworth and potatoes. And it’s more manageable if my health goes south.’
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?
But Ben really does know his, ahem, potatoes.
They come from Lowes farm, under ten miles away, mainly a variety called Melody. And the butter is also local, from Burton-on-Trent. He’s ordered his cheese (80 per cent cheddar, 20 per cent mozzarella — ‘for extra melty stringiness’) from the same supplier for the past 20 years. Ben believes in buying local.
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-a-half potatoes per portion, which is about 18 bags or 800 spuds per day 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, rather a £5 baked potato.’
Once wrapped, the potatoes are baked for an hour in two vast iron ovens, before being unwrapped, lavished with spectacular amounts of butter, and lustily seasoned.
You can add then anything from baked beans and tuna mayonnaise to coleslaw and that fresh chilli. Equally important, you’ll always get a pocketful of change from a tenner.
Enough talk, though, it’s time to tuck in. ‘Leave it wrapped up for a couple of minutes, to let everything melt and meld,’ 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. For once, do believe the hype.
‘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.
Not forgetting the man behind one of the finest baked spuds to ever pass my lips.