Two hour queues for tatties: why is Glasgow going mad for spuds?

Almost five years ago, Jordan McMurrough found God. Last year, he found spuds. His faith was discovered while living in Tartan Lodge, a hotel for the homeless. It helped McMurrough access “the talent that God gave me, which I’d blocked off because of drink and drugs”.

This led him to potatoes. Britain is undergoing a bit of a jacket potato craze at the moment — so much so, even the New York Times recently took note. Down south, ‘Spud Bros’ Jacob and Harvey Nelson have the market on lock. But McMurrough, sober and with his entrepreneurial nous unlocked, spotted a Scottish-shaped gap in the market. He made his move last year, opening Spuddies Southside in Cardonald. Now, with Spud Bros franchising at a rapid lick, he’s glad he took his chance when he did. 

“The spud game is gripping the nation,” McMurrough says passionately. These days he’s immaculately put-together, with shiny white veneers, a green short-sleeved jacket and designer baseball cap. We’re speaking beside a snaking queue that proves his point: the Spud Bros have brought their operation over the border, for a pop-up outside Strathclyde University Union. People have been queuing since 7am for jacket potatoes topped with garlic chilli chicken, cheesy beans and cheesy tuna. They’re not exactly reinventing the culinary wheel, but they are punting generous portions for £5, or a few quid more with a topping. Plus, thanks to today’s ‘brand partnership’ with Albert Bartlett, all potatoes are free — if you arrive early enough, that is.  

When McMurrough opened his shop on Lammermoor Avenue in May 2025, people were “very sceptical” about it. He was told they’d only be open for two months. Less than a year later, he's already expanded into Partick, opening a shop on Dumbarton Road, with another location in Saltcoats and a concession at Village Hotels, next to the BBC in Govan.

“The hype is still there,” he notes. “You can see how many people showed up today.” Spuddies, as the name suggests, serves spuds seven days a week: plain with garlic butter for £4.99 (plus 50p–£2.50 for extra toppings), or loaded for £11.95 with a can of juice (creations include Korean sticky BBQ chicken, buffalo mac ‘n’ cheese and a ‘full bhoona’). The Cardonald shop floods with school kids during lunchtime, workers on breaks throughout the day, and folks looking for a quick hearty meal after work.

'You can do so much with a baked potato'

McMurrough is not just here to observe; last night he got a call from Jacob Nelson, one of the brothers spud, asking if he would come and help out the “tramfam” with the stunt. It’s the first time the Nelsons have brought their wares to Scotland. McMurrough jumped at the chance; he’d welcomed the siblings into his shop a few months ago to try his “product” when they were in town for a recce. They’re the blueprint, albeit less so for what they’re doing to the potatoes themselves, and more how they’re building hype around them.

Hi, I'm Robbie, one of the reporters here at The Bell.

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“It’s more about the marketing and the media than it is about the baked potato,” McMurrough explains. The not-so-secret sauce is social media algorithms, particularly short-form videos on TikTok and Instagram Reels. Footage of long queues outside spud vendors invite people to join as a rite of passage — a selling point, rather than a deterrent.