Tayto v Tayto: The Great Tayto Divide – How One Crisp Became Two and Split an Island (Again)

A Tale of Two Taytos, Border Politics, and the Most Irish Rivalry You’ve Never Heard Of

Welcome, dear foreigners, to one of Ireland’s most delicious controversies—a rivalry so perfectly Irish that it involves potato crisps, a disputed border, dueling corporate mascots, and the kind of passionate loyalty usually reserved for football clubs or constitutional questions. This is the story of Tayto versus Tayto, a saga that can only be properly understood by first understanding how Ireland ended up with two of almost everything.

Ireland 101: Why There Are Two of Many Things

Before we dive into the crispy details, you need to understand something fundamental: Ireland is complicated.

The Very Short Version:

Ireland is an island. One island. But it contains two different jurisdictions: the Republic of Ireland (an independent country of about 5 million people) and Northern Ireland (part of the United Kingdom, with about 1.9 million people). This situation is the result of the 1921 partition, when Ireland was divided following the Irish War of Independence.

The Republic of Ireland (often called “the South” even though it includes the most northerly point on the island—told you it was complicated) is about 84% the landmass and is predominantly Catholic by heritage, though increasingly secular. Northern Ireland (“the North”) remained part of the UK and has a population that’s historically been roughly 50/50 split between Protestants (mostly descendants of Scottish and English settlers who identify as British or Unionist) and Catholics (mostly descendants of native Irish who identify as Irish or Nationalist).

This division led to decades of conflict known euphemistically as “the Troubles” (1968-1998)—a period of violence that makes the name sound like someone forgot to pay their electric bill rather than three decades of bombings, shootings, and heartbreak. The Good Friday Agreement of 1998 brought peace, but the cultural, political, and yes, even culinary divisions remain.

The Key Thing to Understand:

Despite living on one small island, people in the Republic and Northern Ireland often have different accents, different sports (GAA vs. rugby and football), different school systems, different currencies (euro vs. pound sterling), drive different cars, support different football teams, and—crucially for our story—eat different crisps.

And when I say “different crisps,” I don’t mean slightly different flavors. I mean two entirely separate companies, both called Tayto, both making cheese and onion crisps, both featuring cartoon mascots, both claiming to be the original, both beloved by their respective populations, and both absolutely refusing to acknowledge that the other might be better.

Welcome to the Great Tayto Divide.

Act One: In the Beginning, There Was One Tayto (Sort Of)

The Invention That Changed Ireland Forever

Our story begins in 1954 in Dublin, when an entrepreneur named Joe “Spud” Murphy—and yes, “Spud” was actually his nickname, because Irish people have never met a potato reference they didn’t love—changed Irish snacking forever.

Before 1954, crisps in Ireland and Britain were plain, boring affairs. You bought a packet of plain crisps with a little blue twist of salt that you added yourself, usually getting salt all over your hands and approximately 10% of it actually on the crisps. It was the culinary equivalent of flat-pack furniture: technically you could do it yourself, but why should you have to?

Joe Murphy, working in his crisp factory in Dublin, had a revolutionary idea: what if we flavored the crisps before we put them in the packet? What if we made cheese and onion flavored crisps?

The food scientists said it couldn’t be done. The flavor would fade. The crisps would go soggy. It was madness.

Joe Murphy did it anyway. In 1954, Tayto became the world’s first company to successfully produce seasoned crisps. Not just in Ireland. Not just in Europe. In the world. A Dubliner, working in a factory on the Northside, changed global snacking forever.

Tayto Park Fun Fact: The Republic’s Tayto is so culturally significant that in 2010, they opened Tayto Park, a theme park north of Dublin featuring Mr. Tayto—their mustachioed mascot—as the central character. There are roller coasters. There are zoo animals. There is a 5D cinema. It is glorious and utterly bonkers and completely Irish. Where else would you build a theme park around a crisp?

The Birth of the Northern Tayto: A Complicated Story

Here’s where things get interesting—and by “interesting,” I mean “disputed.”

In 1956, just two years after Joe Murphy’s invention, a company called Tayto (NI) Ltd. was founded in Northern Ireland by Thomas Hutchinson. They also made cheese and onion crisps. They also used the name Tayto. They also featured a cartoon mascot (though theirs was initially less anthropomorphic).

The Southern Version of Events:

According to the Republic’s Tayto lore, Hutchinson essentially copied Murphy’s revolutionary invention and set up shop across the border. The charitable interpretation is that Hutchinson licensed the technology and brand from Murphy. The less charitable version, whispered in Dublin pubs, is that this was corporate espionage of the highest order—that a Northern company stole the South’s crispy glory.

The Northern Version of Events:

According to Northern Ireland’s Tayto, they are a completely legitimate, independent company that may have started around the same time but developed their own distinct product, superior recipe, and independent brand identity. They point out that “Tayto” is simply a play on “potato,” and it’s not their fault if Southern minds think alike.

What Actually Happened:

The truth, like most things in Irish history, is complicated and depends on whom you ask. There appears to have been some business relationship in the early days, but it’s murky. What’s clear is that by the 1960s, there were two completely separate Tayto companies operating on either side of the Irish border, each making their own crisps, and each claiming primacy.

And thus was born a rivalry that would last generations.

Act Two: The Troubles and the Taytos

During the Troubles (1968-1998), when Northern Ireland was wracked by political violence and the border between North and South became heavily militarized with checkpoints, watchtowers, and British Army patrols, the Tayto divide took on additional significance.

The Cultural Markers:

In a divided society where your religion, your name, the school you attended, the street you lived on, and even the way you pronounced the letter ‘H’ could mark you as Catholic or Protestant, Nationalist or Unionist, Irish or British—brand loyalties became cultural markers too.

Northern Ireland’s Tayto was the Unionist crisp. It was what you bought in Protestant areas, what you’d see in Orange Order halls, what British soldiers at checkpoints snacked on. The red and yellow packaging with “Tayto” in bold letters was as Northern as the Red Hand of Ulster.

The Republic’s Tayto, meanwhile, was the Nationalist crisp. It was what you smuggled across the border (along with cheaper petrol and EU-legal goods), what you ate in Catholic West Belfast, what symbolized Irish identity and southern culture.

This might sound absurd—and it is, it absolutely is—but in a society where everything became politicized, even crisps carried meaning. You didn’t just prefer one Tayto over the other because of taste. You preferred one because of what it represented about your identity, your community, your very sense of who you were.

The Border Smuggling Economy:

During the Troubles and beyond, a massive smuggling economy operated across the Irish border. People smuggled petrol, diesel, cigarettes, alcohol, livestock, and yes, sometimes crisps. The two jurisdictions had different tax rates and regulations, creating profit opportunities for those willing to cross the border with illicit goods.

While Tayto smuggling was never a major industry like diesel smuggling, people did bring Southern Tayto north and Northern Tayto south—sometimes for profit, sometimes just because you missed the taste of home, sometimes because your Auntie Mary in Derry specifically requested proper (meaning Southern) Tayto for her birthday because the Northern version “just isn’t the same.”

Act Three: The Great Taste Debate

Now we come to the question that has divided friendships, sparked heated pub debates, and caused family WhatsApp groups to descend into chaos: which Tayto is actually better?

The Case for Southern Tayto (Republic of Ireland)

The Originalist Argument: Southern Tayto supporters point out, quite correctly, that their Tayto was first. Joe Murphy invented seasoned crisps in 1954. That makes Southern Tayto the original, the innovator, the crisp that changed the world. Everything else is just imitation.

The Flavor Profile: Southern Tayto cheese and onion crisps have a distinctive, bold flavor. The cheese is tangy, the onion is pronounced, and the combination is assertive. These are crisps that make a statement. They’re not apologizing for being flavored; they’re celebrating it.

The Texture: Southern Tayto tends to be slightly thicker and crunchier, with more substantial potato presence. You’re aware you’re eating potato crisps, not just flavored air.

The Cultural Weight: Southern Tayto has theme parks, massive cultural cachet, and the confidence that comes from being part of an independent nation’s identity. Mr. Tayto (their mascot) is an Irish icon. There are murals. There is merchandise. There is swagger.

The Diaspora Factor: Irish people who emigrated from the Republic often cite Tayto as one of the foods they miss most. Care packages from home include Tayto. It’s become a symbol of Irishness abroad, up there with Barry’s Tea and Kerrygold butter.

The Case for Northern Tayto (Northern Ireland)

The Refinement Argument: Northern Tayto supporters argue that their crisps represent an evolution, a refinement of the original concept. They claim their cheese and onion flavor is more sophisticated, more balanced, less aggressive than the Southern version. It’s not about shouting the flavor at you; it’s about elegant integration.

The Flavor Profile: Northern Tayto cheese and onion has a subtler, creamier cheese flavor and a milder onion note. The flavors blend together rather than competing for attention. Supporters say it’s more “moreish”—you can eat an entire bag without palate fatigue.

The Texture: Northern Tayto tends to be lighter, crispier, with a more delicate crunch. They dissolve more readily in your mouth, creating what aficionados describe as a more pleasant eating experience.

The Underdog Status: Northern Tayto supporters embrace their position as the less internationally known version. They see themselves as the connoisseur’s choice, the crisp for people who know. It’s like preferring the Beatles’ B-sides—it marks you as a true devotee.

The Taste Test Factor: Many people who’ve tried both in blind taste tests report preferring Northern Tayto, even if they grew up with Southern Tayto. This has created a curious phenomenon: Southern Tayto has the brand recognition, but Northern Tayto may have the superior product (according to some—please don’t @ me, Southern Tayto fans).

The Scientific Reality

Here’s the truth that neither side wants to hear: they’re both right, and they’re both wrong. The two Taytos use different recipes, different potato varieties, different seasoning blends, and different production methods. They are genuinely different products that happen to share a name and general concept.

Some people genuinely prefer the bolder, more assertive Southern Tayto. Others genuinely prefer the subtler, creamier Northern version. Neither preference is wrong. The preference is often genuinely about taste, though it’s frequently reinforced by cultural identity and childhood nostalgia.

That said, the rivalry persists because—and this is important—Irish people on both sides of the border deeply enjoy having something to argue about that doesn’t involve actual politics, religion, or historical grievances. Arguing about Tayto is safe. It’s fun. No one’s going to restart the Troubles over cheese and onion crisps (though some pub debates have gotten heated enough to make you wonder).

Act Four: The Modern Era and the Peace Dividend

Since the Good Friday Agreement in 1998, the border between the Republic and Northern Ireland has become increasingly invisible (at least until Brexit complicated everything, but that’s another article). You can drive across it without noticing. There are no checkpoints. The two communities have intermingled more. Peace has brought prosperity and, importantly, the free movement of crisps.

The Great Crisp Détente

In the modern era, you can buy both Taytos in many border counties. Supermarkets in the Republic sometimes stock Northern Tayto in their “British foods” section (which infuriates Northern Nationalists who argue they’re Irish, not British). Some shops in Northern Ireland stock Southern Tayto in their “international foods” section (which infuriates Southern Irish who argue Northern Ireland is also Ireland, making these domestic crisps).

Young people who’ve grown up in the peace era are more likely to have tried both and to have less tribal loyalty. They might—scandalously—even buy whichever one is on offer that week.

The Social Media Age

The Tayto rivalry has found new life on social media, where the debate rages across Twitter, Facebook, and TikTok. People post blind taste test videos. Food bloggers write comparative reviews. Ex-pats argue about which Tayto they miss more. The rivalry has gone global, or at least as global as an argument about Irish crisps can go.

Both companies have leaned into the rivalry with varying degrees of explicitness. Neither can officially acknowledge the other (trademark and branding law is complicated), but both know the rivalry exists and benefits from it. It’s free publicity and constant social media engagement.

The North American Confusion

For Irish immigrants in North America, the Tayto situation creates endless confusion and occasional conflict. Irish shops and import stores stock one or the other (rarely both, due to supplier relationships). You have to know which Tayto your local Irish shop carries before you go requesting it.

Irish-Americans and Canadian-Irish often don’t understand the distinction and can innocently trigger passionate debates by asking for “Tayto” without specifying which one. Savvy Irish shop owners have learned to ask: “Northern or Southern?” before reaching for the shelf.

Act Five: What This All Means (or: Why We Care About Crisps)

You might be wondering why anyone cares this much about potato crisps. That’s a fair question. The answer reveals something essential about Irish culture and identity.

It’s Not Really About the Crisps

The Tayto rivalry endures not because the crisps are so different (though they are different) or because one is objectively superior (they’re not—it’s subjective). It endures because:

1. It’s a Safe Proxy for Deeper Divisions: Arguing about Tayto lets people express regional, cultural, and historical identity without actually getting into the dangerous territory of sectarianism, politics, or historical grievances. You can passionately defend your Tayto of choice without offending anyone (much).
2. It’s Quintessentially Irish: The whole situation—two rival companies with the same name, separated by a contested border, each claiming authenticity, each beloved by their own community, each refusing to admit the other might have merit—is deeply, profoundly Irish. It’s like the political situation in miniature, but with cheese and onion flavor.
3. Food Is Identity: What we eat, especially what we ate as children, becomes part of our identity. The Tayto you grew up with tastes like home. It tastes like childhood. It tastes like family gatherings and school lunches and corner shop visits. That emotional connection is real and powerful.
4. The Irish Love a Good Rivalry: Irish culture thrives on friendly competition, banter, and debate. County rivalries in GAA, Dublin vs. Cork, Protestants vs. Catholics in who makes better soda bread, North vs. South in everything—the Irish love having sides to support and opposing sides to slag off (with affection, usually).
5. It Unites While It Divides: Paradoxically, the Tayto rivalry is something that both communities share. Everyone on the island has an opinion about Tayto. Everyone understands the debate. It’s a point of connection even as people argue opposite positions.

The Post-Brexit Complication

Brexit has thrown yet another wrinkle into the Tayto situation. With the UK leaving the EU while Ireland remains, the status of the Irish border has become contentious again. The Northern Ireland Protocol (now the Windsor Framework) created a complex customs arrangement that technically puts Northern Ireland in a different regulatory space from the rest of the UK.

This means that Southern Tayto (made in an EU country) and Northern Tayto (made in the UK but under EU regulations for some purposes) occupy different legal spaces despite being made on the same island. It’s yet another layer of complexity in an already byzantine situation.

Irish people, with their characteristic dark humor, have joked that if Brexit negotiations fail, at least we’ll always have competing Taytos to remind us of the border.

The Tayto Truce That Will Never Happen

There will never be One Tayto to Rule Them All. The two companies will continue to operate independently, making their distinct products, marketing to their loyal customers, and pretending the other doesn’t exist (legally speaking).

And that’s okay. In fact, it’s probably better this way.

The Tayto rivalry is a reminder that Ireland—all of Ireland, North and South—shares a common culture even when divided by politics, history, and constitutional arrangements. Both Taytos are Irish, even if one is made in a jurisdiction that’s part of the UK. Both represent Irish innovation (or at least one represents innovation and the other represents quick thinking, depending on which version you believe). Both are beloved. Both are part of the fabric of Irish life.

A Guide for Confused Visitors

If you’re visiting Ireland and want to navigate the Tayto situation without causing offense:

In the Republic of Ireland:

• Southern Tayto (in the distinctive red and yellow with Mr. Tayto) is the default
• It’s available everywhere
• Calling it “real Tayto” will win friends
• Mentioning Northern Tayto will start conversations
• Visiting Tayto Park is a legitimate tourist activity

In Northern Ireland:

• Northern Tayto (also in red and yellow but slightly different branding) is the default
• It’s available everywhere
• The cultural significance is complex due to historical associations
• Many Catholics prefer Southern Tayto but stock Northern in their shops
• Don’t assume someone’s background based on their Tayto preference (peace has complicated crisp loyalty)

In Border Counties:

• Both are available
• People are used to the debate
• This is a safe place to try both and form your own opinion
• Be prepared for passionate advocacy from locals for their preferred version

If Hosting Irish People:

• Ask which Tayto they prefer before buying
• Don’t assume all Irish people like the same Tayto
• Be prepared to purchase both if your guests are from different regions
• Never suggest they “taste the same”—this is fighting words

Conclusion: Long May They Reign (Both of Them)

The story of Tayto versus Tayto is, ultimately, a love story—love of potato, love of innovation, love of home, love of identity, and love of a good-natured rivalry that lets people argue passionately about something that doesn’t actually matter (except that it does, because it represents everything).

Joe “Spud” Murphy probably never imagined that his 1954 invention would spawn not one but two beloved brands, a theme park, countless pub debates, social media wars, and a rivalry that would last generations. He certainly didn’t imagine it would become a lens through which to understand Irish history, partition, identity, and culture.

But that’s the magic of Ireland—even our potato crisps come with centuries of complicated history, cultural significance, and passionate debate.

So the next time you see two people arguing about which Tayto is superior, understand that you’re witnessing something deeper than a disagreement about snacks. You’re seeing Irish identity in action—complicated, contradictory, passionate, humorous, and ultimately united by the things that divide it.

Both Taytos are Irish. Both Taytos are beloved. Both Taytos changed the crisp world forever (or at least one did, and the other came along shortly after with suspiciously similar technology).

Long live Tayto.

And long live Tayto.

May they forever compete, may their fans forever argue, and may visitors to Ireland forever be confused by why there are two of them.

Because if Ireland couldn’t have two competing claims to one island, at least we got two competing claims to one crisp.

And really, isn’t that the most Irish thing of all?

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Author’s Note: I have deliberately not revealed my personal Tayto preference to avoid the inevitable argument in the comments. Suffice it to say, I have strong opinions, as does every person on this island. That’s the point.

Also, if you’re still confused about the Catholic/Protestant thing: it’s complicated, it’s historical, it’s political, it’s cultural, it’s not really about religion anymore but kind of still is, and yes, it does sometimes extend to crisp preferences. Welcome to Ireland. We’re delighted you’re confused—it means you’re paying attention.