Meet the crisps everyone pretends not to want
The internet has a new question on loop: Walkers Mince Pie & Brandy crisps. It reads like a dare, sounds like a pub quiz answer, and looks like someone cosied up a Christmas cake with a foil wrapper.
This is not a review from the serious snack desk. It is a short, knowing guide to what happens when festive flavour ideas, nostalgic brand cues and playful limited run energy collide in a single packet.
Packaging and the mood it sets
Deep burgundy, warm gold flecks, a sliced mince pie and the small, smug splash of a brandy glass. It is confident, seasonal and oddly sincere. The graphics do the work for you, promising sticky fruit, flaky pastry, and a whisper of winter spice.
How they taste – short and useful
Open a packet. Expect sugar, spice and a cordial hint of alcohol notes, translated into savoury crisp form. Texture is familiar – that thin, crunchy tumble – while flavour tries to map pastry layers and raisin chew onto a potato canvas. Some bits land like a nostalgia ping. Others file a formal complaint.
- Top note: cinnamon and citrus peel, polite and present
- Mid palate: candied fruit impression, raisin-like echoes
- Finish: a dry, brandy-esque warmth rather than an actual tipple
- Texture: classic crisp crunch, no pastry crumble harm done
Yes, the idea is absurd. Yes, the execution is cheeky. Yes, you will tell a story about trying them. That is sort of the point.
Walkers Mince Pie & Brandy crisps and the social chatter
They are the kind of limited edition that sparks two types of posts. The first is triumphant discovery – look what I found. The second is mock disgust – how dare they. Both are correct. Both are useful. That buzz feeds the whole concept: collab vibes without the collaboration.
Midway through a packet you will either be delighted by the novelty, or decide festive flavours should live on the dessert trolley and nowhere near your savoury nibble. Neither choice is wrong. Both choices are worth a meme.
When to actually eat them
Serve at a party where everyone has already had two mince pies. Offer to the relative who loves novelty. Pret as a stocking filler for the person who collects odd seasonal items. Or do the sensible thing and keep one packet for a rainy day memory test.
Final bite
This is less about culinary revolution and more about appetite for a laugh. The packet is festive, the flavour strategy clear, and the whole thing leans into nostalgia with a wink. It is playful, slightly baffling, and exactly the sort of limited run snack that makes people search late at night.
FAQ
What is this actually?
It is a seasonal, novelty crisp that borrows mince pie notes and a splash of brandy flavour to make a conversation starter.
Is it even real?
People are arguing. The packet looks credible. The internet has opinions. That combination counts as evidence in modern snack culture.
Why is everyone talking?
Because it is fun to imagine tradition translated into a bag. Also because limited edition energy sells stories faster than it sells snacks.
You have been Snackfished!
Snackfish :
[sn-a-ck-fish] verb
A snack that lies about its legitimacy as an official product online for internet clout and attention. Most commonly fabricated in Adobe Photoshop or using the unofficial Snackfish AI