What is the Cherry Tomato Bridge?
It’s a bridge over Dublin’s Royal Canal at Drumcondra Road that became an impromptu shrine to, yes, cherry tomatoes. Originally, a few became stuck to the stonework by the recent freezing conditions. But once word spread, people started leaving their own “offerings” – whole cherry tomatoes, sliced tomatoes, ketchup packets, even spaghetti. One bold visitor added framed images of AI-generated cherry tomatoes in tuxedos. Think of it as Dublin’s latest microtrend: part art installation, part meme, and thoroughly gas.
Who’s behind it?
Nobody seems to know, and that’s half the fun. The craze took off when TikToker @sarahgriffski uploaded a video showing sliced cherry tomatoes clinging to the bridge wall during the cold snap. This video catapulted “Cherry Tomato Bridge” into the collective imagination.
The rest has been user-generated content history: influencers like Garron Noone posted his reaction, Sian Conway wrote the tomatoes a poem. Droves of people living in the Greater Dublin Area (and the chronically online) have turned up on the canal bridge to see the spectacle first-hand. Howrad studios have made a mug of it, Protein Bor Papi wrote a song about it. Some might compare it to the Chicago Rat debacle of recent memory – another seemingly random event that sparked a tidal wave of online chatter.
Where can I find it?
The bridge in question, Binns Bridge on Drumcondra Road, lies a short walk from Croke Park, between Le Petit Breton and the Royal Canal Way. The shrine has it’s own entry on Google Maps, and even an Eircode (D09 CD93). Now, it’s abuzz with visitors filming TikToks, snapping photos, and (in at least one reported instance) breaking into a rendition of That’s Amore in honour of the cherry tomatoes.
Why are people so fascinated by it?
There’s an absurdist undercurrent here, as there is with most meme culture. Younger generations – millennials and zoomers – facing economic strain, job instability, and a barrage of unsettling world events often respond with surreal, communal humour that isn’t to everyone’s taste. Something as trivial as a few frozen tomatoes can become, ironically, a symbol of both “What is life?” silliness and deeper social commentary. It echoes a century-old tradition: Dadaism first emerged after the first World War, challenging accepted norms and poking fun at the seriousness of “high art”. The Cherry Tomato Bridge follows that lineage, offering a collective laugh – or existential shrug.
This is what some are calling peak brain rot. Meme culture, and to some extent all digital culture, is a self-cannibalising churnover machine. The cherry tomato provides a blank canvas that is also very specific. Meaning that, like Shakespeare, you can put your own creative direction on top of it and everyone will just “get it”.
How did it blow up so quickly?
Like most modern viral phenomena, it all started with a single social media post. A TikTok user casually documented the tomatoes affixed by frost. It garnered solid social numbers and within days, the post was remixed, memed, tweeted about, and eventually snowballed into real-world pilgrimages. As with all things online it’s the early bird that will catch the views and views equal clout and money. People literally rushed out the door with phone and ring light in hand to document their take before someone else got to it with the same notion. Locals began posting to their own smaller socials about the site, and people began leaving everything from their own tomatoes on the bridge to pun-filled graffiti (“I walked pasta this morning”). In short, it’s the recipe for 2025 internet stardom:
- Viral discovery: The initial clip sparks “that’s so silly I love it” curiosity.
- Social media explosion: People comment, remix, and riff on the idea.
- Physical manifestation: Fans arrive en masse, leaving tomatoes like votive offerings.
- Institutional nod: Google Maps pins the spot.
- Cultural moment: It spills off the internet into radio chatter and mainstream discussion on digital media.
Will it last?
Memes often have short shelf lives, but occasionally they linger or inspire new offshoots. Those in the it’ll pass camp cite “Binley Mega Chippy,” and the many “food-inspired aesthetics” that dominated TikTok – Tomato Girl, Strawberry Girl, and so on – before fading into the annals of digiland. Something like the “my limes” tweet, or the man who fell on the ice on RTÉ, destined to feature on Reeling In The Years for generations to come. Right now, the Cherry Tomato Bridge is an unofficial communal chuckle. Whether it fades next week or stands the test of “meme time” (looking at you, 15th anniversary of “the man who fell on the ice”) remains to be seen.
Final thoughts?
People might dismiss this as “just tomatoes on a wall”, but that’s precisely the point. Dadaists of old turned urinals and bicycle wheels into art, challenging us to rethink meaning. Now, with Cherry Tomato Bridge, Dubliners have a new, if fleeting, claim to fame – one that’s as silly as it is symbolic of deeper cultural shifts. In a city known for its satirical wit, maybe a cluster of frost-bound cherry tomatoes is exactly the kind of comedic art installation we need right now. If nothing else, it sure beats doomscrolling.
