BOISE — Even the maker of the Idaho Spud candy bar thinks it's a little weird. But the chocolate-covered, potato-shaped Spud sells at a rate of 3 million bars a year.
"It's amazing; I'm not sure who eats them all, or if they all get eaten for that matter," said David Wagers, president of Idaho Candy Co.
No, the Spud doesn't have potato in it. It has coconut, maple, vanilla, cocoa that gives it its grayish color and agar, a seaweed harvested in Morocco and Japan, that has been an ingredient from the beginning.
It's thought the Idaho Spud got its start around 1901, when Idaho Candy came into being. The company's records don't start until 1918, when Idaho Candy was making more than 50 different candy bars for the regional market.
Wagers' family bought the company 21 years ago. Now it makes about 30 items, such as butter toffee and a peanut-filled Old Faithful candy bar, in the original factory. There, at a leisurely pace, hair-netted workers run turn-of-the-century machines (20th century, not 21st), with plenty of time to hand out gumdrops to passing visitors.
The Spud is perhaps the most widely known of Idaho Candy's creations, and it's certainly the most peculiar. It has a mild maple flavor and a vaguely disquieting texture that Wagers describes as "a grained marshmallow."
The Spud is made in a noisy, bus-length machine that uses molds made of corn starch to form full-size Spuds and a miniature version called Spud Bites. The Spuds come out of the machine pale and dusted in starch; they're later moved downstairs to be coated in chocolate.
Wagers' family sometimes makes a Spud fondue, and he's put a few recipes for desserts such as Idaho Spud Mousse on the company's Web site. At Halloween, he and his wife, a dentist, hand out a Spud and a toothbrush to trick-or-treaters.
The design of the label hasn't ever changed, which adds to the Spud's nostalgic appeal. But beyond that, Idahoans seem drawn to anything that evokes potatoes, once a staple of their economic diet.
"It's what we're known for," said Louis Aaron, a chef who has trademarked the Idaho Ice Cream Potato, a potato-shaped ice cream dessert that's shipped to restaurants around the West and, Aaron says, was once served to the first President Bush.
David Abrams, a Jackson, Wyo., native who is now stationed with the Army in Iraq, packed dozens of the Spuds into a cooler last year when his family moved from Wyoming to Georgia.
"It was a childhood ambrosia for me and something I had to have," said Abrams, 42, who described the Spud as "spongy." Now Abrams hasn't had a Spud in a year.
"I'm not able to go down to the corner market in Baghdad and pick one up," Abrams said. "I've had to deal with the Snickers as best as I could."
Beth Kimmerle, a New York City author who has written about Idaho Candy, said she was put off by the Spud's texture until she met a woman from Idaho who told her to freeze it and slice it up. Then she loved it.
"I feel like I've been brought into the inner circle," said Kimmerle.
Kimmerle estimated Idaho Candy is one of about 10 similar small, venerable candy companies still operating in the United States. The Spud is the only candy she knows that's named after a vegetable.
Idaho Candy sells the Spud in 10 Western states and by mail all over the country. Some specialty candy stores in other states also carry it. Wagers said sales are most brisk at airport gift shops.
"It's a fun, inexpensive way to say, 'I was in Idaho,' " he said.
You can sometimes find a Spud at Economy Candy, a specialty store on New York's Lower East Side.
"People expect us to have everything," said owner Jerry Cohen, who sells about 1,200 Spuds each summer, the only time he offers them.
The Idaho factory employs 45 people most of the year, and 65 from September through December, when demand is highest.
So many things about the Spud reflect Idaho. With its decades-old machinery and scrubbed wooden floors, Idaho Candy celebrates thrift and substance over style. Work goes on at a moderate pace; there are no computers at all, and nobody seems rushed. Wagers' children, 6-year-old twins and an 8-year-old, sometimes help out on the factory floor, and his wife is urging him to come up with a candy using xylitol, a substitute sweetener.
Wagers has no desire for his candy to compete with giants such as Snickers, the best-selling candy bar in the world. He likes his job; he enjoys going to his kids' school and talking to their classmates about what he does for a living.
And he likes the Spud's understated appeal.
"If you stay around long enough, you're going to come back in style," he said.