Frank Muir is a heckuva nice guy! 

This blog is about a perfectly good story that was ruined by reality – and its title may well be one of the most shocking and controversial I’ve ever penned. At least you’d be forgiven for thinking so if you paid any attention to the David and Goliath story surrounding the Idaho Potato Commission and the Idaho Fry Company. It’s certainly a departure from my original title, “The Empire Strikes Back” – but then, that was the one I envisioned before I actually sat down and talked with the Idaho Potato Commission president, Frank Muir.

Just in case you spent last week in a coma, the broad outline of the controversy in question has to do with the use of the name “Idaho” by a local restaurant, the Idaho Fry Company. Putting on my amateur food critic hat for a brief aside, if you haven’t eaten at the Idaho Fry Company, do yourself a favor and check it out. I guarantee that you’ll never think of french fries in the same way; it’s just that good (this opinion is strictly that of the author and does not reflect those of either the Idaho Business Review or Dolan Media). Now, back to our regularly scheduled program.  

The Idaho Potato Commission (IPC) maintains that the Idaho Fry Company’s name is in violation of a trademark certification that protects the use of “Idaho” in connection with potatoes. The upshot of this violation is that the restaurant will either have to change its name or enter into a licensing agreement with the IPC that would require it, among other conditions, to feature Idaho potato products exclusively.  While Idaho potatoes are proudly served by the Idaho Fry Company, its menu includes spuds from other states as well, including (who knew?) Hawaii.

In a society that reflexively roots for the underdog, the immediate hew and cry as this story made its way through the Twitterverse and onto the airwaves and pages of local, and even national, media followed a predictable story line: a faceless and insensate quasi-government entity uses the power of its marketing monopoly to squelch a small business struggling to survive in a hostile economy – all in the name of the industry it ostensibly champions. I can characterize this sentiment with more than a little veracity since, quite frankly, I was quick to join the Twitter lynch mob storming the IPC’s ramparts as Frank Muir looked on incredulously.       

What has been missing from this story line, however, is a bit of perspective. The best I can do in adding some much-needed context is to encourage you to listen to the podcast interview I recorded this week with Frank Muir. In doing so, you’ll learn some interesting things about not only the Idaho Potato Commission’s history and mission but about Frank as well. The IPC, which is arguably “the grandfather of all commodity commissions,” to quote Frank, was founded in 1937 to promote the quality and uniqueness of Idaho spuds through marketing campaigns that have since been similarly employed on behalf of Florida oranges, California raisins, Walla Walla onions, Wisconsin cheddar cheese, and other agriculture products whose attributes are associated with the region in which they are produced.
 
As Frank pointed out during our interview, the success of his organization’s efforts is such that when asked where the best potatoes come from, 80 percent of respondents to a national survey said “Idaho.” The second most frequent response, Frank quips, was “I don’t know.” Sure, we’ve all taken some ribbing over the “Famous Potatoes” tag on our license plates, but when the second most frequent association with the Gem State, based on another survey, is white supremacists, I’ll have fries with my perception, thank you – and super size that, while you’re at it!

The masterstroke of the IPC, however, took place in 1966 – the year in which the commission obtained its trademark certification for Idaho potatoes. Frank likens this to the Underwriter’s Laboratory mark on electrical products in that it represents a guarantee that a product is precisely what it claims to be.  And herein lies the rub with regard to the Idaho Fry Company. Unless the Idaho Potato Commission can ensure that any use of the Idaho trademark in connection with potatoes applies only to those that are certifiably grown in Idaho, it runs the risk of losing the enforceability of that certification. More important to Frank and the IPC, Idaho and its farmers lose the benefit of the premium price point that Idaho potatoes have earned in a commodity market.  

In case you think this concern is overwrought, the IPC is currently involved in a court case in which an out-of-state shipper is falsely claiming to sell Idaho potatoes, and defending its right to do so with the argument that “Idaho” is simply a generic term when applied to any brown spud.  

“The State of Idaho stands to lose something it is noted for,” Frank maintains. And the last thing the IPC needs is a precedent in which it has failed to defend its certification – even if that precedent is based on a local restaurant using the name Idaho in connection with products that aren’t exclusively Idahoan.

Which is not to suggest that Frank and the IPC are unsympathetic to the plight of small businesses – far from it. As Frank points out in the interview, “we represent about 700 small businesses: Idaho farmers.  Even the largest farm in the state is family owned.” It has been the characterization of the commission as a bully that has been the most anguishing part of the PR nightmare that Frank has been living through for the past couple of weeks.  

“I’m not blaming the Idaho Fry Company,” says Frank, “but if we allow them to say they are an ‘Idaho fry company’ when they don’t exclusively serve Idaho fries, then the case we’re currently involved in will have ‘Exhibit One’ in proving that the term ‘Idaho’ is, in fact, generic. Riley and Blake (the owners of Idaho Fry Company) have said that the value of their brand is worth more than the $7,000 we offered them to help with their name change … and they’re right. From the perspective of the IPC, their use of the word ‘Idaho’ represents nearly $3 billion in revenue and 30,000 jobs to our state. We have an obligation to protect that.”  

As I write this, the final chapter in the Davids vs. Davids story has yet to be written. Frank tells me that the IPC is working on a solution to the current impasse with the Idaho Fry Company, and that an announcement may be in the offing. Regardless of the outcome, however, one has to wonder just how tragic a “worse case” scenario might be. The cynic in me would suggest that the visibility the Idaho Fry Company gained as a result of the recent controversy has at least offset some of the cost that a name change would incur (and the IPC’s offer to help with this cost remains on the table); but that point-of-view would shortchange the accomplishments of the Idaho Fry Company’s owners. The truth as I see it is that the quality of the their product speaks more loudly than a single week of media hype. And the outpouring of support from Boise’s social media community has to be reassuring.  

In the meantime, Frank Muir sits at his desk, replying to a stack of e-mails in which the term “fascist” has been one of the kinder remarks made about him. He patiently thanks the senders for thei
r interest and extends an invitation to come to the IPC’s offices, speak with him personally, and learn more about his organization’s activities. I know this because I was one of the folks who received such an e-mail.

If you were one of the voices that joined mine in shouting “for shame” at the Idaho Potato Commission, I recommend you listen to my podcast interview with Frank Muir. You might be more inclined to send him an e-mail thanking him for his work as a result. And although I’ve already apologized personally to Frank for my “rush to judgment,” I’m going to do so again in this forum.  

Frank, forgive me for being so unfair. I just hadn’t taken the time to get both sides of the story before I formed an opinion, and I appreciate your graciousness in sharing the IPC’s perspective with me. To make amends, I’d like to invite you to have lunch with me at a great little place on Broadway, near the intersection with Main. The name may be changing soon, but as we both know, “a fry by any other name would taste as sweet.” Especially if it comes from Idaho.

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