The Idaho Potato Commission works every day to protect the terms that describe Idaho spuds, but it rarely gets the negative feedback that the brouhaha with Idaho Fry Company has brought.

This is the worst public reaction commission President Frank Muir has seen in six years. He said he'd received about 50 e-mails about the commission's insistence that the restaurant change its name.

"I think this is the first example I've personally experienced of the impact of the new social media working against us," Muir said. "Everyone has the ability to fire an opinion to anybody they want to reach. It really doesn't have to be based on any facts. Everybody has a Web site or blog or Facebook account or Twitter account, and they make comments."

Meanwhile, the new Boise restaurant tucked in a strip mall on Broadway Avenue has been filling up with supportive diners.

Still, Muir said he hasn't heard from any Idaho potato farmers who want to see the commission back down on the Idaho Fry Company case.

They're the ones that pay for the commission with annual assessments, along with spud shippers and processors.

If the commission fails to protect its "certification mark" - which is something like a trademark but not the same thing - potato growers in other states could sell their potatoes in bags with Idaho labels, Muir said.

Even celebrities aren't immune from scrutiny. A couple of years ago, Muir sent a note to Martha Stewart after she implied on TV that only Russet potatoes were "Idaho potatoes" - when, in fact, farmers here grow different varieties of potatoes.

The commission's certification mark provides some assurance to buyers that potatoes bagged and marked as "Idaho potatoes" were grown by one of the 700 IPC-certified potato farmers in the Gem State, Muir said.

"I know everybody is thinking, 'Oh gosh, this is so anal,' " he said plainly.

One little shop like the Idaho Fry Company may not do much damage to the "Idaho potato" brand, but a much bigger operation could. Muir said the commission can't treat small fries differently than the big ones.

"The big fry looks for all these small examples (like Idaho Fry Company), and they use this in a court of law and say they're not consistent in protecting their trademark," he said.

The commission has given the owners of Idaho Fry Company in Boise until the end of August to change the name of their new eatery, where fries are the focus - not relegated to the side. The restaurateurs are tentatively planning to have a naming contest in a couple weeks.

Idaho Fry co-owner Blake Lingle, who started the business from his personal savings, doesn't have the funds to hire a lawyer to challenge the commission. If someone were willing to do it pro bono, he and his partner would consider it, he said.

Muir said that even if the owners of Idaho Fry Company pay a $100 licensing fee and use only Idaho-grown potatoes, the company's name must still be modified.

One possibility the commission suggested: "The Fry Company, featuring Idaho potatoes." Another idea was a name that included: "an Idaho Fry Company."

As a licensee, the fry business would be subject to the commission's review of its logo and an audit (to ensure real Idaho potatoes are used in products).

The controversy over the name has been a mixed bag for the new business, which might otherwise have been overlooked during hard financial times. Many well-established local restaurants have closed in the past year.

"The increased exposure is awesome," said Lingle, a 28-year-old former foreign economic analyst who moved back home to Idaho to start his first business.

The downsides are that Lingle and his business partner, Riley Huddleston, a chef, are still trying to get their staff fully trained and processes refined. The restaurant has eight employees.

But more than anything, they feel like they're losing something important by losing their name - which they feel is worth more than the $7,000 offered by the Idaho Potato Commission to change it on their signs, T-shirts, menus and other marketing materials.

They chose it for many reasons, including the way it sounds and its connection to Lingle's home state, famous for potatoes.

"I'm a prideful Idahoan. Everyone accuses me of that, especially my D.C. friends," said Lingle, who was born in Burley but graduated from Boise's Timberline High School in 1999.

He thought of other successful food business that had state names or associations, such as Kentucky Fried Chicken and California Pizza Company. If the business grew beyond Idaho, its name would make it clear where it sprouted from.

Lingle earned a bachelor's in economics from Boise State University before going to work as a foreign economic analyst at a federal agency in Washington, D.C. He worked in Washington, and later in Denver, for about six years before deciding to return home.

Lingle said he was wary about asking Huddleston - who has worked as a chef at fine dining restaurants across the country - to partner on a fries-and-burgers business. But Huddleston readily accepted the challenge.

"He took a nebulous and not very well-thought-out idea and made it more concrete and well thought out," Lingle said.

The restaurant's menu is a celebration of potato diversity, offering everything from Russets to sweets to purple potatoes (some from Idaho, some from California). The fries come in a variety of cuts - regular, homestyle, curly and shoestring - and all kinds of dips and spices are available to dress them up.

Muir said he checked out the new restaurant last week. He said he had no reaction to offer other than he was surprised at how empty it was.

That's all changed. Hundreds of people patronized the restaurant on Tuesday alone, after word spread about the conflict over the name.

Katy Moeller: 377-6413