In a recent conversation thread on Bites, the Scene’s food blog, someone using the handle “Tater Man” floated the business idea of a restaurant that serves only stuffed baked potatoes. Yes, Tater Man, that’s an appealing restaurant concept. And it’s one that Eric Brown is executing efficiently in a tiny storefront on Charlotte Pike.
Spudz Inc., the so-called one-stop potato shop, is an idea so simple, so streamlined and so astonishingly cheap you almost can’t help but love the place. Step inside the Spartan antechamber of Spudz and you’ll find a refrigerator full of soft drinks, a handful of tables against the plate glass window and, most importantly, a literal hole in the wall through which you tell Brown and his cousin, Fatima Johnson, just what kind of stuffed potato you want.
With a redundancy that recalls Christopher Guest’s nut-loving character Harlan Pepper in Best in Show, Brown offers an exhaustive menu of “spudz.” (Think Spaghetti Spudz, Veggie Spudz, Club Spudz...peanut, cashew nut, macadamia nut.)The establishment is wholly unself-conscious, adorned with little more than 8½-by-11 sheets of paper, each with photographs of three potatoes and the written description of a single spudz. At first glance, it can be a little overwhelming to see so many photos of potatoes. But upon further study, you realize that all the photos are identical and only the descriptions vary—sort of like if Wendy’s advertised a couple dozen different value meals over the cash register, but each photograph was identical and only the name of the sandwich varied from picture to picture.
While the signage may not exactly illuminate the specific food offerings, it visually underscores the fact that Spudz is all about potatoes. In all, Brown offers about 20 different spudz, the most popular being Buffalo chicken, Philly cheese steak, cheeseburger and taco. There’s also Sloppy Joe, Cordon Bleu, Polish sausage, ham & cheese, chicken parm and a handful of other combinations that have earned the approval of Brown’s two kids, who taste-test everything before it hits the menu.
Brown, 36, studied hotel and restaurant management at TSU before launching into a series of restaurant jobs. Eager to start a business with a product that was affordable and unorthodox, Brown borrowed money from his aunt and launched Spudz in June 2006. Since then, he has been in the kitchen behind the very small hole in the wall baking enough potatoes to repay the loan and keep himself nearly breathless with business.
On our visits, we saw a steady stream of regular customers, some driving luxury cars that would be just as comfortable in the valet line of an expensive steakhouse as in the parking lot of a potato shop.
On a blazing-hot day when Spudz’s air conditioning was on summer vacation, we poked our heads through the tiny window and ordered a BBQ spudz, a Buffalo chicken spudz and a chicken Philly spudz. With four drinks (we needed extra water for good measure in the sweltering restaurant), our meal came to $17.
On the next trip, I opted to take a selection of spudz—spudzes?—home to the comfort of my climate-controlled kitchen. Brown handed me what I can only estimate was about 10 pounds of food (five 1½-pound potatoes plus fillings; a crispy salad with cheese, tomatoes and snow peas; and a huge homemade chocolate chip cookie) in exchange for $23. This must be what shoplifting feels like. But with potatoes priced at about 50 cents a piece wholesale, there’s plenty of margin for Brown.
Now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say any particular spudz was outstanding. The BBQ spudz, for example, came with a wetter, sweeter combo of pork and sauce than I might look for in a barbecue sandwich. And the meat in the Buffalo chicken spudz—cut from the bone of food-service wings—was nothing stellar in and of itself. The loaded spudz was filled to the gills, but the bacon and cheese were a little plastic-textured. The fajita spudz, chock full of chicken and sauteed peppers and onions, was among the best flavors, but still no stand-in for sizzling fajitas on an iron skillet. Cheeseburger spudz and taco spudz were nearly identical, with the exception of a mild taco seasoning and a side of sour cream on the latter.
But the potatoes themselves were excellent. Try as I might, I have never made a potato as perfect as any of the behemoth Idaho tubers Brown baked. He starts by washing them twice, then wraps them in aluminum foil and cooks for an hour-and-a-half at 450 degrees. The result is a fluffy, steamy pocket of starchy comfort food, a canvas that Brown primes with gobs of margarine that oozes out from under the various toppings like a molten golden gravy. It’s hard to imagine how Spudz could improve on its cornerstone ingredient.
And at a price point hovering below $5 for a full—and tasty—meal, it’s debatable whether you’d want Brown to upgrade anything. But it makes you think: aren’t there times when you would happily pay a little more more for toppings of higher caliber—gourmet potatoes if you will? I would, and I’m sure I’m not alone. I’m imagining portobello spudz, mole spudz, ratatouille spudz, even foie gras spudz. The possibilities are endless.
So, Tater Man, don’t give up. Spudz may have beaten you to market, but there’s room for you yet.
Spudz Inc. is open 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday. Delivery is available for orders of five spudz or more.
