On a blustery summer morning in Atlantic City in the early 1880s, the boardwalk was slick with salt spray, and the cries of gulls tangled with the laughter of vacationers drifting up from the shoreline. The city was still young as a resort destination, its wooden planks lined with vendors selling everything from seashell trinkets to peppermint sticks. One small candy shop stood humbly among them, operated by a man named David Bradley, who could not have guessed that a twist of fate was about to turn his modest operation into a piece of American folklore.
According to the story most often told, a violent storm swept in from the Atlantic one night, flooding the lower level of Bradley’s shop. When he arrived the next morning, he discovered his entire stock of taffy had been soaked through with seawater. The barrels, the boxes, and the candy itself all glistened with a briny residue from the ocean. Bradley, shoulders heavy with defeat, contemplated tossing the ruined batch out into the sand. Just then, as if scripted by chance itself, a young girl wandered in and asked for a piece of taffy. Bradley chuckled, perhaps a bit bitterly, and handed her a piece, muttering that all he had left was “salt water taffy.” The name was spoken casually, almost as a joke, yet in that moment, a confection found its identity.
Word traveled fast in Atlantic City. Tourists found the name amusing and even whimsical, and it made perfect sense against the backdrop of crashing waves and sun-warmed sand. Soon, other candy makers began adopting the term. Whether Bradley truly coined the name or borrowed it from local slang remains debated to this day, because as the candy gained fame, so did the myths surrounding its origin. Some stories claim the name came from an apprentice who mistakenly used seawater in the recipe, while others suggest it was a marketing gimmick invented by rival shop owners. There is no evidence that real ocean water was ever a key ingredient. Still, the association with the sea was irresistible for an Atlantic City treat, and so the name endured.
In those early years, taffy was simple. Flavors were few, mostly molasses and vanilla, sometimes a hint of chocolate if you were lucky. The process of making it was anything but simple, though. Sugar, corn syrup, and butter were cooked to the perfect temperature before being cooled on marble slabs. Once pliable, the candy had to be pulled repeatedly to trap air inside, giving it its soft, chewy texture. This pulling was a sight to behold. Candy makers would anchor the taffy on a metal hook, stretch it out into a long ribbon, fold it back on itself, and repeat the motion dozens, even hundreds of times. On summer nights, crowds gathered to watch these glossy ropes of candy swinging back and forth like pendulums under the glow of gas lamps, their colors deepening with every stretch. Children pressed their noses against the windows, mesmerized by the spectacle. The process of making saltwater taffy is a labor of love, requiring skill, patience, and a keen eye for detail.
One man recognized the potential of this seaside treat more than anyone else: Joseph Fralinger. A former glassblower and fish merchant, Fralinger entered the candy business in the mid-1880s and brought a showman’s flair to it. He perfected a taffy recipe that was smoother and less sticky than his competitors', then introduced the concept of selling it in one-pound oyster boxes, transforming the candy from a quick snack into the perfect souvenir for Atlantic City. Visitors could now carry home a piece of their beachside holiday in a neat, elegant package. Fralinger did not stop there; he expanded the flavor selection dramatically, offering as many as 25 varieties, including strawberry, lemon, and peppermint. His shop became a boardwalk institution, and his marketing savvy helped cement salt water taffy as synonymous with summer along the Jersey Shore.
Not everyone admired Fralinger’s dominance. Another entrepreneur, Enoch James, entered the scene determined to outdo him. James introduced a recipe that made the taffy even less sticky and easier to unwrap, while also pioneering the use of machines for pulling and cutting, eliminating the labor-intensive process of doing it all by hand. The romantic image of candy makers looping taffy around hooks remained a cherished tradition for show, but the future of taffy production lay in industry. These innovations enabled candy makers to produce thousands of pounds a day, fueling their spread beyond Atlantic City to boardwalks up and down the East Coast, from Cape May to Ocean City.
With success came conflict. By the early 1900s, saltwater taffy was a household name, but in 1923, a businessman named John Edmiston attempted to claim legal ownership of the term. He argued that others using the name should pay him royalties, sparking a fierce battle that reached the U.S. Patent Office. In 1925, the ruling came down: “Saltwater Taffy” was too generic to be trademarked. It belonged to the public, and anyone could use it. The decision freed the candy from legal shackles and ensured its place as a shared piece of Americana rather than a private monopoly. The public's role in preserving the tradition of saltwater taffy is a testament to the collective love and appreciation for this beloved treat.
Throughout the decades, saltwater taffy weathered cultural and economic storms. During World War II, sugar rationing slowed production, but demand never ceased. After the war, taffy shops revived, adding playful new flavors like banana, root beer, and cotton candy. The candy became a nostalgic symbol of simpler times, with its cheerful wax-paper wrappers and pastel hues evoking childhood summers by the sea. Watching taffy being made remained as much an attraction as tasting it. In many shops, machines churned and twisted shiny ropes of candy in hypnotic loops behind glass windows, a mechanical ballet that fascinated generations.
Today, the recipe is more precise, the equipment more advanced, but the essence of saltwater taffy remains unchanged. It is still cooked in copper kettles or stainless-steel vats, still stretched and aerated until it becomes soft and pliable, and still cut into bite-sized pieces, wrapped in wax paper. Shops from Maine to California carry dozens of flavors, watermelon, bubblegum, even bacon maple, but the name always conjures visions of the Atlantic surf and boardwalk lights. It is a candy that carries with it not just sweetness but a sense of place, a story of storms, rivalry, and invention, a relic of an age when a single joke in a flooded candy shop could ripple out to shape a tradition spanning more than a century. Today, saltwater taffy remains a popular treat, enjoyed by people of all ages and from diverse backgrounds.
Salt water taffy endures because it is more than candy. It is a memory you can hold in your hand, a bite-sized echo of laughter on a windy boardwalk, a sugary thread binding generations who have strolled the edge of the sea and carried its taste home in little paper-wrapped treasures.
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