Let’s get candy!

You'll never guess which iconic chocolate bar honors a horse

You may bite into a Milky Way bar and think of stars, when it’s really about an old-fashioned milkshake. Maybe it’s Life Savers you like but don’t know that their name refers exactly to the object they resemble. Candy names have some intriguing stories behind them: a beloved horse, a president's daughter, a boy who charmed the girls at the corner shop. Grab your favorite treat, and read about 10 confectionery brands and why they are called that.

Few candy names have sparked as much debate as Baby Ruth. When the Curtiss Candy Company relaunched its Kandy Kake as Baby Ruth in 1921, baseball legend Babe Ruth was in the middle of a record-setting season, having just hit 54 home runs the year before.

Naturally, everyone assumed the candy was cashing in on his fame. But Curtiss always insisted otherwise, claiming the bar honored Ruth Cleveland, the daughter of former President Grover Cleveland, who had died of diphtheria back in 1904 at just 12 years old. Skeptics point out the timing seemed suspicious, especially since Curtiss's factory sat on the very same Chicago street as Wrigley Field. When the real Babe Ruth tried to sell his own candy bar in 1926, Curtiss took him to court over the name and won. To this day, the company has never had to pay him a cent.

When Mars, Incorporated launched the 3 Musketeers bar in 1932, right in the middle of the Great Depression, it wasn't one candy bar at all. It was three separate mini bars in a single wrapper, one flavored chocolate, one strawberry, and one vanilla, a nod to Alexandre Dumas's classic novel, The Three Musketeers.

At just five cents, families could split the three flavors between them, which made the bar an instant hit during hard economic times. Everything changed a decade later. When the United States government rationed sugar during World War II, Mars could no longer justify producing three separate nougat flavors. The company kept only the most popular one, chocolate, and reshaped it into the single, larger bar recognized today. The name stuck around even after two of its three namesakes disappeared from the wrapper.

The story behind Snickers begins not with chocolate, but with a horse. In 1930, Frank and Ethel Mars owned Milky Way Farm, a sprawling 2,800-acre property in Pulaski, Tennessee, where they raised prize Thoroughbred racehorses. One of their favorites was a horse named Snickers.

Around the same time, the Mars candy company was preparing to launch a new bar combining nougat, caramel, peanuts, and milk chocolate, and it still needed a name. According to family accounts, Snickers the horse died shortly before the bar's debut, and the Mars family decided to honor their beloved animal by naming their new candy after him. The bar has kept that name in the United States ever since, though in the United Kingdom it was oddly sold as Marathon until 1990, when Mars finally unified the branding for most countries.

Back in 1923, Frank C. Mars ran a modest candy operation out of Minneapolis, Minnesota. His son Forrest, reunited with his father after years of a strained relationship due to his parents’ divorce, suggested turning a popular soda fountain treat, the malted milkshake, into something you could carry in your pocket. Frank combined whipped nougat with malt flavoring, and the Milky Way bar was born.

Many assume the name pays tribute to the galaxy, especially given the family surname, Mars. But the real inspiration was far closer to home: the taste and name came straight from those creamy malted shakes soda jerks were slinging across America at the time. The bar was such a hit that it grossed roughly $800,000 in its very first year, which equals roughly $15.6 million today. The chocolate remains the oldest candy bar still made by Mars, Incorporated.

In 1923, the Curtiss Candy Company of Chicago, Illinois, needed a name for its new chocolate-covered peanut butter bar, so founder Otto Schnering did something unusual: he asked the public.

The company launched a naming contest through mail-in entries, and a participant from Chicago suggested Butterfinger, borrowing a term sportscasters used for baseball players who couldn't hold onto the ball. The name stuck immediately. Schnering, who had already scored a hit with the Baby Ruth bar, leaned into showmanship to promote his new candy. He famously had airplanes drop thousands of Butterfinger bars, each rigged with a tiny parachute, over American cities like New York and Atlanta. Nearly a century later, the bar's crispy, flaky center is still instantly recognizable, even if most people eating one today have no idea it's named after a baseball insult.

In 1949, candy maker James O. Welch was ready to launch a new chocolate-covered peppermint from his company in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

For the name, he reached back to a personal favorite: Junior Miss, a Broadway play based on Sally Benson's New Yorker stories, which had run from 1941 to 1943 and even inspired a radio show starring Shirley Temple. Even though the play had already closed six years earlier, this was his way to honor it. Food chemist Charles Vaughan, who also created Sugar Babies for the same company, was the one who actually developed the chocolate-covered mint.

Long before it was a chocolate bar, Kit Kat was a mutton pie. In early 1700s London, a pastry cook named Christopher Catling ran a pie house on Shire Lane near Temple Bar, where his savory pies, nicknamed Kit-Kats after his own nickname (a nod to his own name), became so popular that a gathering of politicians from the Whig party and writers started meeting there regularly. They eventually became known as the Kit-Cat Club.

Two centuries later, in 1911, the English candy company Rowntree's trademarked the names Kit Kat and Kit Cat, likely as a nod to that historic club. The chocolate wafer bar itself, originally called Rowntree's Chocolate Crisp, didn't take on the Kit Kat name until 1937. It was a clever way to tie a new treat to old British tradition.

When Hershey's introduced its little chocolate drops in 1907, the candy needed a name that matched its size and shape. The most repeated explanation involves the factory machines themselves: as they dropped dollops of chocolate onto a moving conveyor belt, the motion and sound reportedly resembled a smacking kiss, and the name Hershey's Kisses was born.

However, the word "kiss" was simply common candy-making slang at the time for a small, bite-sized treat, so the truth may be a little less romantic than the story suggests. What's certain is that the Kisses were originally wrapped by hand until 1921, when a new machine automated the process and added the paper plume, that little strip peeking out of the foil, so shoppers could tell a genuine Hershey's Kiss from a copycat. Milton Hershey trademarked the shape in 1924, and the candy has barely changed since.

According to company legend, the Oh Henry! bar owes its name to a charming young man named Henry who used to stop by George Williamson's candy shop in Chicago sometime around 1920.

Henry became a favorite of the young women working behind the counter, who often sent him on errands, calling out "Oh, Henry!" whenever they needed his help. Williamson supposedly overheard the phrase so often that he decided to name his new peanut, caramel, and fudge bar after it. Not everyone buys the story, though. Some chocolate buffs believe the bar actually started as the Tom Henry Bar, invented by a candy maker in Kansas and later sold to Williamson, who simply renamed it. Whichever version is true, the Williamson Candy Company trademarked Oh Henry! in 1922, and the catchy exclamation has stuck around for more than a century.

In the summer of 1912, Cleveland chocolate maker Clarence Crane had a problem: his chocolates kept melting in the heat, and sales always dropped once summer arrived.

Looking for a candy that could survive warm weather, Crane borrowed an idea from an unlikely source, a pharmacist's pill-making machine, which pressed round, flat tablets instead of the square mints then popular in Europe. The machine happened to punch a small hole through the center of each mint. Rather than see it as a flaw, Crane noticed the shape resembled a ring-style life preserver used on ships, and he named his new peppermint candy Life Savers. He sold the rights just a year later, in 1913, to businessman Edward Noble for $2,900 —something close to $100,000 today— who switched the packaging to tinfoil and turned it into one of the best-selling candies in American history.

The secret life of vocabulary: 10 words with mind-blowing origins

Etymology—the study of word origins—reveals that the terms we use daily often started with meanings that were drastically different, sometimes even comical or celestial. When we look into the lineage of our vocabulary, we find traces of Viking warriors, Greek myths, and even the breaking of river ice. Continue reading to discover 10 words with fascinating origin stories.

When we think of a galaxy, we imagine vast, swirling clusters of billions of stars across the vacuum of space. However, the origin of the word is much more domestic. The term comes from the Greek galaxias, which is derived from gala, meaning "milk".

This linguistic connection stems from Greek mythology. According to legend, the Milky Way was created when the goddess Hera was nursing the infant Heracles. When she pulled away, a spray of milk streaked across the sky. To the ancient Greeks, the glowing band of light in the night sky was literally the "milky circle". While we now know that galaxies are composed of stars and gas, our scientific terminology remains rooted in an ancient story of a mother and her child.

While most of us associate marmalade with a bitter orange preserve enjoyed at breakfast, the word’s history has nothing to do with citrus. It comes from the Portuguese word marmelada, which was a preserve made from marmelo, the word for "quince".

In the 15th and 16th centuries, quince paste was a thick, solid confection often imported into England. As the centuries passed and international trade expanded, bitter Seville oranges replaced quinces as the primary ingredient in these preserves.

To go "berserk" is to lose all control, acting with a wild, frenzied energy. The origin of this word is found in the terrifying Viking warriors of Old Norse lore. The term berserkr is a compound of ber- (meaning "bear") and serkr (meaning "shirt" or "garment").

These "berserkers" were legendary fighters who entered battle in a state of trance-like fury, wearing bear skins rather than armor. Some historians believe their frenzy was induced by hallucinogenic mushrooms or heavy drinking, but the result was a warrior so fierce they were said to be immune to fire and iron. Today, the word has transitioned from a specific type of Norse soldier to a general description of chaos.

In modern English, weird simply means strange or freaky. But in Old English, the word wyrd meant "fate" or "destiny". That is to say, it was a noun, not an adjective. A person’s wyrd was the unchangeable path laid out for them by the universe.

The shift toward the modern meaning of "strange" was largely influenced by William Shakespeare. In Macbeth, he introduced the "Weird Sisters", three witches who could see and manipulate the threads of fate. Because these characters were supernatural and unsettling, audiences began to associate the word "weird" with the uncanny and the bizarre.

If a bomb explodes, it bursts with violent force. However, the word’s Latin ancestor, explodere, had a much more vocal meaning: "to clap out". In the world of ancient Roman theater, explodere meant to drive an actor off the stage by clapping, hissing, or shouting.

For centuries, "explode" referred to the rejection or driving out of an idea or a person through noise. It wasn’t until the 17th and 18th centuries, with the advancement of gunpowder and physics, that the word began to describe a physical, violent burst of pressure.

Today, if someone is described as "vulgar", it usually means they are crude, offensive, or lacking in manners. But originally, the Latin vulgaris, from vulgus, the "common people", simply meant "common" or "ordinary".

For a long time, the "vulgar tongue" was simply the local language as opposed to the prestigious Latin used by the church and scholars. Over time, however, the word took on a snobbish, class-based connotation. The elite began to view anything common as inferior and unrefined, leading to the modern definition where "vulgar" is a synonym for "distasteful".

One might assume that "Arctic" is an indigenous word for the frozen north, but actually, it’s Greek in origin. Arktos is the Greek word for "bear". Yet, the region is not named for the polar bears that lived there, but for the constellations that hang above it.

In the northern sky, the constellation Ursa Major, the Great Bear, is an important landmark. To the ancient Greeks, the Arctic was simply the land under the Bear. Interestingly, the name for the southern pole, Antarctica, literally means "opposite the bear".

"Camouflage" is a relatively young word in the English language, entering common usage during World War I. It comes from the French camoufler, which was slang for "to disguise". In turn, some etymologists link it to camouflet, a term for a puff of smoke blown into someone’s face to distract them.

Before it was a military tactic used to hide tanks and soldiers, camouflage was a term used by thieves and actors to describe the art of changing one’s appearance. The war transformed it into a technical endeavor involving artists and biologists to create patterns that could deceive the enemy’s eye.

When we come down with the "flu", we rarely think about astrology. However, the word is a shortened form of influenza, which is Italian for "influence". In medieval times, people believed that outbreaks of disease were caused by the "influence" of the stars and planets.

Later, the term was refined to influenza del freddo, "influence of the cold". Eventually, the English language dropped the astrological baggage and the "cold" reference, leaving us with a punchy, three-letter word for a respiratory virus.

A "debacle" is a sudden, disastrous failure or a total collapse. The word’s history is rooted in the natural world. It comes from the French débâcle, which originally referred to the breaking up of ice in a river.

When a frozen river began to thaw, the ice would crack and rush downstream in a chaotic, unstoppable flood. This literal breaking loose was a violent and messy event. By the 19th century, people began using the term metaphorically to describe any situation where things fall apart quickly and uncontrollably.