Keeping the Brand Alive via Online Retail在線零售讓品牌煥發(fā)生機

亞當(dāng)·埃拉斯 譯/周乾

When Kiki Aranita finally cried last September， it wasn’t because her restaurant had closed. Poi Dog， which the 36-year-old had opened with her former partner in 2013， had grown from a food truck into a popular fast-casual restaurant with a neon pink Aloha1 sign， her grandfather’s art on the walls， and a standing order2 for 30 to 40 pounds of fresh ahi3 a day.

Poi Dog was the first in Philadelphia to feature the local cooking of Hawaii， where her dad’s side goes back five generations， and it meant everything to her， but then Aranita decided to make its temporary pandemic hiatus4 a permanent closure in July.

The peppers brought the tears. Months before COVID-19 ran away with the foot traffic5 and catering revenue Poi Dog depended on， Aranita had agreed to participate in the Forever Food Experience， an agrobiodiversity symposium6 with Pocono Organics， a 351-acre regenerative7 organic farm in the Pennsylvania mountains. The farm sent her a bushel8 of Red Rocket， Lunchbox， and Padrón chilies， “and some of them were so spicy I was literally crying，” she says.

Aranita had to figure out a way to use the chilies for the event， so she decided to make Chili Peppah Water： “[It’s] a really common condiment9 in Hawaii. Something you would make at home. Or restaurants would basically get a bunch of vinegar and then cram a few peppers， maybe some garlic or onions， in it， and just put it on the tables next to the soy sauce， typically into a repurposed Kikkoman10 container.”

At the time， Aranita didn’t know she was inadvertently starting a new business， one that would create a post-restaurant income stream and keep the Poi Dog brand alive.

Ori Zohar， co-owner of the sourcing-centered spice company Burlap & Barrel， tried Aranita’s Peppah Water at the Pocono Organics event and encouraged her to bottle it. “There were all these people that wanted to eat at her restaurant and couldn’t， so I encouraged Kiki to listen to what her fans were asking for，” he says—that is， a way to experience Poi Dog at home.

Aranita had dabbled11 in online sales before COVID—with gift cards， merch12， a run of tinted Kauai beeswax lip balm—but saw them explode during the summer tsunami of customer goodwill13. “I went from selling four T-shirts a month to four T-shirts every 10 minutes，” she says. But despite the crash course14 in e-commerce， a food line was a different beast.

During the Great Recession and the decade-long artisan-food gold rush it triggered， the route to retail packaging was very prescribed： “Sell locally in the community， which offered a pretty limited audience，” Zohar says. “Or go to a major retailer and convince them [to carry the product]—through the layers and layers of approvals—while giving up somewhere between 55￠ and 70￠ out of every dollar and figuring out how to build a business with the crumbs that remain.”

In the past few years， synergistic15 advances in web building， e-commerce， and credit card processing technology from companies like Shopify16 and Square17 have totally upended18 that old game board， making it easier for makers to sell their products—and themselves. “If I wanted to start [an e-commerce] business 10 years ago， I would have to code it myself or hire a bunch of engineers，” Zohar says. “Now I can set it up in just a few hours. All the friction has been pulled out of the process.”

Chefs using retail as a brand extension is nothing new， but the pandemic has “highly accelerated the process，” says Dana Cowin of Giving Broadly， an online marketplace for women-made food products. “[Tech has] put the method of distribution in the hands of the chef. Chefs like David Chang were making deals for wide distribution in grocery stores; now you can prove [a product] on your website before you sell it to Unilever.” If a chef even wants to pursue that. “People maybe have their eyes set on a big distributor or producer， but [many are] actually doing something that’s for their community， for themselves， and for their staff. They’re able to create a gentler business.”

In November， Aranita processed her first batches of Poi Dog Chili Peppah Water and the second product in her line， Maui Lavender Ponzu， a fragrant potion of yuzu， soy， dried bonito， and flowers from Ali’i Kula Lavender Farm. She hired Philly-based firm the Heads of State to design the vivid red and blue-violet labels， whose gingham-like background mirrors the palaka fabric worn by sugarcane plantation workers on the islands.

For distribution she turned to longtime friend Jennifer Yoo of Gotham Grove， the Brooklyn-based Korean food importer whose infrared-roasted perilla oil had given Poi Dog’s salmon poke its hints of mint and spice. Like Zohar at Burlap & Barrel， Yoo had encouraged Aranita to start her own line and had seen Gotham Grove’s online sales explode during the pandemic. “Our business from restaurants and chefs got negatively hit， but our e-commerce business increased four or five times within a month or two，” Yoo says. “With restaurants shutting down， home cooks wanted to mimic flavors they would have when eating out and started to become more adventurous，” snapping up19 Gotham Grove’s strawberry gochujang20 and winter melon vinegar.

Since launching on the Poi Dog site and on Gotham Grove’s digital marketplace a few days before Christmas， she’s sold 50 cases of product. The income is nice but hardly the point. “Outwardly this is a way of carrying on the Poi Dog legacy，” Aranita says. “But it’s more of a way of carrying on the relationships that I made， the friendships that I made， by running Poi Dog.”

去年9月，基基·阿拉尼塔終于哭了，但并不是為她的餐廳關(guān)門而哭。Poi Dog誕生于2013年，由36歲的阿拉尼塔和之前的合作伙伴共同創(chuàng)辦，最初只是一輛餐車，后來成長為一家頗受歡迎的休閑快餐廳。餐廳掛著一個閃著粉色霓虹的Aloha招牌，墻上掛著阿拉尼塔祖父的藝術(shù)作品，每天都能賣出三四十磅新鮮的金槍魚塊。

阿拉尼塔祖籍夏威夷，家族到她父親那代已是第五代。作為費城首家以夏威夷美食為特色的餐廳，Poi Dog就是阿拉尼塔的一切。即便如此，她還是下定決心，在7月將因疫情暫時歇業(yè)的餐廳永久關(guān)閉。

使阿拉尼塔落淚的是辣椒。新冠的到來帶走了Poi Dog賴以生存的客流和收入，而數(shù)月前，阿拉尼塔同意參加“永遠的食物體驗”活動。那是一個農(nóng)業(yè)生物多樣性研討會，由坐落于賓夕法尼亞山區(qū)、占地351英畝的波科諾再生有機農(nóng)場舉辦。農(nóng)場給阿拉尼塔送來了一蒲式耳“紅火箭”“午餐盒”和帕德龍辣椒，“有些實在太辣了，我真被辣哭了。”她說。

參加這次活動，阿拉尼塔必須想出一種使用那些辣椒的方式，最后她決定制作Peppah辣椒水：“（這是）夏威夷一種很常見的調(diào)味品，人們會在家里自制，餐館也常往醋里加少量辣椒，也許還有大蒜或洋蔥，然后放在桌上，和醬油并排，通常用閑置的龜甲萬容器盛放。”

當(dāng)時，阿拉尼塔并不知道自己無意間開啟了一項新業(yè)務(wù)，這項業(yè)務(wù)將繼餐廳之后持續(xù)創(chuàng)造收入，Poi Dog的品牌也得以延續(xù)下來。

奧里·佐哈爾是香料采購公司Burlap & Barrel的所有者之一，他在波科諾有機農(nóng)場舉辦的研討會上品嘗了阿拉尼塔的Peppah辣椒水，并鼓勵她將其裝瓶銷售?！澳敲炊嗳讼朐谒牟蛷d吃飯，但都無法如愿，所以我鼓勵基基傾聽粉絲們的需求?！弊艄栒f，他們希望在家也能吃到Poi Dog。

阿拉尼塔在疫情前曾嘗試在線銷售，她賣過禮品卡、周邊產(chǎn)品和考艾島系列有色蜂蠟潤唇膏。在夏日的一片好評聲中，這些商品銷量暴增?！白铋_始我每月只能賣四件T恤，后來十分鐘就能賣四件?！彼f。然而，電子商務(wù)雖然可以速成，但食品領(lǐng)域卻是個例外。

在大衰退以及它引發(fā)的長達十年的手工食品淘金熱期間，封裝零售的渠道非常明確?！盎蚴窃诋?dāng)?shù)厣鐓^(qū)銷售，其受眾相當(dāng)有限，”佐哈爾說，“或是找一家大型零售商，通過層層審批，說服他們（銷售自己的產(chǎn)品），代價則是放棄55%至70%的利潤，再想辦法用僅剩的那一點點錢經(jīng)營?！?/p>

過去幾年，Shopify和Square等公司在網(wǎng)絡(luò)建設(shè)、電子商務(wù)和信用卡處理技術(shù)方面的協(xié)同進步徹底顛覆了以往的零售模式。于是，制造商可以更方便地直接出售產(chǎn)品——以及宣傳自己。“10年前，如果我想（在電商領(lǐng)域）創(chuàng)業(yè)，我必須自己編寫代碼或雇一批工程師。”佐哈爾說，“現(xiàn)在，我只需要幾個小時就能完成一切。所有的阻力都被消除了?！?/p>

主廚通過零售進行品牌延伸并不是什么新鮮事，但疫情“極大加速了這一進程，”女性食品電商平臺Giving Broadly的達娜·考因說，“（科技）使廚師能夠?qū)N售渠道掌握在自己手里。像大衛(wèi)·張這樣的主廚曾通過雜貨店銷售自己的產(chǎn)品;而如今你可以在自己的網(wǎng)站上展示（產(chǎn)品），再將其出售給聯(lián)合利華?！敝灰獜N師有這樣的愿望，就有可能實現(xiàn)?！叭藗兛赡軙涯抗饩劢褂诖笮徒?jīng)銷商或生產(chǎn)商，但（許多生產(chǎn)商）實際上是在為當(dāng)?shù)厣鐓^(qū)、他們自己和他們的員工服務(wù)。他們能夠創(chuàng)造出更精細(xì)的業(yè)務(wù)形態(tài)。”

11月，阿拉尼塔生產(chǎn)出第一批Poi Dog辣椒水和她的第二款產(chǎn)品——毛伊薰衣草柚子醋，一種由日本柚子、大豆、干鰹魚和采自阿里庫拉農(nóng)場的薰衣草制成的芳香飲品。她請費城的國家元首公司設(shè)計了鮮艷的紅藍紫羅蘭標(biāo)簽，背景取方格布樣式，代表夏威夷島上甘蔗種植園工人所穿的帕拉卡面料。

為了銷售自己的產(chǎn)品，阿拉尼塔曾向高譚·格羅夫公司的老朋友詹妮弗·柳求助。高譚·格羅夫是布魯克林的韓國食品進口商，他家的紅外線烤紫蘇油給Poi Dog的三文魚沙拉增添了薄荷和香料的味道。和Burlap & Barrel的佐哈爾一樣，柳也鼓勵阿拉尼塔開創(chuàng)自己的產(chǎn)品線，因其目睹了疫情期間高譚·格羅夫在線銷售的爆炸式增長?！拔覀兊牟蛷d和廚師的業(yè)務(wù)受到了沖擊，但我們的電商業(yè)務(wù)在一兩個月內(nèi)增長了四五倍?！绷f，“隨著餐館陸續(xù)關(guān)門，家庭廚師們?yōu)榱四７略谕饩筒蜁r的體驗，開始變得更勇于創(chuàng)新了?！彼麄儞屬徚瞬簧俑咦T·格羅夫的草莓辣醬和冬瓜醋。

自圣誕節(jié)前幾天在Poi Dog的網(wǎng)站和高譚·格羅夫的電商平臺推出產(chǎn)品以來，阿拉尼塔已經(jīng)售出了50箱。收入不錯，但這不是重點?！皬谋砻嫔峡矗@是在傳承Poi Dog，”阿拉尼塔說，“但這更是通過經(jīng)營Poi Dog來延續(xù)我所建立的關(guān)系和友誼。”? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? □

（譯者為“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽獲獎?wù)撸?/p>