Keeping the Brand Alive via Online Retail在线零售让品牌焕发生机

亚当·埃拉斯 译/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·阿拉尼塔终于哭了，但并不是为她的餐厅关门而哭。Poi Dog诞生于2013年，由36岁的阿拉尼塔和之前的合作伙伴共同创办，最初只是一辆餐车，后来成长为一家颇受欢迎的休闲快餐厅。餐厅掛着一个闪着粉色霓虹的Aloha招牌，墙上挂着阿拉尼塔祖父的艺术作品，每天都能卖出三四十磅新鲜的金枪鱼块。

阿拉尼塔祖籍夏威夷，家族到她父亲那代已是第五代。作为费城首家以夏威夷美食为特色的餐厅，Poi Dog就是阿拉尼塔的一切。即便如此，她还是下定决心，在7月将因疫情暂时歇业的餐厅永久关闭。

使阿拉尼塔落泪的是辣椒。新冠的到来带走了Poi Dog赖以生存的客流和收入，而数月前，阿拉尼塔同意参加“永远的食物体验”活动。那是一个农业生物多样性研讨会，由坐落于宾夕法尼亚山区、占地351英亩的波科诺再生有机农场举办。农场给阿拉尼塔送来了一蒲式耳“红火箭”“午餐盒”和帕德龙辣椒，“有些实在太辣了，我真被辣哭了。”她说。

参加这次活动，阿拉尼塔必须想出一种使用那些辣椒的方式，最后她决定制作Peppah辣椒水：“（这是）夏威夷一种很常见的调味品，人们会在家里自制，餐馆也常往醋里加少量辣椒，也许还有大蒜或洋葱，然后放在桌上，和酱油并排，通常用闲置的龟甲万容器盛放。”

当时，阿拉尼塔并不知道自己无意间开启了一项新业务，这项业务将继餐厅之后持续创造收入，Poi Dog的品牌也得以延续下来。

奥里·佐哈尔是香料采购公司Burlap & Barrel的所有者之一，他在波科诺有机农场举办的研讨会上品尝了阿拉尼塔的Peppah辣椒水，并鼓励她将其装瓶销售。“那么多人想在她的餐厅吃饭，但都无法如愿，所以我鼓励基基倾听粉丝们的需求。”佐哈尔说，他们希望在家也能吃到Poi Dog。

阿拉尼塔在疫情前曾尝试在线销售，她卖过礼品卡、周边产品和考艾岛系列有色蜂蜡润唇膏。在夏日的一片好评声中，这些商品销量暴增。“最开始我每月只能卖四件T恤，后来十分钟就能卖四件。”她说。然而，电子商务虽然可以速成，但食品领域却是个例外。

在大衰退以及它引发的长达十年的手工食品淘金热期间，封装零售的渠道非常明确。“或是在当地社区销售，其受众相当有限，”佐哈尔说，“或是找一家大型零售商，通过层层审批，说服他们（销售自己的产品），代价则是放弃55%至70%的利润，再想办法用仅剩的那一点点钱经营。”

过去几年，Shopify和Square等公司在网络建设、电子商务和信用卡处理技术方面的协同进步彻底颠覆了以往的零售模式。于是，制造商可以更方便地直接出售产品——以及宣传自己。“10年前，如果我想（在电商领域）创业，我必须自己编写代码或雇一批工程师。”佐哈尔说，“现在，我只需要几个小时就能完成一切。所有的阻力都被消除了。”

主厨通过零售进行品牌延伸并不是什么新鲜事，但疫情“极大加速了这一进程，”女性食品电商平台Giving Broadly的达娜·考因说，“（科技）使厨师能够将销售渠道掌握在自己手里。像大卫·张这样的主厨曾通过杂货店销售自己的产品;而如今你可以在自己的网站上展示（产品），再将其出售给联合利华。”只要厨师有这样的愿望，就有可能实现。“人们可能会把目光聚焦于大型经销商或生产商，但（许多生产商）实际上是在为当地社区、他们自己和他们的员工服务。他们能够创造出更精细的业务形态。”

11月，阿拉尼塔生产出第一批Poi Dog辣椒水和她的第二款产品——毛伊薰衣草柚子醋，一种由日本柚子、大豆、干鲣鱼和采自阿里库拉农场的薰衣草制成的芳香饮品。她请费城的国家元首公司设计了鲜艳的红蓝紫罗兰标签，背景取方格布样式，代表夏威夷岛上甘蔗种植园工人所穿的帕拉卡面料。

为了销售自己的产品，阿拉尼塔曾向高谭·格罗夫公司的老朋友詹妮弗·柳求助。高谭·格罗夫是布鲁克林的韩国食品进口商，他家的红外线烤紫苏油给Poi Dog的三文鱼沙拉增添了薄荷和香料的味道。和Burlap & Barrel的佐哈尔一样，柳也鼓励阿拉尼塔开创自己的产品线，因其目睹了疫情期间高谭·格罗夫在线销售的爆炸式增长。“我们的餐厅和厨师的业务受到了冲击，但我们的电商业务在一两个月内增长了四五倍。”柳说，“随着餐馆陆续关门，家庭厨师们为了模仿在外就餐时的体验，开始变得更勇于创新了。”他们抢购了不少高谭·格罗夫的草莓辣酱和冬瓜醋。

自圣诞节前几天在Poi Dog的网站和高谭·格罗夫的电商平台推出产品以来，阿拉尼塔已经售出了50箱。收入不错，但这不是重点。“从表面上看，这是在传承Poi Dog，”阿拉尼塔说，“但这更是通过经营Poi Dog来延续我所建立的关系和友谊。”                                      □

（译者为“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛获奖者）