Imponderables

by David Feldman

  1. Sixty percent of fast-food revenue is collected during breakfast and lunch. Most desserts are bought at dinner or as an after-supper treat.

  2. The big fast-food chains face specialized competition. Ice cream parlors and cookie stores are able to put all of their marketing muscle on their desserts and usually serve a superior product.

  3. Desserts are often an impulse purchase, yet a customer must make a dessert decision when ordering the entree. Unlike cafeterias, which often place desserts right at the front of the line, there is little visual stimulation to entice a customer to buy a dessert in a fast-food establishment.

  4. Even if a customer decides that he or she feels like eating a dessert after consuming the rest of the meal, it is necessary to trudge back into line for the one item. A few fast-food companies have experimented with “hostesses,” who come around to tables and ask patrons if they are interested in ordering dessert. Although this response to the “laziness factor” increased dessert sales, it didn't stimulate sales enough to pay for the added labor costs. Desserts in fast-food stores are what restaurateurs call an “add-on” purchase—no one enters McDonald's just to order McDonaldland cookies.

  5. There are technical problems with serving any frozen dessert. McDonald's experimented with Tripple Ripple, a prefab ice cream cone that seemed to defy science by staying hard in perpetuity, even when exposed to heat. McDonald's was clearly trying to develop a product that wouldn't melt if a customer ordered it at the same time as the rest of the meal. Its sequel to Tripple Ripple turned out to be soft ice cream (sundaes)—they might melt, but only into the cup container. A few fast-food chains have experimented with do-it-yourself sundaes, which have often created Animal House-type messes. The other problem with sundaes is that the fast-food stores must underprice their product compared to ice cream specialty stores if they want sales.

  6. Customers seem extremely price sensitive about desserts, and fast-food customers, in general, are more concerned with food costs than their sit-down counterparts.

  7. Even the customer who always orders dessert in a sit-down restaurant is less likely to do so at a fast-food store. While a leisurely feast at the local steakhouse might be seen as a treat or reward by the customer, a visit to the local Burger King is more likely to be viewed as a pit stop.

  8. Up to 80 percent of some fast-food chains' sales are in meat-connected items. It is simply a waste of money to spend promotional money on hot apple pie when hamburger sandwiches are their—no pun intended—bread and butter.

  9. Most desserts have a lower profit margin than other menu items. Given a choice, a restaurant would rather promote soft drink sales (as both McDonald's and Burger King have done in the past) than desserts, since the profit margin on a soda can be 90 percent. Since fast food can only be served fast because the restaurant offers a limited menu selection, there is little incentive to add new dessert items, which are a tough sell to begin with and which are lower profit-margin items.

  10. Most fast-food desserts aren't very good. You may argue that most fast-food hamburgers aren't very good. And you'd have a point. The difference is that the alternatives to a bad fast-food hamburger are cooking one yourself or going to a full-service restaurant with longer waits, bigger bills, and obligatory tips. The alternative to a bad dessert is the local ice cream parlor, bakery, or convenience store.

  One fast-food manager we spoke to felt strongly that a lack of quality was the main reason the industry has been unable to create a breakthrough dessert. His store introduced homemade chocolate chip cookies, a risky entry since it competed not only with store-bought cookies but also with the chains of “gourmet” cookie stores that are spawning throughout the country. If his cookies were baked on-premise, there was simply not enough turnover of product to justify the labor required to cook them. If he kept cookies hanging around indefinitely, they became hard and lost the homemade texture that was their main selling point. If he tried to reduce the number of cookies they cooked to ensure freshness, then there would be a sudden burst of customers who would become impatient at the thought of waiting for fresh cookies to be made. If the store, in desperation, turned to prepackaged chocolate chip cookies, with a much longer shelf life, they tasted more like airport food than homemade food. Although his just-out-of-the-oven cookies tasted swell, he couldn't coordinate the timing with enough volume to make the dessert cost-efficient.

  In short, making desserts is a pain in the neck, and it isn't worth the time of management to kill themselves perfecting products that contribute so little to the bottom line. Most fast-food chains built themselves by stressing one product. A few, like Ropy Rogers, have managed to create a more diverse image by producing credible products in several categories (hamburgers, chicken, and roast beef). But none so far has come up with the dessert special enough to bring customers through the door, and this phenomenon is unlikely to change in the near future.

  Why is film 8, 16, 35, and 70 millimeters wide?

  Eight is half of 16. Thirty-five is half of 70. But 16 isn't half of 35. Is there any logic to how film widths were derived?

  Actually, there is … sort of. If you've been reading Imponderables with the proper diligence, you have already learned that Leica licked the problem of how to make a big picture out of a small negative by using cine film in still cameras. What you might not know is that Thomas Edison and his assistant, W.L.K. Dickson, were developing a motion picture camera at about the same time that George Eastman introduced his first camera.

  The film for the first Kodak camera in 1888 used a paper base and a strippable gelatin emulsion. After processing, the emulsion had to be transferred to hardened gelatin “skins” so that the negatives could be printed. A nuisance. But only one year later, Eastman introduced transparent film base, which eliminated the need for “skins.”

  The film for the first Kodak camera was 2¾ inches wide, or 70 millimeters. Kodak has been manufacturing 70 millimeter film continuously since 1888.

  Thomas Edison was excited about Eastman's transparent base, and he obtained this 70 mm film. Edison wanted to use narrower film for his camera and tried using ¼ and 1/3 of Kodak's width. Edison and Dickson finally settled on one-half of Kodak's 70 mm width, or 1 3/8 inches. The Eastman Kodak Company informed Imponderables that right from the start, Europeans referred to Edison's film as 35 mm, whereas it was often called 1 3/8 or “Edison standard” film in the United States.

  The smaller sizes of film were introduced later, as a Kodak historian related:

  Sixteen millimeter was derived from tests that began before 1916, when it was determined that a picture 1/6 the size of the standard cine frame would produce a satisfactory image. To this image size of 10× 7.5 mm, edges of 3 mm were added for the perforations. This also divided evenly into the width of the film base, so that 70 sixteen-millimeter “cuts” could be made across the width of the film coating. Eight millimeter is obviously derived by splitting 16 mm film.

  There have been other film widths marketed that have not proven so enduring. Kodak tried splitting 35 mm film with one row of perforations, and in a different format, 35 mm film was split into 16 mm, 21 mm, and 22 mm for the Edison Home Kinetescope.

  Although 8 and 16 might not be even divisors of 70, all three of the other standard film widths were developed in direct response to Eastman Kodak's 70 mm camera introduction of 1888.

  What is the purpose of a flat toothpick?

  Our personal opinion on this subject is strong. The only purpose of a flat toothpick, as far as we can see, is to promote trade for dentists, who must spend a significant minority of their time trying to dig out pieces of splintered wood from the mouths of misguided naifs who prefer flat toothpicks. Perhaps history could explain why flat toothpicks have been inflicted on an innocent world.

  Perhaps history could tell us, but it seems that the history of the toothpick doesn't seem to inspire many writers or encyclopedia editors. The Forster Mfg. Co., of Wilton, Maine, claims that its founder, Charles Forster, int
roduced the toothpick in the United States. (Until then, would be flossers had to be content with gold stickpins.) Forster, on a trip to South America, saw natives picking their teeth with slivers of ivory. Forster figured that he could make toothpicks out of wood, specifically the white birch that was plentiful around his home.

  There are other rivals, however, for the title of the Christopher Columbus of toothpicks. Famous First Facts indicates that as early as February 20, 1872, Silas Noble and James P. Cooley of Granville, Massachusetts, were awarded Manufacturing Machine Patent #123,790 for a machine that made it possible for “a block of wood, with little waste, at one operation, [to] be cut up into toothpicks ready for use.”

  There seems to be no doubt that the flat toothpick preceded the round toothpick and that the round toothpick was one of the less publicized introductions of the 1904 World's Fair. We asked several toothpick manufacturers what advantages a flat toothpick manufacturers what advantages a flat toothpick might have over a round one. Nobody could come up with a single advantage, except that flat toothpicks are cheaper—usually three times cheaper. They are cheaper, of course, because they are flimsier.

  The evidence seems to be that folks who use toothpicks primarily for flossing or as an adult pacifier prefer round toothpicks. Forster reported that in sales to individuals, their round toothpicks outpace flats about four to one. But about half of all toothpicks are bought by institutions, who use them primarily for food preparation. Some kitchen tasks can be performed as well by flat toothpicks as by round ones (although those who use the “toothpick test” to determine whether baked goods are done might dispute this), and these institutions figure that since toothpicks are a disposable item, why pay three times as much for a round one as a flat one? What they fail to reckon with, of course, is that a toothpick is supposed to be disposed with after it is used, not while it is being used.

  How can the relative humidity be under 100 percent when it is raining?

  Air moves in layers. Often, rain occurs when a higher warm, moist air mass overwhelms a cool, dry air mass at ground level.

  Humidity is measured at ground level. When the rain from the higher layer falls through the dry air layer, the humidity on the surface rises, but need not rise to 100 percent. Conversely, when the moist layer is below the high pressure system, the humidity can reach 100 percent on the surface even if the upper air layer is dry.

  Why aren't there national brands of milk? Why aren't there national brands of fresh meat?

  Scan through a few issues of Consumer Reports and it will become apparent that in blind tests, most people have less than discriminating taste buds. Yet through advertising and marketing, fierce brand loyalties can be developed in products that are virtually indistinguishable. Would you be willing to bet your life savings that you could tell the difference between Smirnoff's and Gordon's vodkas?

  Since the retail dairy industry is a huge one, it has always been surprising that there is no national brand to cash in on our nation's proclivity for milk. There are a few brands, such as Sealtest and Borden's, that pop up in different parts of the country, but none that can be universally found in the dairy case the way Kraft cheese or Dannon yogurt can.

  Is there any legal or regulatory reason why there can't be a national brand of milk? No.

  Can milk be transported across state lines without spoiling? Sure, and to some extent, it is done today, particularly from dairy-rich states (e.g., Wisconsin) to populous states in the South that don't have much of a dairy industry. But this begs the question—a national brand could easily be supplied by a cooperative of farmers from all over the country. The national brand would be a marketing concept, not a specific group of cows located on one huge farm.

  Would it be impossible to sustain brand loyalty for milk? As Bruce Snow, of the Dairylea Cooperative Inc., told Imponderables, “Milk is recognized by the public as something of a ‘commodity’ rather than a differentiated product. The public assumes, and mostly with reason, that all milk, regardless of brand name, is about equal in quality.” This is a totally logical answer and an important factor in the equation, yet the thought still nags that consumers are willing to spend twice as much for a dishwashing liquid that has a certain smell because they (wrongly) think it will be more effective against dirt, even if it is no more effective than its cheaper competitor. Advertising can create brand consciousness and brand loyalty.

  There are two other reasons—economic ones—why large corporations fear to tread in milky waters. The first, and perhaps most important reason that Kraft, for example, would be unlikely to want to compete in the retail dairy case is that profit margins for milk, all along the distribution chain, don't meet their fiscal expectations. According to Snow, the profits for the processor are “…very small. Profits are in the neighborhood of 1 to 2 percent. Only by marketing in large volumes of a perishable product used daily do processors survive. The big companies want 15 percent return, not 1 percent.” Although Dannon also produces a perishable product, yogurt commands a significantly higher profit margin.

  If the problem is profit margin, why don't the mega-corporations advertise heavily and push up the price of milk to fatten profits (this is what happened with orange juice, once thought of as a generic commodity). This scenario would probably fail for the second economic reason that Mr. Snow cites—the milk industry is a highly localized one, where local farmers could undercut the efforts of a national brand.

  There are hundreds of tradenames on dairy shelves today. Processors collect local milk from farmers or co-ops and many never haul it more than fifty miles to the retailer's. The regional companies have little advertising or merchandising expenses. Their transportation costs are low, and they have no need to store huge quantities of milk, since they collect milk and stock it in stores on a daily basis. How could a national brand compete in price with the local company, whose over-head is considerably less?

  But why not branded meat? Sure, meat shares some of the same problems as milk as a branded item. In particular, consumers are used to treating fresh meat as a commodity. We may patronize one store over another because we like the meat better, but most of us doubt that there could be a uniformity in quality for fresh meat anyhow. If Oscar Mayer supplied fresh meat as well as packaged meat, could it guarantee its beef would always taste the same, always be fresh? Would we believe Oscar Mayer if it did?

  The only problem with the “commodity” argument is that it has been refuted by the poultry industry. Holly Farms and Perdue chickens, while not available everywhere, have proved that with advertising, a fresh flesh product could be sold effectively throughout the country and could develop intense brand loyalty. Shoppers are willing to pay a few cents extra a pound for their favorite brand of chicken. If so, why wouldn't they pay more (and buy more) for branded meat?

  Unlike the milk industry, the meat industry has made serious attempts to create national brands of meat. After World War II, one meatpacker shipped beef and individual steaks to markets precut in consumer-size packages. The meat was frozen and displayed in the frozen-food case rather than the meat area. Shoppers stayed away in droves. V. Allan Krejci, director of public relations at Geo. A. Hormel and Co. informed Imponderables that Hormel, in an effort to develop brand identity, introduced branded boxes and inserts for use in packaging Hormel meats at the supermarket level. But when the grocery store butchers cut the primals into consumer-size packages, “the product lost its identity.”

  Why didn't Hormel cut the meat itself and send it to the stores in individual packages labeled HORMEL? Hormel (and other companies) know that consumers will reject individually wrapped frozen “fresh” meats, and packaging fresh meat involves one tremendous problem not encountered by other perishable foods such as cheese, yogurt, and even poultry. These other products are kept from spoiling during transport between processor and wholesaler and between wholesaler and retailer by oxygen-proof or vacuum-sealed materials. Meat also uses vapor-proof packaging when it travels between wholesaler a
nd retailer, but it cannot be kept in this “boxed meat” stage when it is displayed, because this beef has a purplish-red color that, according to National Live Stock & Meat Board merchandising specialist Thomas J. Flaherty, is unacceptable to consumers. Consumers desire a bright cherry-red color for beef or a grayish-pink color for pork, and even though the “undesirable” color of boxed meat in no way indicates an inferior product, shoppers will not be moved. Meat can be successfully frozen in the desired colors, but as we have seen, consumers wouldn't buy frozen meat if it came in designer colors.

  Without the ability to prepack meat before it hits the retail counter, it is doubtful that nationally branded meats can be successful, and yet supermarkets have an obvious objection to the practice. When fresh meat is cut and trimmed of fat, the natural juices of the meat tend to purge, resulting in a shorter shelf life and less eye appeal. The retailer doesn't want to get stuck with day-old meat that becomes difficult to sell. By having in-store butchers, the store can determine how much meat it can sell in one day while having the luxury of cutting more meat on the spot if there is demand.

  These in-store butchers are the other major reason nationally branded meat has not caught on, and they may be the key to why we may see nationally branded meat in the future. Until recently, packinghouse meatcutters have commanded larger salaries than retail butchers. With problems in the meat processing industry, labor unions have lost much of their clout, and store meatcutters now earn more than their packinghouse counterparts. The result? Large meat processing companies can now package fresh meats at a price cost competitive with unbranded supermarket meat.