#6 - "Love, Shark Tank"
(Granted, I didn't actually appear on the show for another 8 years. But still..)
Recap: It’s June 2015. Food Paint (and Noshi) was only conceived 3 months ago but we’ve made good progress. We have New York LLC documentation (we’re a company!), trademarks pending, a business bank account and - most importantly - a solid idea of what the product should be.
Our new consultant Sara has explained the need for a co-packer, a food scientist and a packaging designer. She’s also explained her fees, a conversation that prompts me to shoot video of my kids and their friend Hope using Food Paint (in the previously-mentioned, spray-painted pouches) which I then edit into a Kickstarter campaign.
The next thing Sara does is introduce us to “Bob”, a food scientist she works with who’s based in Indiana. I send Bob a set of the purees that I whipped up in my new Cuisinart (see CPG WTF #3) along with a note that says very clearly “these, but make them legal”. That’s it. Basically, “don’t f**k with them, just make them safe and delicious”.
Bob decides to completely ignore these instructions though, and starts suggesting that we use orange juice as a base, and that we add a grape flavor, and a chocolate flavor. OMG, Bob - no! Stop!! I steer him back on track, hoping that he’s got the message. I assume he has because honestly, it’s not complicated!!!
Meanwhile the Kickstarter has been live for a week but isn’t exactly breaking the internet, something that brings on my first Noshi-inspired panic attack (the first of many Noshi-inspired panic attacks). I cycle to the Kickstarter HQ in Brooklyn and ask for help. They politely tell me to go away but still, it feels that being in New York is advantageous - that being able to do things like this might give us an edge.
BUT - drumroll please - the day after my ill-fated bike ride to Williamsburg, we get an email. From SHARK TANK!!! They’ve seen the Kickstarter and want to know (urgently, because their casting season is basically over) whether we’d be interested in appearing on the show! Long story short, three days later Pegi and I get off an hour-long conference call with their production team in Los Angeles, a call which ends with the producer saying “we can’t confirm you as being on the show today because there’s a process, but I’m confident in saying that you will be appearing on next season’s Shark Tank. I’ll be in touch in the next few weeks. In the meantime, please can you send us samples of the product”. Oh My God. I get the Cuisinart out and Fedex them another set of my own perfect home-made purees, and we hold our breath.
I immediately email Bob and ask him to expedite whatever he’s doing, that we need to know that we have a viable product asap. He responds and says that he’s been struggling to find a bonding agent but has recently had a eureka moment involving coconut oil. This sounds… very not good, but we now have no choice but to trust him.
I also ramp up my design efforts. With Sara not being able to find tubes anywhere (is there a connection between this and her working for Pouchy McPouches? I’m sure it’s just a coincidence), we’re starting to resign ourselves to the probability that we’ll have to use circular pouches. So..
Ten days later, on one of that Summer’s first truly hot days (95-in-the-shade hot), I receive an un-insulated, no-cool-packs-included Fedex delivery from Bob. I eagerly open it and pull out six small plastic pots of… gloop. They’re warm to the touch and all appear - rather disconcertingly - to contain salad dressing. The contents have separated, oil on top and puree below - just gross. And all of them taste like coconut oil. Fuck. Fuckity fuckity FUCK!
And as I sit there cursing Bob very loudly (because the kids are still at school), my phone rings. I don’t even need to look at the screen to know who it is but when I do, sure enough: It’s the lovely producer from Shark Tank.
Time slows down as my brain jumps through hoops, gets a chalkboard out, writes lots of complicated math problems on it, rubs them out, has another panic attack, goes for a walk and finally exhales, not at peace with itself exactly, but resigned, in the absence of any viable alternatives, to the only way this call can go. I pick up the phone and say hi, then say something that, based on her response, she’s never heard before:
“I’m sorry, but we’re not ready to be on the show”.
Thanks Bob.