"New Dishes Bring Happiness, Shame"

Jason Engelhart

Seriously Hungry

The 19th century French gastronome Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin was onto something when he said, "The discovery of a new dish does more for human happiness than the discovery of a new star." The pursuit of this happiness and the profits to be made as a result of it drive would-be innovators the world over to create exciting new foods.

Coca-Cola went on one such quest in 1985. With the decline in popularity of sugared colas and the loss of market share to Pepsi, the company decided it had to do something to the Coca-Cola formula. The company formed many focus groups and found that the thing Pepsi and the diet sodas had in common was a higher level of sweetness. According to Coca-Cola's research, the younger generation of soda drinkers wanted a sweeter, less "serious" cola than the current formula. With this newfound knowledge, the company set about creating a new recipe for its flagship product.

The resulting cola tested very well in focus groups, and after having tens of thousands of potential consumers taste the it, Coca-Cola introduced it to the public as "The New Coke" on April 23, 1985.

In spite of the cola's success in the focus groups, the public reception of the New Coke was about as tepid as a soda that has spent all afternoon on the counter. In fact, according to the Coca-Cola website, the switch caused "consumer angst the likes of which no business has ever seen." Soon, die-hard old formula fans were lining up to fill their pantries with the old stuff before it sold out. In the end, New Coke lasted only 79 days as the only formula of Coca-Cola available. The old stuff returned to the shelves in July, and although the company kept the new formula around for a while as a separate product, it never enjoyed the popularity of Coke classic. New Coke's star had burnt out, and the only happiness it brought was at its demotion to second fiddle behind Coca-Cola classic. The company's heart was in the right place, but the New Coke is proof that the pursuit of happiness doesn't always result in a fairy-tale ending.

Sometimes, however, a new dish can arise without the pursuit of happiness. In fact, happiness was the last thing George Crum was after when he invented one of the world's most beloved snack foods in 1853.

After a customer at Crum's Moon Lake Lodge Resort restaurant had sent back his French fries for being too thick, the offended chef decided to get even. He sliced a new batch of potatoes paper-thin, fried them until they were brown and brittle and sent the crispy wafers out to the ornery customer. Much to Crum's chagrin, the man greedily gobbled up every last morsel on the plate.

That short-lived dish was the first ever batch of potato chips.

The angry customer and the equally angry chef had joined forces to create one of the greatest snack foods the world has ever known. Pretty soon, Crum's "Saratoga Chips" were one of the restaurant's most popular dishes, and by the early 20th century, people were bagging Crum's invention and distributing it to the masses.

There is no way to know whether a bold move in the kitchen will result in a New Coke or a potato chip. Occasionally, the most painstakingly calculated efforts result in rejection from the American public. The New Coke should have been a success, but soda drinkers all across the country gave the heavily researched cola formula a resounding "No." Other times, the forces of nature seem to pull new foods out of thin air. Such was the case when a dissatisfied customer and an irritable chef worked together — in spite of themselves — to create a snack so ubiquitous it is the first thing many people think of when they hear the word "snack."

Whether a new dish results in a bad, syrupy memory or a tasty mainstay of barbecues everywhere, it's important to respect culinary innovators. Their hearts are in the right place, and we are fortunate to be able to eat the fruits of their labors.

Jason Engelhart is a junior majoring in economics and history. Do you have a brilliant idea for a new culinary delight? Let Jason know. E-mail him at [email protected].