by Nell Newman
WHEN I WAS 5, MY PARENTS MOVED FROM AN APARTMENT IN NY to an old farmhouse in Westport CT. I still remember our first visit to this house, my mother, my father and me, and how enamored we were of “the country.” The farmhouse had an old apple orchard on one side, and a smoothly flowing stream behind it. Beyond that, the woods hummed with life. Although we frequently spent time in LA, the farmhouse in Westport became home and a source of many fond memories.
A large part of these memories revolved around food. No matter where we were, my parents tried to make dinner a family event where we were always asked to be part of the preparations. In the summer, we always bought our produce from Ripey’s Farmstand, where it was my father who taught me the rich smell of a perfect cantaloupe and the fullness of a good ear of corn. We had apples from our trees for pies and applesauce and eggs from the two New Hampshire Reds.
Both of my parents loved to cook, and each had their specialties. The family rule was that you always had to try what was served at meals. That was how I came to love my mother’s artichokes with hollandaise sauce (made with our chickens’ eggs).
My father was a smart man, not a foodie per se, but he did like to cook his set of specialties. He was more of a technician in the kitchen than a cook, even with something simple like a hamburger. The fat content had to be 19-21%, and run through the grinder no more than 3 times, he told the butcher. Burgers were to be carefully formed and never squished while on the grill.
Setting up the barbecue was half comedy, half science. He was always trying out new techniques often employing a blow dryer or oscillating fan, “you know, to get the coals just right.” He insisted that we cut the tomatoes with a serrated knife, “nice thick slices” he would say.
To tell you the truth, I can’t remember a time that Pop didn’t make his own salad dressing. When we lived in New York, one of our favorite places to eat was a wonderful little restaurant called Madame Romaine De Lyons. Madame’s specialized in omelets with approximately 200 different kinds, handwritten in her menu. Accompaniments included a croissant or brioche, a small salad of romaine lettuce with an incredibly piquant Dijon dressing and French pastries for dessert.
Although I was very young when Madame passed away, I remember that each time we ate there my father always complimented her on her salad dressing. One day he asked her if she might be willing to share it with him. She claimed it was a secret and that she couldn’t possibly part with it. Shortly thereafter, Pop sent her a pair of autographed pictures of my mother and him — and the recipe was passed on.
Although it’s been many years since Madame’s closed, I still remember the acidic bite of her traditional Dijon dressing. Pop’s was similar but different. As I was young, and salad dressing wasn’t in my repertoire and I couldn’t say exactly how he made it his own, but I do recall the use of celery salt, which used to be called Beaumont.
Over the years, he refined his recipe, experimenting with different kinds of olive oil until he was satisfied. That salad dressing was what I ate on a daily basis, and it was what we served to guests who came to visit. Guests and friends enjoyed it so much that they clamored for a little bottle of it to take home.
One year Pop decided to give his salad dressing away for Christmas in hand-labeled wine bottles. They were a huge hit, and once again, his friends all clamored for more.
After a few years, the demand became so great that he decided to look into manufacturing his salad dressing. The first few bottling plants he called told him a minimum run was 30,000 cases, and that realistically, celebrity products always failed. Pop took that as a challenge, so he approached a local grocery store called Stew Leonards. Stew told Pop that he would take the whole run. It sold out in one year, leaving Pop with $890,000 worth of profit.
In 1982 that was a lot of money. Pop, at the peak of his career, decided to give it all away. He did so quietly, mainly to small non-profits. “If people knew how good it felt to give their money away, they wouldn’t wait until they were dead to do it,” he told me one day.
The main reason that Pop’s salad dressing did so well was because it tasted so much better than the usual run-of-the-mill bottled dressings. It also didn’t have preservatives, artificial flavors or colors, because as Pop said, “I don’t use those things at home. Why do I need them now?” That was very unusual for the mid 80s, and it was the true meaning of “all natural”.
Pop, of course, was the most surprised by his success, as evidenced by the Newman’s Own motto, “If we have a plan, we’re screwed.” It was kind of true in a way. He and his business partner A.E. Hotchner pretty much started the whole thing on a whim and flew it by the seat of their pants for quite some time.
About 21 years ago, I made my father a delicious organic Thanksgiving dinner, which gave him the confidence to help my business partner and I me start another division of Newman’s Own. Newman’s Own Organics raised the bar on the flavor of organic snacks. At the same time, we introduced millions of people to food made primarily with ingredients grown without chemicals.
That said, you don’t have to fly by the seat of your pants like Pop did. Homemade for Sale can help you jumpstart your food business, guide your dream and help you make it a reality. Instead of salad dressings, perhaps your products are cookies, jars of jam or pints of pickles.
My childhood exposure to delicious, wholesome ingredients probably got me into my parent’s kitchen and cooking, which led to my starting a business that used that skill nicely. Whatever your particular gift is in the kitchen, explore what you can do with it... You never know what could happen!
Good Luck!
Nell Newman,
Co-Founder of Newman’s Own Organics
Nell Newman.