Can't Buy Me Love (But Food is Fair Game)

I guess you can say that as of today, I am a successful businessman. Yesterday Principal Ramdev and I had planned to finally sell something to the girls. After a couple of weeks of making food and just giving it away, it was time to break even on the accounting books. Since I was very comfortable with the recipe and it was something which had gotten positive reviews in the past, PBC’s were chosen.

The day before, I had purchased the necessary ingredients in the market. Eventually, if this is an operation that will be continued in the future, the ingredients will just be ordered along with the rest of the hostel’s food in their weekly or monthly purchases, because they get much better deals. At those prices, the cost of making one large tray of PBC’s, about 150 pieces, was estimated at 400 rupees. Unfortunately, buying the stuff in the market drove the price up to about 500 rupees. Still, we called it 400 for argument’s sake. Then, by selling each piece for 4 rupees, we would make 600 rupees, a (hypothetical) profit of 200. Needless to say, the profit is not mine, it’s for the college.

Enlisting the help of the canteen cook (his name is Malkeet, I finally learned) was like making a black market deal. Principal Ramdev told him that if we used his kitchen to cook and sell my recipe, and if he would lend a hand in selling it, he could take the profit. It was explained to me that this was the only way he would be okay with allowing me to continue. Kind of a shady guy, you know? He also requested that we don’t tell anybody else about this “partnership.” Whatever, dude. It’s not like we’re dealing drugs, but if that makes him happy, all the power to him.

It was planned that I would come into the college a bit early to make the mixture as soon as I arrived. That way it would cool and be ready to cut by lunchtime. Principal Ramdev surprised me by suggesting that it wouldn’t be a problem to keep them out for the next three days for selling. Three days? Come on, they taste better than that. Besides, do the math. There are 600-800 girls at the college, and we’re making only 150 pieces. Plus they’re delicious. Give me a second to put that in my calculator… carry the 9… yep, they’ll be gone in a day.

But I was wrong. They were all sold in 90 minutes.

It was actually quite amusing. We had pulled a table out of the canteen so that it would be easier to see that something new and different is being sold. As students came out of class, they would all pass by the table in groups of 5-15, stop to look at the table, whisper to each other, and then continue walking on by. Half a minute later, they would be back with money in hand. It was like taking candy from a baby, except I was giving the candy, which is even easier. Plus I would never take candy from a baby anyway. That’s just cruel.

Principal Ramdev also asked me earlier about advertising. At least in this subject, we both came to a consensus. When there’s a strange kid sitting out in front of a table, selling a weird-looking treat, no advertisement is necessary. My white skin and word of mouth was the only advertisement necessary.

From here, sky’s the limit. Although one of the teachers strongly suggested that I sell something savory next time, not sweet. Maybe another shot at falafel? Whatever it is, I’ll wait about a week or so before selling something else. Cervantes said, “El hambre siempre es la mejor salsa;” hunger is always the best sauce. Let’s make sure they’re hungry for more.