WASHINGTON — How does a novel written by an obscure writer become a national best seller? Why is word of mouth so potent? What explains the staying power of Pokemon?
Malcolm Gladwell addresses questions like these in his book "The Tipping Point," a smart exploration of the moment when an idea, a product, a social behavior catches on, takes off — "tips" — and becomes something big.
I’m thinking of chitlins online. How, I wonder, could an IRS statistician from Washington, D.C., build a national business selling buckets of pig intestines?
Shauna Anderson started with a notion. The notion, based on conversations with friends, was that there were large pockets of people in the Washington area, many from the South, many of them baby boomers, who grew up eating chitlins, who missed eating them and who didn’t know how to cook them or didn’t want to cook them or couldn’t find anybody who cooked them right.
For the uninitiated, chitlins (formally known as chitterlings) are a regional delicacy that has driven many to seek refuge from their own homes during the malodorous cooking process. But to aficionados like Anderson: "The fact is, they taste good."
Once left to slaves as unwanted pork remains, chitlins are now served on good china at the tables of black and white families in the South — often boiled with vinegar, onion and bay leaves, sometimes fried in a cast-iron skillet. Don’t even think about the amount of fat involved, or you’ll be clutching your chest.
The fat wasn’t on Anderson’s mind in 1995, when she started thinking that "something needed to be done with this chitlin industry." It was the cleaning. Cleaning swine innards is no joke. You have to soak and rinse and remove the membranes and extract the gunk and rinse some more. Your hands are left with a foul scent. Not to mention the concerns about sanitation and bacteria; in Georgia, state public health officials routinely send out advisories about the "special care" required in the cleaning and handling of raw chitlins. Some people won’t eat chitlins unless they know who cleaned them.
Anderson would stand outside D.C.-area churches and grocery stores with her fliers: Would you be interested in buying clean chitlins? "Some people thought it was a joke," she recalls. But Anderson kept "test-marketing," as she put it. She made hundreds of telephone calls from Washington to Richmond, and a pitch on behalf of clean chitlins would often evolve into nostalgic conversation about family reunions and Grandma’s cooking and lost traditions. And that’s when she knew she was onto something.
This tradition thing I understand. Though I no longer eat chitlins, my mother cleans and cooks them annually for New Year’s Day. Why? "I guess it’s just something that carries over from yesteryear," she says. "It’s in my memory bank. Maybe it’s a reminder of humble beginnings."
In late 1995, Anderson quit her government job and opened the Chitlin Market, selling hand-cleaned raw chitlins in 10-pound buckets. The operation started in Mount Rainier, Md., and grew so fast she had to move it to a larger storefront in nearby Hyattsville. In September 2000, she converted to an Internet-only business, chitlinsbyshauna.com. There are no chitlin pickups in cyberspace, but you can get frozen chitlins delivered to your door in an ice-packed styrofoam container, though not cheaply: $5.69 per pound, minimum order 10 pounds ($6.49 per pound outside the metro area).
Since Anderson began, she has sold more than 100 tons of chitlins, drawing on a customer base that tops 4,000 and includes Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr., D-Ill., and Atlanta Braves outfielder Gary Sheffield as regulars. Gross sales over the last year were $381,000, according to Anderson.
"We went from passing out fliers and placing them on cars," she says, "to people actually calling to say they’d like to place an order for chitlins to be delivered to California."
Who would’ve guessed there could be profits in chitlins on the Web? Anderson, 47, a native Washingtonian who grew up in a family of musicians, says: "You have to truly believe in what you do, no matter what it is."
Somewhere out there in Idealand are other notions ready to sprout — if only they are planted. A dress shirt that doesn’t need laundering? Ice cream that doesn’t melt? Bright minds already are at work on all-purpose cosmetics, sneakers that respond to an ankle sprain, and artificial muscles. Cathy Green of Simpsonville, S.C., has invented the Remote Control on a Leash.
You never know what new thing will start small, catch on, take off.
Kevin Merida’s e-mail address is meridak@washpost.com.
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