I Became a Food Developer in Another World

Chapter 7: This is the real deal (4)

The launch of Pringles was a bit of a rocky start.

This is because the main ingredient in Pringles was potatoes.

Potatoes = the devil’s fruit.

That was the common image of potatoes in the Otherworld.

The lumpy shape of a potato rising up out of the ground was, to say the least, unflattering.

So the first challenge was to find a farm to supply the potatoes.

With the help of Count Trion, we were able to solve this problem, but the next problem was the next one.

The strategy of “get it in the hands of the upper class, create a buzz, and get it to market” based on the success of Cola didn’t work.

“Mmm, you mean potatoes, I’m sorry, that’s a tough one.”

“I don’t want to be investigated by the Church. Let’s just pretend this gift never happened.”

“Potatoes! You brought this as a gift! Go home now!”

One by one, the nobles rejected the gift, simply because Pringles are made from potatoes.

“…I’ve been rejected again.”

“Again?”

“Yes, I’m sorry senior brother. Haha, I was thrown out at the door.”

The green-haired young man sighed.

He was Zion, Ranya’s second disciple who was in charge of Pringles sales.

Unlike Aria who calls me senior, Zion was a disciple who paid attention to honorifics, consistently using the term ‘senior brother’

“I haven’t seen Zion fail like this in a long time.”

“Haha, I guess I’m not all-powerful.”

Zion scratched his head impatiently.

Unlike Aria, who was a bit of a temper tantrum, Zion was a stickler for people.

He had a knack for making friends with strangers quickly, which is why he was in charge of all the public affairs of the White Tower.

The success of the cola’s marketing was in part due to his sociability, so I thought it would work out well if he could help me this time.

‘I was wrong.’

I thought that even if the potato had a bad reputation, the taste of Pringles would change the nobles’ minds but when I opened the lid, I realized that the aristocrats’ stubbornness was unimaginable.

They didn’t even try to taste the Pringles.

“Well, they’re all about dignity.”

“I guess so.”

In a way, it was no surprise.

No matter how delicious Pringles were, they weren’t as important as social prestige.

If word got out that you were eating potatoes, you could be called a “devil’s child.

The potato was the fruit of the devil, dug up by the lower classes who had nothing else to eat, and eaten only when they were about to starve to death.

Noblemen, who valued honor more than money or life, would never eat such potatoes.

They were afraid that the potato would diminish their prestige.

“I’m going to go wash up now.”

“Uh, it’s been a long day, go get some rest.”

After Zion left, I continued to think about Pringles.

Aria must have seen my frustration, because she spoke up.

“Why don’t you just release it? I think it will sell well as it is.”

“No.”

I shook my head.

Aria wasn’t completely wrong, but we couldn’t launch Pringles without any marketing.

Pringles weren’t so bad that they couldn’t succeed without marketing.

The flavor of Pringles was explosive enough to win over the rest of the world but flavor is only meaningful when it’s tasted.

It doesn’t matter how delicious a flavor is, if you can’t taste it, it doesn’t mean anything.

Just as Pringles were rejected by the aristocracy because they were “potatoes”, in order for Pringles to be palatable, the stigma of the potato as the “devil’s fruit” had to be removed.

And to do so, we needed the help of the upper class.

Otherworldly cultures were hierarchical, flowing from the top down.

Here’s an example.

This food was eaten by the Count, this is the Duke’s favorite, etc.

This was a society where the breath of the nobility became the culture.

In this pre-internet world, aristocracy was just another word for celebrity.

“Hmmm.”

Speaking of celebrities, there was one person who suddenly came to mind.

Leon, the Third Prince, who had recently visited the Tower.

I later found out that the state funding for our Tower was a “donation” from the Third Prince.

He didn’t say exactly why, but it was obvious that he wanted new processed food products.

He even sent an attendant to pick up Pringles from the Tower.

The Third Prince is a star in his own world.

His influence was so strong that the things he used casually became fashionable the next day.

What would happen if the third prince ate Pringles in public?

“…….”

“Aria, when is Thanksgiving?”

“Probably in a few days, why do you ask?”

“Send the third prince Pringles as a gift to thank him for the grant.”

“All of a sudden?”

Aria was puzzled, but then her mouth dropped open when she heard my plan.

“…Senior, I hate to say this, but are you crazy?”

“Why?”

“You want him to eat Pringles on Thanksgiving, in front of the Pope?”

“What the hell, he might eat them.”

There was Thanksgiving in other worlds.

It was just on a much larger scale.

It’s a time when the people of a nation fill the great squares of its capital, and the head of the Church, the Pope, and the imperial family attend to give thanks to God.

The biggest event was Thanksgiving, which only happened once a year.

The Third Prince eating Pringles in front of the entire country?

This was real-time, live advertising.

I couldn’t think of a better marketing opportunity.

“But do you think the Third Prince will listen?”

“Write this in the letter.”

“What?”

“If he eats it, a new product will be released.”

“Will it be ……?”

Well, it will, Aria.

Don’t doubt me.

I’m paying me to create a new product.

*

The Imperial Thanksgiving draws tens of thousands of people to the capital’s squares.

It’s the only time you get to see the Imperial family, the noblest blood in the Empire, and the head of the Church, the Pope, in the same room.

“Wow, that’s the famous Duke of Gerz.”

“Hee hee, it’s the crown prince…!”

The crowd erupted in cheers whenever a celebrity appeared.

The third prince secretly rolled his eyes.

If asked to pick his least favorite day of the year, he would pick this day without hesitation.

On Thanksgiving, he had to spend half the day being a public spectacle.

The ceremony usually went something like this.

“Almighty God of heaven, give us this day our daily bread and the gift of life……”

As usual, the Pope’s speech showed no signs of ending but this was the most difficult moment of his Thanksgiving.

He had to stand up and applaud at the end of the speech to keep himself sane but the third prince’s heart was in the right place.

He was not impressed by the Pope’s speech.

[New product launch if eaten at Thanksgiving.]

Pringles and a message inside from the wizard who invented ‘processed food’.

‘New product available……!’

The third prince’s eyes sparkled.

Leon had never forgotten the ecstatic experience of tasting the stock at the White Tower.

He remembered it so well that he sent Donovan to fetch Pringles from the White Tower.

The original Pringles tasted outrageous, and now there’ll be a new one!

─Donovan, I hope you brought back the Pringles, right?

─Don’t worry, I snuck them in under the priests’ noses.

─What a bunch of old-fashioned bastards. They even forbid us to bring in food.

The Church inspects the belongings of the nobles attending the ceremony.

Any reading material is taken away and food is confiscated but theological books are allowed.

No member of the imperial family wanted to go to a religious event because of these standards.

However, the rule was that “one imperial family member must attend,” so the third prince, who was the last in line, was a regular attendee every year.

“I would like to express my gratitude to the Lord of Heaven……once again.”

‘Finally.’

“Next, we’ll hear from our honored guests.”

“…….”

─Donovan, wake me up when it’s my turn.

─Understood.

The Third Prince clasped his hands together in prayer and bowed his head.

After a few moments of this, it was finally the Third Prince’s turn to speak.

“The third prince, Leon Hitzhark, will give the congratulatory remarks.”

After the prayer, the third prince rose from his seat and faced the people.

“Third Prince Leon!”

“His Imperial Highness!”

“Look here-!”

Tens of thousands of pairs of eyes in the square turned toward the Third Prince.

The Third Prince looked at the table in front of him.

On it was a meal for the coming year’s harvest.

“It was a grain tea with a stale taste and unleavened bread filled with religious connotations.”

“…….”

Just looking at it made him lump in his throat.

The third prince pushed the grain tea and unleavened bread aside.

He placed the Coke and Pringles from Donovan on the table.

“…Your Highness?”

The priest presiding over the ceremony was puzzled.

Tens of thousands of people had gathered in the square to watch this unexpected behavior of the third prince.

“What is he drinking now?”

“It looks like cola.”

“What’s that cylinder next to him?”

“I don’t know, is it a bucket of water?”

As the crowd roared with speculation about the identity of the Pringles, the Third Prince held up the Coke and Pringles.

“Prince! No-”

“Coke and Pringles.”

Thus began what would later become Thanksgiving legend: the imperial toast.