Once Chef Joe and I had a final product (well, final enough to share) and basic packaging, we faced a huge question: How were we actually going to sell Tantos? We weren’t set up for continuous orders; Joe’s busy schedule and travel made it impossible to fill random one-off requests. Instead, he suggested “inventory drops”—times when we’d announce availability, sell a set number of bags, and then fulfill them all at once. It wasn’t some elaborate strategy; it just made sense for our situation. We picked Fridays so we’d have the weekend to pack and ship orders, and we figured Joe’s social media following—around 200,000 at the time—would help us move some inventory, even if it took a few days.
Our plan was simple. Joe would tease Tantos on his Instagram throughout the week, then post a “We’re live!” story at noon on Friday, driving people to our website. I’d sit at my computer with Shopify open, ready to drop the inventory (a whopping 500 units) right at 11:59 a.m. We figured it might take a day or two to sell out, and Joe could post a follow-up or two if needed. We had no idea what to expect, but we were cautiously optimistic.
When launch time arrived, I hit “save” in Shopify to make the 500 bags available. Joe posted on his Story. Then I got up to fill my water bottle—no big deal, right? By the time I sat back down, my phone was buzzing nonstop with Shopify alerts and email notifications. I looked at the dashboard and realized we were already swamped with orders. My wife ran in because I was practically shouting, and I tried FaceTiming Joe to share the news. In a mere 13 minutes, every single bag was gone.
It’s hard to describe the mix of excitement and sheer disbelief. I was geeking out, but also wondering if there’d been some glitch. Could we really have sold 500 units that fast? Every piece of data confirmed it, though: we were sold out. We spent the next hour just texting and calling each other, saying “holy shit” over and over.
A month later, we decided to do another drop. We thought maybe the second one would mirror the first, taking at least 10 minutes or so to sell. That time, we again went with 500 bags. They sold out in 8 minutes. Another month later, the third drop (also 500 units), people were so hyped that we sold out in 7 minutes. The pattern was clear: interest was skyrocketing, and no matter how big or small the drop, Tantos vanished as soon as the link went live.
Feedback: Good and Bad
Between drops, we fielded tons of messages. We didn’t get much negative feedback on taste—likely because these were mostly Joe’s fans, who already loved his cooking. But not hearing critiques also left me wondering if they were just being polite. The loudest feedback came from people who missed out on every drop, flooding my inbox with “When’s the next drop?” or “Can you change the time? I’m at work!” It was awesome to see that level of interest, but it also created pressure. We wanted to do more, but Joe’s schedule wouldn’t allow many additional drops.
Internally, it might have sounded chaotic to the outside person, but we’d prepared well. We knew exactly how many boxes to order, had shipping labels ready, and tested the printers. The biggest challenge was sealing the bags, Joe constantly texted me about the machine: the plastic wouldn’t seal right, or the heat setting was off. Still, we pushed through. Because we had a specific “drop day,” we produced everything beforehand. This helped us avoid a production bottleneck once orders started pouring in. We were able to fulfill all orders that night.
After those three drops, I had my first real moment of thinking, “We can do this on a national scale.” Sure, 1,500 units in total isn’t huge by any industry standards, but it proved that people were willing to buy Tantos...and buy fast. For Joe and I, this felt like the true beginning. We validated that Tantos wasn’t just a fun idea in an apartment; it was something people would actually pay for, sight unseen, based solely on our story, a few social posts, and the promise of great flavor.
The moment that really stands out for me is that sense of, “We did it.” When Joe first told me he wanted to put puffed pasta chips in a bag and sell them, I said I’d help, but I honestly wasn’t sure it would ever become more than a cool side project. Then we found ourselves selling out in minutes. Part of me was already plotting next steps--raising money, scaling production, maybe getting Tantos into real grocery stores. But another part of me thought, If we ended now, at least I proved we could do it. Of course, we both knew we wouldn’t stop there. We were just getting started.
