Fast food chain transitions from boomers to hipsters
Not too much of the corporate world of my youth has survived the years. Eaton’s and Simpson’s, for example, have disappeared, although I retain an item ordered from the famous catalogues, a bass guitar in the shape of Paul Mccartney’s iconic violinshaped Hofner instrument. Oddly enough for a cheap knock-off, it’s in great shape (unlike my musical skills).
My first bicycle, bought with earnings from selling newspapers in bars after school, was from a long-gone local hardware store that sold everything from sewing machines to automobiles. A carpenter’s apron I have somehow managed to not lose through many moves is from Beaver Lumber, which finally toppled in 2000 after a series of take-overs.
Kresge, Woolworth, Metropolitan where I had a part-time job sweeping floors - all retail ghosts.
One “brand” from back in the day, though, has endured, and has actually undergone an extraordinary resurgence, particularly in Quebec. At the risk of sounding like an ad, and no offence to Ronald, Wendy, Harvey, Arby or the King, A&W, is not only staying alive, but setting new fast food trends in this burgerhappy country.
A&W - which, for those without access to the Internet, stands for Roy Allen and Frank Wright, who started selling a tasty root-beer formula in California in the 1920s - was an integral feature of boomer youth growing up in Canada in the premcdonald’s era.
Our town’s drive-in (not drivethrough) franchise, located on a stretch of highway next to the only public swimming pool in town, was the essential hangout for teens, where before and after an evening of partying you could roll-up and “pig out” on any one of the “family” of burgers or Chubby Chicken, washed down with the famous root beer (which could be bought in huge jugs), or concoctions called Jungle Juice or Swamp Water.
Fast food forward a few decades, and far from succumbing to the imperialistic power of American grease titans Mcdonald’s and the like, A&W has actually thrived thanks to some Canadian food savvy. The chain on this side of the border has been Canadian-owned since 1995 when managers bought it from the Unilever conglomerate.
It may be worth noting that one of the driving forces behind A&W’S aggressive campaign is a Quebec woman. Susan Senecal, according to her bio, had a parttime job at a cafeteria while studying biology and human genetics at Mcgill University. She liked the restaurant trade so much she made it her career. Senecal joined A&W in 1992 and worked her way up to Quebec regional boss before being named president and COO two years ago. She now lives in Vancouver where the company has its headquarters.
Under the leadership of Senecal and others, the Canadian franchises are engaged in what one report has called the “hipsterification” of A&W. Most fast food chains have embraced the demand, driven by a powerful “millennial” demographic, for healthier, more ethically sourced products. Few, though, have been as strident in promoting the quality of their food as A&W. It’s hard to miss the point when you enter a restaurant with banners declaring the righteous purity of their product, which includes beef raised without hormones or steroids, antibiotic-free chickens and eggs from vegetarian hens.
Earlier this year, A&W launched a recruitment campaign that taps into another demographic - “new Quebecers … with a drive to succeed in a highly competitive market.” The “urban franchise program,” though specifically targeted at Montreal, is a major thrust of A&W’S campaign to add 200 more restaurants to the 860 now in Canada by 2020, 70 of them in Quebec.
In case you’re interested in becoming a franchisee, “the initial investment varies between $750,000 and $1,200,000 (based on its location), 35 percent of which must be invested by the new franchisees in unencumbered cash.”
The Canadian A&W formula for succeeding in a dog-eat-dog burger market has not been lost on the chain’s American cousins. A group of managers bought the floundering company from a multinational a few years ago and has started to turn things around with an emphasis on quality food.
Nostalgia may not be what it used to be, but a frosty root beer and burger, in the right marketing hands, appear to be eternal.