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A small group of wellness enthusiasts gather around a kitchen with a vision for a NEW kind of protein bar that we actually want to eat. Junk free. Delicious. We know that we can’t be the only ones in need of a product that doesn’t compromise. Others were looking for a healthy way to cheat clean, and it isn’t out there. So we decide to make it. Not just for us, but everyone who wants to eat better and enjoy every bite.
We spend several months huddled around @QuestCreator Shannon Penna to mix and test various sweeteners, ingredients, and formulas. Slowly but surely we learn what works and what doesn’t. It’s challenging work, but not without its rewards.
Finally, we get them to the point where they are delicious and healthy enough to sell.
Day One. We launch with two flavors: Vanilla Almond Crunch and Peanut Butter Supreme. In need of more space, our operation graduates to a tiny commercial kitchen we rent by the hour. We make Quest Bars with rolling pins and hand-held knives. It’s more hard work, but we’re propelled forward by a clear goal to change lives.
Quest Bars start to generate buzz among bodybuilders and fitness models—a tribe of humans that are the embodiment of taste deprivation and dietary discipline. They taste our bars, study the nutritional profile and realize, “Wow, I can actually enjoy this… guilt free.”
Word of mouth spreads. Suddenly we have fans. Other people—not just us—want to eat our bars. It’s exciting! It creates a small wave of demand and we’re over the moon about it. As sales increase we realize it’s time to take this to the next level.
Little do we know what we were up against.
We research equipment and collect quotes from contract manufactures. Nearly everyone we talk to tells us that what we want to accomplish is impossible. It’s a moment of truth —if we are truly serious about ending obesity, we need to gamble not simply pride or reputation, but our personal, fiscal well-being… and risk losing everything.
After searching the globe, we shake hands on a machine to replace our rolling pins and knives. To house the equipment we upgrade from our hourly test kitchen to a new space and a new lease. The dream is coming to life.
The machine arrives. Unassembled. Imagine the most complicated Lego set you’ve ever seen. The most industrious of our crew remains undaunted. It’s intimidating, but not paralyzing. It’s better than mixing with our hands, right? We look for an owners manual. Nope, that didn’t come with the set. We’re all in. We have to be all in. There is no “Plan B.”