StickPack Distillery™
Seven spirits sealed in a 50 ml stick. The idea was not to make a smaller bottle: it was to move the decision about the pour from the bar to the factory.
A bottle has no memory. It does not know how much went into the glass, how much hit the bar and how much was on the house.
In a bar, everything that happens between the bottle and the glass is invisible. A heavy hand adds millilitres to every drink, what spills is paid for anyway, and the round on the house leaves the bottle without leaving the till. At the end of the month the loss is real but impossible to point at, because the unit the business counts in is the bottle and the loss lives inside it. The idea was to solve three things at once: stop losing product when pouring, be able to serve one drink without opening a whole bottle, and win back time at the bar by handing the stick to the guest to pour themselves. All three come from the same decision: the pour is settled at the factory, not at the bar.
Changing the unit
The business stops counting bottles and starts counting packs. Stock is no longer about a third of a bottle: it is two hundred and twelve packs, countable, auditable and reconcilable. Every empty pack is a sale you can prove, and every gap in the box tells you what sold without opening a spreadsheet.
One black pack, seven personalities
The universe was rebuilt around a single shape: the same black 50 ml stick across the whole backbar, with seven spirits told apart by colour, voice and character. Tequila is the loud one, mezcal the storyteller, gin the botanist, rum the castaway, whisky the thinker, bourbon the rebel and vodka the chameleon. A family is recognised by its format before its label.
Three moves, that is the manual
Tear, pour, cheers. That is the whole thing, and it is designed to be done by the guest. If the gesture can be handed over, the bar wins back the time that used to go into measuring, and the drink comes out identical on every shift and in every venue.
The ingot
Sticks do not travel in bottles: they arrive in a cardboard ingot of twenty, exactly one litre. It stacks like a brick, opens by pulling a perforated strip, and the bottom half stays on the bar as a tray. The storeroom stops being a shelf of glass and becomes a wall you can count at a glance.
What the site refuses to promise
There is a calculator so every venue can put in its own numbers and see its loss in money, and an uncomfortable promise in the sustainability section: no biodegradable, no eco-friendly, only facts with a certificate behind them. Whatever is still being tested is labelled as in validation, mono-material film included. In a category used to adjectives, saying what you do not yet know sets you apart more than saying what you wish were true.
One black pack, seven personalities: the format before the label
The ingot: twenty sticks, one litre, zero glass