Last drinks: Handojo Seowardojo shows a bottle of his company’s drink, an old favorite whose days of production are numbered. JP/Simon Sudarman
"Only a few older people remained fanatical about sarsaparilla because they recalled the history and the glories of the past. These old people remained as our consumers, but they became fewer and fewer and they lived in remote areas. When this group passes away we think that the consumers of sarsaparilla will also be gone."
The shape and size of the bottle and its special top that uses wires to allow the bottle to be sealed were all special features of the sarsaparilla, but also contributed to its demise. The bottles and bottle tops are no longer produced because people used to return the bottles to the company when they had finished the drink.
"Because these bottles were difficult to obtain and no longer in the market, and are even now being sought by collectors, this caused us problems. We were forced to fix this the best way we could and sealed the bottles using damaged wires. So we now make sarsaparilla according to the total number of bottles that we have. That's only around 300 to 400 bottles. So," Handojo adds with a smile, "if we get an order for more than the total number of bottles available, we're forced to reject the order."
When it comes to taste, sarsaparilla isn't too different to more mainstream bottled drinks. It also comes in cheaper: A standard bottle costs Rp 2,200 (20 US cents), and a small bottle sells for Rp 1,600.
"That's the price at our place. It's a pity because this sarsaparilla is made in such limited quantities and with the packaging in bottles that are said to be antique," Handojo says.
"The restaurants that are our customers sell sarsaparilla for between Rp 8,000 and Rp 10,000 a bottle. At the roadside stalls sarsaparilla isn't always available, because when we get tired there are no drinks left, so we don't make any more," he adds with a laugh.
As business slumped, the company bowed under pressure to move its premises to Blunyahrejo Tegalrejo, where Handojo now lives with one all-round staff member who has been with the business since 1984.
It's not hard to agree with Handojo that the glory days of sarsaparilla have passed. Since drinks such as Fanta flooded into the country in 1970, sarsaparilla companies in many regions began to collapse and disappear.
"Our branch in East Java has been long closed because it could no longer cover the production costs and because the total number of customers continued to decrease," Handojo says.
"In Yogyakarta itself there are still three companies, but the thing is, they too are waiting to die."
The business ends with him, he knows. His only child is a daughter who graduated from Atma Jaya University Yogyakarta in 1995; she didn't want to continue his business and went straight to Jakarta to look for a job.
"She graduated in economics so she had probably read that this business is impossible to defend," says Handojo. "It's not that I'm obstinate, because before my father died he felt bitter about having to keep on with sarsaparilla. He also said that we should keep it going as long as we can, but when it really becomes too difficult, then close."
The thought of closing makes Handojo sad, but he feels powerless against the current trends. For him, it's not enough to keep the sarsaparilla tradition going through good intentions, or to try to relive the drink's glory days, but he admits doesn't know what to do, or how to do it.
Sarsaparilla was also produced by major companies, but that was never enough to boost the company's name. Finally, the company has given up: Handojo will not stand in the way of any individuals, institutions or companies that want to use the company name Minerva, despite that old patent.
"I would like to thank you because there are people who want to preserve this traditional drink. The era of Minerva making sarsaparilla is limited by my age. But up to now," he shrugs, and laughs with a note of concern, "there hasn't yet been anyone who wants to conserve this traditional drink." [rc]
Copyright © 2008 The Jakarta Post
June 19, 2009
INDONESIA: Sarsaparilla's swan song, as business fades
.
JAKARTA, Indonesia / The Jakarta Post / Life / June 19, 2009
Simon Sudarman, Contributor, Yogyakarta
Java Brew
A narrow, seemingly empty laneway leads to a house in a central kampung of Yogyakarta city. The house too seems quiet, even though this is the heart of local sarsaparilla production.
No name board proclaims that this building in Blunyahrejo in Tegalrejo is the Limun Minerva Company, even though it is a well-known name among elderly people as a company that makes lemon sarsaparilla - a traditional drink popular among the area's more senior citizens.
But despite the quiet, it doesn't take long for one of those senior citizens to emerge: 75-year-old Handojo Soewardojo, who has a cough and needs crutches to get around. Handojo is one of those who preserves this traditional drink as it continues to be manufactured, maintaining the reputation of his late father Nyoeto Soeprayino, who passed away in 1992.
"It's only because of the instructions of my father that I try to hold out despite uncertainties," says Yogyakarta-born Handojo. "In the past people were so happy if they drank sarsaparilla, but unfortunately now there is no more fame."
These words come from the mouth of a man whose only education was at elementary school and who is the third generation of sarsaparilla makers since the business was established in 1920.
The name of the Limun Minerva Company and its sarsaparilla flourished in the area until their fortunes changed 1970.
"Sarsaparilla used to be the communities' special drink," Handojo recalls. "Where there was a roadside stall, there was sarsaparilla."
At first, the business stood in Kleringan Street, in the Malioboro area, where there was more than just the one company - many, such as Hanna and Hercules, also made sarsaparilla, and coexisted happily because they were overwhelmed with customers.
Minerva employed five people in the production section, and expanded into to Madiun, Jember and Surabaya.
This people's drink was made from water, cane sugar, coloring, flavor and citrus and had no preservatives. It had a reputation for being able to refresh tired bodies, cure fever, ease childbirth, to name a few.
Over time, the name of the Limun Minerva Company, whose sarsaparilla could last for up to three months, became better and better known. In 1967, the owners received an award on National Health Day from the Yogyakarta Kodya Madya government; the certificate was presented by the Yogyakarta mayor.
The faded certificate now hangs on the wall in Handojo's workroom. "This is proof that our company once thrived in the middle of the community," he says.
His hand trembling, he also shows some permits from the Health Department and receipts written in 1962, complete with the company's name stamp. There also in ink the rights to the name of the Minerva company.
But since those glory days, sarsaparilla has become a curious and old-fashioned drink.
As though lulled to sleep by its fame, the traditional beverage companies forgot to refresh their customers. They first started to feel the impact in 1970, when bottled drinks from the Coca Cola company began to enter Indonesia. The humble sarsaparilla could not compete and began to fade into history.
"Our rivals were active in offering new products that targeted young people, while we believed that we could maintain our old reputation. Apparently, it all broke down in the middle, and the people's drink started to be rejected in favor of *the new* drinks," says Handojo, the fourth of 11 siblings who was handed the business by his father to continue.
Last drinks: Handojo Seowardojo shows a bottle of his company’s drink, an old favorite whose days of production are numbered. JP/Simon Sudarman
"Only a few older people remained fanatical about sarsaparilla because they recalled the history and the glories of the past. These old people remained as our consumers, but they became fewer and fewer and they lived in remote areas. When this group passes away we think that the consumers of sarsaparilla will also be gone."
The shape and size of the bottle and its special top that uses wires to allow the bottle to be sealed were all special features of the sarsaparilla, but also contributed to its demise. The bottles and bottle tops are no longer produced because people used to return the bottles to the company when they had finished the drink.
"Because these bottles were difficult to obtain and no longer in the market, and are even now being sought by collectors, this caused us problems. We were forced to fix this the best way we could and sealed the bottles using damaged wires. So we now make sarsaparilla according to the total number of bottles that we have. That's only around 300 to 400 bottles. So," Handojo adds with a smile, "if we get an order for more than the total number of bottles available, we're forced to reject the order."
When it comes to taste, sarsaparilla isn't too different to more mainstream bottled drinks. It also comes in cheaper: A standard bottle costs Rp 2,200 (20 US cents), and a small bottle sells for Rp 1,600.
"That's the price at our place. It's a pity because this sarsaparilla is made in such limited quantities and with the packaging in bottles that are said to be antique," Handojo says.
"The restaurants that are our customers sell sarsaparilla for between Rp 8,000 and Rp 10,000 a bottle. At the roadside stalls sarsaparilla isn't always available, because when we get tired there are no drinks left, so we don't make any more," he adds with a laugh.
As business slumped, the company bowed under pressure to move its premises to Blunyahrejo Tegalrejo, where Handojo now lives with one all-round staff member who has been with the business since 1984.
It's not hard to agree with Handojo that the glory days of sarsaparilla have passed. Since drinks such as Fanta flooded into the country in 1970, sarsaparilla companies in many regions began to collapse and disappear.
"Our branch in East Java has been long closed because it could no longer cover the production costs and because the total number of customers continued to decrease," Handojo says.
"In Yogyakarta itself there are still three companies, but the thing is, they too are waiting to die."
The business ends with him, he knows. His only child is a daughter who graduated from Atma Jaya University Yogyakarta in 1995; she didn't want to continue his business and went straight to Jakarta to look for a job.
"She graduated in economics so she had probably read that this business is impossible to defend," says Handojo. "It's not that I'm obstinate, because before my father died he felt bitter about having to keep on with sarsaparilla. He also said that we should keep it going as long as we can, but when it really becomes too difficult, then close."
The thought of closing makes Handojo sad, but he feels powerless against the current trends. For him, it's not enough to keep the sarsaparilla tradition going through good intentions, or to try to relive the drink's glory days, but he admits doesn't know what to do, or how to do it.
Sarsaparilla was also produced by major companies, but that was never enough to boost the company's name. Finally, the company has given up: Handojo will not stand in the way of any individuals, institutions or companies that want to use the company name Minerva, despite that old patent.
"I would like to thank you because there are people who want to preserve this traditional drink. The era of Minerva making sarsaparilla is limited by my age. But up to now," he shrugs, and laughs with a note of concern, "there hasn't yet been anyone who wants to conserve this traditional drink." [rc]
Copyright © 2008 The Jakarta Post
Last drinks: Handojo Seowardojo shows a bottle of his company’s drink, an old favorite whose days of production are numbered. JP/Simon Sudarman
"Only a few older people remained fanatical about sarsaparilla because they recalled the history and the glories of the past. These old people remained as our consumers, but they became fewer and fewer and they lived in remote areas. When this group passes away we think that the consumers of sarsaparilla will also be gone."
The shape and size of the bottle and its special top that uses wires to allow the bottle to be sealed were all special features of the sarsaparilla, but also contributed to its demise. The bottles and bottle tops are no longer produced because people used to return the bottles to the company when they had finished the drink.
"Because these bottles were difficult to obtain and no longer in the market, and are even now being sought by collectors, this caused us problems. We were forced to fix this the best way we could and sealed the bottles using damaged wires. So we now make sarsaparilla according to the total number of bottles that we have. That's only around 300 to 400 bottles. So," Handojo adds with a smile, "if we get an order for more than the total number of bottles available, we're forced to reject the order."
When it comes to taste, sarsaparilla isn't too different to more mainstream bottled drinks. It also comes in cheaper: A standard bottle costs Rp 2,200 (20 US cents), and a small bottle sells for Rp 1,600.
"That's the price at our place. It's a pity because this sarsaparilla is made in such limited quantities and with the packaging in bottles that are said to be antique," Handojo says.
"The restaurants that are our customers sell sarsaparilla for between Rp 8,000 and Rp 10,000 a bottle. At the roadside stalls sarsaparilla isn't always available, because when we get tired there are no drinks left, so we don't make any more," he adds with a laugh.
As business slumped, the company bowed under pressure to move its premises to Blunyahrejo Tegalrejo, where Handojo now lives with one all-round staff member who has been with the business since 1984.
It's not hard to agree with Handojo that the glory days of sarsaparilla have passed. Since drinks such as Fanta flooded into the country in 1970, sarsaparilla companies in many regions began to collapse and disappear.
"Our branch in East Java has been long closed because it could no longer cover the production costs and because the total number of customers continued to decrease," Handojo says.
"In Yogyakarta itself there are still three companies, but the thing is, they too are waiting to die."
The business ends with him, he knows. His only child is a daughter who graduated from Atma Jaya University Yogyakarta in 1995; she didn't want to continue his business and went straight to Jakarta to look for a job.
"She graduated in economics so she had probably read that this business is impossible to defend," says Handojo. "It's not that I'm obstinate, because before my father died he felt bitter about having to keep on with sarsaparilla. He also said that we should keep it going as long as we can, but when it really becomes too difficult, then close."
The thought of closing makes Handojo sad, but he feels powerless against the current trends. For him, it's not enough to keep the sarsaparilla tradition going through good intentions, or to try to relive the drink's glory days, but he admits doesn't know what to do, or how to do it.
Sarsaparilla was also produced by major companies, but that was never enough to boost the company's name. Finally, the company has given up: Handojo will not stand in the way of any individuals, institutions or companies that want to use the company name Minerva, despite that old patent.
"I would like to thank you because there are people who want to preserve this traditional drink. The era of Minerva making sarsaparilla is limited by my age. But up to now," he shrugs, and laughs with a note of concern, "there hasn't yet been anyone who wants to conserve this traditional drink." [rc]
Copyright © 2008 The Jakarta Post
