When Werner Berger decided to start his own business, it did not begin with a retail concept or a storefront. It began with a factory—small, practical, and built with his own hands.
“It was in August 1984 when I resigned,” Berger says. By that point, the decision had already been made. He was ready to move from being an employee to building something that belonged to him. “And by October, I had already planned with four friends to put up a small sausage factory.”
The timeline was tight. Within months of leaving a well-paying job, Berger was committing to production. “I had just left a well-paying job,” he recalls. At 37, the pressure was real. “I thought, ‘I need to start something of my own, so that the money goes into my own pocket—not into the company I work for.’”
There was no large facility or professional contractor involved. The factory was built from the ground up—literally. “We built the factory ourselves with our own hands,” Berger says. “We constructed, we cemented, we did everything.” The space wasn’t large or sophisticated. “It wasn’t very big,” he admits. “But it was a good start.”
The decision to begin with sausages was not accidental. Berger understood the market from the inside. “Because at that time, Philippine Airlines had to import a lot of foodstuff from Hong Kong and Australia, that includes sausages,” he explains. Local supply was limited. “There was only one in Manila who made good sausages,” he says. “But it was already quite old, and we knew it probably wouldn’t be in business much longer.”
That gap gave Berger confidence. If quality sausages could be produced locally, demand would exist—at least in theory. By October 1984, production began. “In October 1984, we started to produce our first sausages.”
Despite the modest setup, output was significant. “At that time, we could produce 500 to 600 kilos a day,” Berger says. For a newly built operation, it was a strong start and a sign that the factory could scale if demand followed.
Berger initially looked to the professional network he already knew best: hotel chefs. At the time, he was also deeply connected to the industry. “I was also the president of the Chef’s Association of the Philippines at the same time,” he says. That position gave him access to decision-makers across major hotels.
“So, every month, we had meetings with the different chefs of the hotels,” Berger recalls. He used those gatherings to test the market directly. “I said, ‘Oh, if I start my own business, will you support me?’”
The response sounded encouraging. “Their response was positive; ‘Oh yeah, we need this, we need that.’” On paper, the numbers looked promising. “How much would you buy?” Berger asked. “ ‘100 kilos of this per month and 100 kilos of that,’ they said.”
But reality fell short. “When it came to reality, it was maybe 10 percent of what they had promised.” The experience was sobering. Verbal support did not always translate into purchase orders. Relationships alone were not enough to sustain production at scale.
That gap forced Berger to reassess quickly. “So, I had to look for other markets,” he says. The factory could produce, but demand had to be diversified. Relying solely on hotels was risky, even with industry connections.
To stabilize the business, Berger expanded the product mix. “So I began importing a little bit of beef—tenderloin, striploin,” he explains. At the same time, he continued selling sausages locally. “We started selling some of the sausages down here.”
This period marked an important shift. The business was no longer just about production—it was about finding the right customers, channels, and balance between wholesale and direct sales. Berger learned that supply capability alone did not guarantee sustainability.
The factory phase of Santi’s was defined by physical labor, trial-and-error, and market reality. There were no branding campaigns or polished concepts yet—just product, production, and persistence.
By 1987, those lessons would lead to the next step. “Then we decided, in 1987, to open the first Santis on Yakal street.” But that decision came only after the hard truths of manufacturing and wholesale had been learned.
Before Santi’s became a store, it was a factory built by hand—shaped by effort, miscalculations, and adjustment. Werner Berger’s early experience shows that entrepreneurship is often less about vision and more about execution. By starting with production, confronting unmet promises, and adapting quickly, he built a foundation grounded in reality. Long before customers walked into Santi’s, the business had already been tested where it mattered most: on the factory floor.
This article includes quotes from an interview originally published by Esquire Philippines, authored by Henry Ong.
