The Knowledge for Thirst

OK now. This is what I was thinking of when I drank this. What you always hope and dream coconut juice will taste like, rather than what it actually does taste like. Yet again, Man — donning the mighty toolbelt of science — has completed the work that nature/God/whatever was unwilling or unable to do.

Similar to the aforementioned disappointment, Aqua de Coco is the juice of green coconuts. But unlike said trainwreck of poor judgement and botched brewery, Mr Coco added more water (to make it less mucousy), and more sugar (to make it actually good). It’s the recipe for instant palatability, time-honored.

I don’t know where you fall on the chewy-bits-in-drinks issue, which I guess can be a fairly hot-button topic in some sectors. Wikipedia says it’s actually the reason they got heck of problems in the Middle East. Therefore be advised that Mr Coco comes supplied with fairly sizeable coconut chunks. For me it was like a little taste of the tropics, without having to deal with such things as sand in my crotch and communicable diseases that I assumed had been eradicated decades ago.

Overall it was pretty good, but I don’t see a lot of replay value. I mean how often does coconut juice come up on your wheel of moods? But maybe with a splash of pineapple in there? And a couple fingers of Hpnotiq? Some crushed ice, a little umbrella? A nice tropical sunset in the background? Some attentive and buxom local girls who are up to date on their vaccinations? Wait, what were we talking about.

I don’t think we’ve talked about Jones Soda. Have we? I don’t pay real close attention. Frankly I never really considered it a full-fledged beverage, but just some kind of hipster novelty that you find in used record stores along with Buck Rogers lunchboxes and Pee-Wee Herman dolls and whatever.

What I’m saying is they try too hard. The fine print on the bottle here talks about how they keep it real, with “no billion dollar ad campaigns” and “no hidden meanings.” They’re “the little guy” who’s “gotta make a living somehow.” Also: HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP. So much cred right now. And the label photos are submitted by consumers. Mine features what looks like a nice self-photo of three cute indie chicks out on the town, laden with eyeshadow and filled with the inner glow of insouciant youth. The kind of girls you and I look at and resent, and then hate ourselves for resenting. Right? Can you picture it?

I picked up the flavor that looked the least inside my comfort zone, and the most in yours: Blue Bubble Gum. I know how you get all hot-to-trot with the blue flavors but blue has never failed to let me down. So maybe this is like John Dean reviewing the Deep Throat autobio, but it’s a tough world we live in so w/e. Let’s take a sip of this Windex-colored concoction and see what exactly is what.
Wow. It tastes just like bubble gum, no joke. Like Bazooka, basically. Or Dubble Bubble. Your classic low-rent generic gum that loses its flavor before it’s even fully out of its wrapper. And it’s not that bad. Despite what you’d think. It’s subtle enough that you could chug it and not puke, which as you know is my personal yardstick for a tolerable beverage. I am very surprised.

I wonder if Jones’ novelty turkey- and gravy- and mashed potato–flavored beverages are as drinkable. I doubt it, but still, there’s a small part of me that wants to explore this. Will I ever drink this again? I hope not, but I can proudly shrug when someone points at it and is all “ew,” and I can proudly say: “Meh. I tried it. It’s not as bad as you’d think.” Finally I can take pride in something.

Oh stop it, don’t look at me like that. I patronize my local independent coffee shops PLENTY, I assure you. And besides Starbucks–on its own–has given me a lifetime’s worth of reasons to regret ever going there, so you can worry a little less about what I do with my time and worry a little more about whether you’re ever going to post another review YES I DID JUST GO THERE.

Anyways, presented herewith, reasons why I regret going to Starbucks (this time):

1) They have never handed me a drink that wasn’t sticky, and this was no exception. Oh my God. Dogg you know sticky for me is Very Bad. You know about my problems. I mean I always have hand sanitizer at the ready, but sticky is different from regular dirty, you know? Harder to get off. It usually have to go through my Cleanliness Ritual twice to get back to normal.

2) The straw they gave me had far too slim a diameter for a drink this icy. People, it’s 2006: frozen drinks require a thicker straw. Soon we will all be walking around with our genitals in our necks.

3) The blackberry is kind of a joke, just a little sugar syrup they put on top there. What’s with giving it top billing?

4) Also why does Starbucks automatically put whipped cream on everything. I know I should have realized, but it didn’t even occur to me to say “No whipped cream.” Who in their right mind thinks whipped cream tastes good with green tea? I know, people who go to Starbucks, shut up. It made no sense, and the flavors completely contradicted each other. And it’s already a cream-based drink. Adding whipped cream takes what is already the antithesis of a refreshing summer drink and paints “666” across its forehead.

The only good thing I can say is that the matcha flavor was fairly strong, which is a huge improvement over last year’s Green Tea Frappuccino, which for some reason was cut with melon flavoring. Melon. The most good-for-nothing fruit since pears.

Anyways I gave up on this early, sick of trying to get the drink to cooperate with the straw. Plus man was it heavy. I knew that once I got outside in the weather I’d feel as though I just ate a whole jar of mayonnaise. And when I got home, that’s exactly what I did.

Thums-Up Cola is marketed in India as a manly drink, (i.e. right up my alley) and they got off on the good foot with me before I even had one taste. Here’s what I liked about the bottle:

• Bottle cap was NOT a twist-off, so it required extreme manliness and/or bottle opener to pry off;
• The bottles themselves were all scratched up and chafed, like they fell off a cargo boat in the middle of the Atlantic and judo-chopped every fish they encountered on their long swim to my local grocer’s refrigerator.

As for the taste, well, even a hunk of man such as myself cannot resist the charms of a refreshing soda. I felt like Thums-Up is overall very similar to Coke, starting off with a very strong cola bite. But it has a finish that’s heavy on the caramel, which made me want to fell every tree in a forest, leaving it denuded and fearful of its life. And also in there were some slightly nutty and gingery notes, such as might put a manly gent in the mood for some impregnation. Wait that doesn’t sound right.

But would I even notice the differences from Coke in a blind taste test? Well of course. But would an ordinary human? Man I have no idea. Why even ask me that. Like I interact with ordinary humans.

I could see myself drinking this while I was on the run from the law, or maybe as a pause for refreshment during an all-night orgy of gross sexual perversion. Whatever it is us real men do to fill up the hours each day.

In conclusion I would just like to note that Thums-Up Cola gets minus one half star on account of high fructose corn syrup, and I will KEEP ON minusing half stars until the beverage industry gets the message! I am serious.

Finally.

Do you even want me to finish this review? As soon as you saw the words “with sac” you were running for your car, tongue a-waggle, wallet in hand. Admit it.

It’s not like you think though.

This is a Korean drink comprised basically of just orange juice with extra sugar. The “sac” refers to the orange pulp sacks with are heavily-laden herein. This is a drink that involves having a lot of little soft things floating around in your mouth, and you are trying to chase them down and chew them. It’s what we in the biz call a “novelty beverage.” Sadly the novelty wears off long before you’re done picking sac from your teeth.

Also it caused my tongue to have that electric acid buzz going for a good 30 minutes after I’d finish the drink. Frankly that’s a hassle I don’t need. I have enough trouble finding things to do with my tongue, like I need to be taken completely out of the game like that? Forget it.

So although I’m not a person who will usually turn down an offer of lots of sac, lots of pulp is a completely separate thing. Pass.

My wife introduced me to Virgil’s Root Beer pretty early on in our relationship. I was mouthing off about how the best root beer ever is Henry Weinhard’s and she was all like “it must be your dimwitted naiveté that I find so attractive” or whatnot and told me about Virgil’s, which I’d never heard of and figured it was just one of those east coast things that people get all excited about for no good reason, like Tastykake or New York City.

But she made me drink some and I was like: Goodness, this is an extremely fine root beer. My my, this is quite the heady brew. O I am lost within its creamy embrace, &c. And it quickly rocketed to the top of my root beer charts, kicking Henry Weinhard in his Oregon jingle-jangles and sending him to runner-up status. I say this jauntily but man, you know it was a tough, fretful call. We’ve been over this before but declaring a favorite root beer is a venture fraught with peril.

Thing is, though, Virgil’s is not the easiest beverage to come by, and until I saw it in the store this weekend I hadn’t realized several years had gone by since my last Encounter with it. I delighted at once again seeing the distinctive label featuring a painting of a stern, bearded, apron’d brewmeister bringing a tray full of root beer to two children sitting at a table formed from a tree trunk (its roots meandering down into the letters that spell out ROOT BEER), the boy looking eager and the girl clutching a dollie, concerned. It’s practically a Jethro Tull album cover.

So I brought it home and Alexis’ face lit up with glee and she quickly downed a bottle and shouted out vile east coast expletives to punctuate her glee. I, too, knocked back a bottle and fond memories flowed through my head even as this fanciful elixir flowed through my body. But then. Then I was like: Hm, this seems a little heavy on the licorice. It’s not quite the uber-creamy sexxtravaganza that I remember it being. Delicious and refreshing? Yes, of course. But better than Henry Weinhard’s? Jesus Christ I’m not sure anymore.

I remember Henry’s (which I also haven’t had in a depressingly long time) as being very sweet, very rich, heavy on the vanilla. And Virgil’s is a little lighter, cleaner, and with this damnable anise being the dominant flavor note. A very great root beer, to be sure, but number one? I don’t mean to cliffhang you, Kev, but I need to procure some Henry’s posthaste and do a taste-test. The most luxuriously decadent taste test of all time.

The Switch. Sounds delightfully naughty, doesn’t it? Finally, a carbonated juice for ponyboys and other assorted submissives. I jest, of course.
dot dot dot or do I?

I got black cherry because you said it’s your favorite and I wanted you to notice me for once. But really, black cherry? For me it’s one of those flavor concepts that has no bearing on its real-life counterpart, like “grape.”

Even so, I placed myself in The Switch’s strong, gnarled hands. It says “NO MYSTERY INGREDIENTS” on the label, which is the kind of no-nonsense marketing I can trust and get behind. Or get behind me, as the situation dictates. I opened my mouth and let The Switch in. AND I LIKED IT. I did not even have to use my safe word. (“Spaz.”)

Unlike tea, this drink isn’t afraid to be sweet, which is to say that it’s not completely boring as hell. But because it’s not soda, you get the sense that it’s somewhat more healthy. Or at least not as bad. There’s a section of their website that shows how it has less sugar but more actual juice than many of your garden variety sodas and juices. What’s not to like. Even if they’re lying, they’re at least telling me what I want to hear.

And even though it’s still not my favorite flavor, I found the black cherry had a delicious sting to it, not unlike the cat o’ nine tails.
This first, brief taste was but a tease and has made me curious for more. Fetch The Switch, you dirty little pig.

I feel like this drink was purposefully trying to make me crabby. Firstly the shit cost $3 a pop, which I guess is par for the course, given that the entire POM product line seems geared towards the kind of people who have very specific ideas about how much quilting they need on their toilet paper. EVEN SO, the tea is sold in an actual glass, and the language on the label invites you to keep and reuse this glass, like it’s some kind of awesome door prize or lovely parting gift, just totally sweetening the whole deal. But no offense I already own a glass so what am I paying for here exactly.

And then there’s the opening mechanism on the lid, which was very awkward, and when all was said and done I had $0.85 worth of lychee-infused tea all over my fingers and desk. And if you don’t know, I do not like for my fingers and work space to be sticky. I have Certain Rules about general cleanliness.

Yes OK but aside from all that how was it. Eh. Adequate I guess? Good lychee flavor. I don’t care for pomegranate juice, so whatever was happening here to surpress it was a good thing. But between the other flavors I didn’t get much of a sense of the green tea, except that it left the usual mossy coating on the inside of my mouth, like I had brushed my teeth with a koala. I forget the scientific term for that.

So if you are a person who feels like you are not paying enough money for your not terrible but also not particularly inspiring fruity tea then guess what have I got a product for you! Comes with a glass!

The Lebanese beverage industry is not a sector of the global economy you hear an awful lot about these days. Is it even legal for me to be drinking something imported from Beirut, is basically my main question. If not then I guess consider this my protest against the current administration and their war on freedom, or whatever it is they currently don’t want everyone to have.

Anyways: LEMON SODA FROM THE MIDDLE EAST, can you beat it? Turns out: no! Dang it is tasty. We are definitely in the Sprite/7Up ballpark here, but with the flavor zing of real lemons. Almost like a lemon orangina, if such a thing exists. A lemongina. (Your sister’s nickname in college, no offense.)

It actually hit me halfway through that this tastes very much like Smirnoff Triple Black Ice, and I had a mild freak-out. Holy moly please let me not be drinking an alcoholic beverage at 9 am, at work. The ingredients seem to check out, but who knows. I am not a man of science.

Either way, what a ride! I feel like I could drink this all summer long, or at least for as long as the current political detente between Lebanon and the U.S. remains at its current alert level, whatever that might be.

Thumbs up, Beirut! You’re doing something right.

I can’t front, they got a hot bottle. All glass, with the raised lettering? Retro fontification on the painted label? If a pretty dame saw you drinking this out on the street she you would mentally put you in the “classy” category, maybe give you some elevator eyes. The kind that go all the way up and then all the way back down, pausing briefly at the mezzanine. I am serious.

Boylan’s Sugar Cane Cola starts off OK. It’s not as completely wimpy as some small-brew colas I’ve had, but the carbonation is a bit light, and it doesn’t have that real strong cola bite, the tearing at your mouth-innards that makes cola fun. Still, it’s passable. But then however at the end of the first few sips there was a strong, chemical-y aftertaste, which I did not see the humor in. And it got me all worried, because Boylan’s SCC is as all-natural as it gets. So what if years of over-exposure to HFCS and various chemical preservatives has my brain conditioned to interpret things that are all-natural as actually gross? Now I am worried that this is going to happen to me. If it hasn’t already. Sort of a job-related hazard, I guess.

But the aftertaste went away after a few sips, and a thing that I learned about myself while drinking this is that I don’t really care if a beverage has a weird aftertaste at first, as long as it goes away, or I get used to it, or whatever. I mean it’s not exactly science, I’m just saying. By the end it was easy sailing.

Overall not mind-blowing, but not bad. I have a suspicion that the cola is of a certain mellowness that would go perfectly with a light rum, food for thought as you plan the next of your patented 6-day benders. I can’t figure out what that weird aftertaste was, so maybe it was a fluke? Something I ate beforehand? I don’t know.

Either way, Boylan’s has a wide variety of other products, so I figure they’re worth further consideration, and I will endeavor to dive deeper at some point. Not saying when. Later-ish.