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MacFuddy Pepper Elixir

The person who sold me this soda warned me that it’s very spicy and not to everyone’s liking. Other customers had hated it because it was so peppery. “Like, black pepper?” I asked. “Or red pepper?”

“Like black pepper. It’s just really strong.”

I really dig black pepper, so I was pretty stoked to try this. I don’t want to say it was a let-down, because it was pretty good, but it wasn’t the shocking blast of liquid peppercorn fire I was hoping for. I don’t think it gave me 24 hours of good luck, either, as the label claims.

MacFuddy Pepper Elixer is a Dr. Pepper-type drink, but, as my co-reviewer said, it's "everything you want Dr. Pepper to be." The red-tinted beverage has a definite black-pepper taste, which rules, although as mentioned above, it’s far from being overwhelmingly spicy. The other noticeable flavor attribute is cherry. They pull it off well, though. It tastes more like the real fruit than most flavor-packet black-cherry sodas. It tastes ripe, like maybe a slightly over-the-edge fruit. Not rotten, certainly, but maybe starting to ferment. I mean this in a good way. There’s a hint of ginger and maybe something herbal, like juniper, going on subtly as well.

MacFuddy takes the familiar flavor of Dr. Pepper and intensifies it, basically. It’s stronger, spicier, and less artificial. Recommended.

#soda #dr. pepper #pepper #macfuddy #recommended

Lester's Fixins Sweet Corn Soda

I don't know what possessed me to buy this. I don't especially like corn or anything. I guess I was just taken by the novelty of it. The bottle sat on my kitchen floor for weeks, and then in my fridge for more weeks. It migrated to the back of the fridge, then, finally, when cleaning it out, I decided that I'd drink it, just to keep it from cluttering up the shelf.

The label is in John-Deere green-and-yellow, with two ears of corn prominently displayed. A photo of a serious-looking, spectacled bald man - maybe Lester, maybe Dwight Eisenhower - is tucked into a corner. "Y'all get yer fixins!" reads the bottom of the label, a statement which I find conceptually offensive. Tiny particles swish lazily through what appears to be a very viscous, piss-colored liquid.

Words can hardly describe what a terrible mistake opening Lester's Sweet Corn Soda was. This swill was born for the garbage can. I removed the cap and was almost floored by the execrable smell. It flooded my nasal cavities with sweetness and a scent that, though it registers as corn, does not smell like anything in nature. It's terrifyingly sweet and a little sour and supernaturally powerful - almost inescapable, in fact. And indeed, escape is a desire called to mind by this scent.

It took a lot to overcome the stench of this... stuff, but I took a big drink and retched instantly. There is something about this soda that feels wrong, like eating rotting food. Sluggishly carbonated and god-awfully sweet, there is no redeeming value in this bottle. It is very corny, but somehow not like corn at all - and really, upon reflection, I never wanted corn to be cold and carbonated. It morphs slowly in the mouth, from an initial blast of sweetness to a thundering salvo of corn flavor, giving way to more abstract tastes of sourness and heartbreak. Nothing can adequately explain how vile Sweet Corn Soda really is. "Make it stop," I thought, unable to speak. Even having swallowed it, the very air I breathed spread the overpowering, cloying corn flavor into my lungs. It stays in the mouth for much longer than any substance I've tasted.

Some soda sellers online describe Lester's as tasting like a bowl of corn flakes. No, it does not. It does taste like corn on the cob, but carried to an indecent extreme. The other flavor that both I and my co-taster identified in Lester's Sweet Corn Soda was the taste of Buttered Popcorn Jelly Bellies, which, interestingly, the sodajerks.net review also notes.

I usually fight my way through a whole bottle of the soda I'm reviewing, regardless of how bad it is, but there's no way I'm drinking any more of this. As I balefully glare at the bottle (at a considerable distance, because the smell really travels), the bald man's face now appears to be wearing a wry grin, as though he knew exactly what he had in store for me. The smell makes me physically recoil and the flavor causes me to gasp and scrunch my face. I never want to taste corn again. I hate Lester, and I hate Rocket Fizz for commissioning and selling this inexcusable drink. It's downright irresponsible to release this on an unsuspecting world.

Under no circumstances should you buy this. It is truly foul. Seriously, this is the absolute nadir of food science and one of the worst substances ever intentionally created.

#soda #corn #rocket fizz #fuck this #goddamn it fuck

Nichol Kola

At times, I slog through soda after soda wondering what the point of it all is. The from-a-kit root beers in nostalgic Americana packaging, the endless parade of just-fine small-batch ginger beers, the off-brand colas: it all starts to seem familiar. Then, in the darkest hour, a bottle of soda comes along that makes it all worthwhile.

As soon as I cracked open this attractively-attired bottle and took a whiff, I could tell this was going to be a better-than-average experience. Then I sipped it, the choir of angels appeared from behind a cloud, and I found my faith redeemed. “Yes,” I whispered solemnly. “Hell fucking yes.”

Nichol Kola tastes like a cola should: a little bitter, nice bite, clean sweetness, hints of clove and coriander. It’s spicy. The acidity is present and in its place, mostly present in the middle of the flavor. The sourness is sprightly, playfully lemony. This is just an elegant damn drink.

The bottle helpfully enumerates its "natural flavors," which is something more products should do. It includes kola nut, neroli, coriander, and cinnamon. I’m not totally sure what neroli tastes like (it’s a citrus, which might be the source of Nichol Kola’s aforementioned lemon taste), but the coriander and cinnamon are definitely there.

In sum, Nichol Kola is simple, assertive, and light. Excellent. I’d rank it second only to Fentiman’s Curiosity Cola in its category.

#soda #nichol #cola #very good

Japanese Melon Soda

This melon soda, in a Ramuné-style captive-marble bottle, is a worrying tone of green that wouldn't look out of place in a mad scientist's glowing syringe. Nevertheless, dear reader, for you, I'm willing to risk drinking sodas that look like they might legitimately be carbonated anti-freeze.

The brand name is in Japanese, which unfortunately, I can't read. I don't think it's just an imported Ramuné, because I've seen melon-flavor Ramuné in different packaging.

The flavor is bright and extremely sweet, but bears undeniable similarity to honeydew melon. The natural sweetness of honeydew makes it an ideal candidate for a soda, in my opinion. Green melon juice is already about as sweet as this beverage, and it pairs well with the tartness of carbonation and citric acid.

That said, there's a weird punch of bubblegum flavor at the fore of the taste profile that reminds me of original Ramuné. Every beverage I've sampled in a bottle like this has this taste as a unifying feature. If I was falling down an elevator shaft and you splashed some Ramuné on my face, I'd probably be able to identify it as such before I hit the bottom. Work with me here.

The other small complaint that I have, which becomes more clear as I drink it, is that there's very little depth to the flavor of this soda. It hits that one note of artificial honeydew and sweet bubblegum bullshit and that's it.

I neither strongly oppose nor recommend this soda.

#japanese #melon #soda #just okay #whatever #elevator #ramune

Rocket Fizz Black Licorice Soda

Rocket Fizz is a chain of candy-and-soda stores. If you’re lucky enough to have one of these painfully-quaint sucrose purveyors in your town, you have access to dozens of brands of esoteric sodas from around the world. Additionally, Rocket Fizz sells an in-house brand of sodas in a wide range of flavors. To my knowledge, this is the only licorice soda on the market. It's packaged in generic Rocket Fizz packaging, identical to the rest of their sodas except for the flavor label.

The dark brown soda has a great, well-defined flavor and crisp sweetness. I was expecting an assault of syrupy, harsh licorice flavor akin to sniffing a black marker (the ones that smell like licorice, not the regular kind that make you dizzy. You know which ones I'm talking about, hopefully). In fact, the licorice flavor was subtle and smooth, complex and inviting. It tastes not just like licorice, but also other members of that flavor family: anise, caraway, and tarragon. Acidity is present, but low. Really an excellent showing. It would be difficult to do a single-flavor licorice soda better than this.

My co-taster liked this even more than I did. "10 out of 10" was her verdict. She also noted that it could make a great mixer. I liked it a lot and would be hard-put to identify an area in need of improvement, but I'd rate it something like 8/10. That's still really high. Definitely recommended. After this auspicious start, I’m looking forward to trying Rocket Fizz’ other soda offerings.

#soda #rocket fizz #licorice #recommended #unique

Cawy Quinabeer

Cawy Bottling Company is a company formed in Cuba in 1948, then nationalized after the revolution. Some of the company's executives left Cuba for the U.S. and started using the Cawy name for a line of sodas produced in Miami. Thus, Quinabeer. The company website describes it as a "pleasant tasting cola exhibiting a unique refreshing midrange blend of orange and cherry."

Packaged like an American beer from the 1980s, this soda looks undeniably good. Unfortunately, it tastes awful. It's little lemony at first, then fills your mouth with cola-champagne bubble-gumminess. It's most similar to Irn-Bru, with its citrus-meets-bubblegum flavor. The Wikipedia page for Cawy describes Quinabeer as "very sweet" and "tasting like a combination of cream soda and cola." I don't get much of a sense of it being like cola, although I can understand the comparison with cream soda, and it is definitely very sweet. I don't know what else to say about Quinabeer. Not recommended.

#cola champagne #cuban #soda #very bad

Reading Draft Birch Beer

Old review!

I bought this soda from a Mennonite stand in the Reading Terminal Market, in Philadelphia. The flavor is nice - basically what you'd expect from a birch beer, with strong and natural-tasting mint, sarsaparilla, anise, and sasafrass flavors. Higher citric/acidic notes are notably present in the mix, but it's anything but harsh. I might even detect a little bit of grape in there as well, but just a smidgen.

The carbonation is minimal, and the bubbles are small. The aftertaste doesn't quite deliver the way you'd expect it to. It's a little watery, with a hint of minerals, as though it were made from hard water. It doesn't ruin the soda by any means - I'd still consider this a quality drink - but it's a blemish in the flavor profile.

The Reading Draft website mentions that they use a unique slow-carbonation process, wherein the CO2 is introduced at low pressure, while the drink is cooled. I don't know how common this is in soda manufacturing; perhaps this has something to do with the weakness in the later part of the flavor.

I find it worth noting that over at Anthony's Root Beer Barrel, the web's oldest and most-comprehensive root beer review site, Reading Draft Birch Beer is rated in the top 20 root beers out of more than 600 reviewed.

#birch beer #root beer #reading draft

Grown-Up Soda Extra Dry Ginger Ale

Old review!

This soda is truly unique. Imagine a ginger ale right in the middle of the spectrum - not aggressively gingery, but not a total wash-out - but then halve the sweetness. Right there you have the essence of Grown-Up Soda.

That might not sound very good, and I think that this is probably a polarizing soda. You will either appreciate it or think it akin to vitamin water. I was prepared to really hate this drink because of the vaguely condescending name (and do people really consider soda first and foremost a childrens' beverage?), but was won over by the, uh, maturity of the flavor. As advertised, it is quite dry. Generally, this is a good quality. This could use a touch more heat of ginger. Just a little extra, is all I'm saying. It comes off slightly watery, because it doesn't deliver on the expected sugar rush of most sodas.

Incidentally, for those who care about such things, Grown-Up Soda flavors have like 90 calories a bottle as opposed to however many calories are in other sodas. What am I, Jenny Craig? Look it up yourself.

Anyway, it may not be the be-all-and-end-all of subtlety, not having much in the way of citrus or spicy highlights, but the removal of much of the sugar allows a clarity in the finish of the ginger to come through in a way it typically does not, even in higher-end ginger ales. I could see this soda as being a precursor to a type of elixir which bridges the gap between flavored waters and cordials and the mainstream soda market, having, in my opinion, the best of both worlds.

#grown-up soda #ginger ales and beers #ginger

Kickapoo Joy Juice

Kickapoo Joy Juice was an alcoholic beverage that frequently featured in Lil Abner cartoons, a powerful brew that sent characters shooting, rigid, into the air, like little ICBMs. The non-alcoholic licensed knockoff, which I am drinking today, is significantly less potent.

It comes in a green glass bottle decorated with a couple of Lil Abner characters. I'm assuming they're standing around the Kickapoo Joy Juice hooch still, high-fiveing over what a good job they've done. Clearly, they're easily impressed.

You'll recall that Mountain Dew used to be marketed with a backwoods hillbilly appearance. "Mountain Dew" was slang for moonshine. "Ya-Hoo! Mountain Dew. It'll tickle yore innards" was the brand's original, awful slogan. You know what else tickles your innards? Tapeworms. Salmonella. I digress. Lil Abner was a cartoon about hillbillies; it makes sense, then, that a soft drink based on Lil Abner would be a Mountain Dew imitator.

That said, Kickapoo Joy Juice is somewhat better than Mountain Dew. It's fruitier and more citrusy. The biggest difference between Mountain Dew and Joy Juice is the latter's lack of caffeine. Because of this, Joy Juice is more refreshing and tastes, for lack of a better term, simpler than its big-name counterpart. Joy Juice also contains a small amount of real fruit juice. It might be orange juice. It has a noticeably stronger orange flavor than Mountain Dew. However, like the odious Dew, Kickapoo Joy Juice also has the delicious taste of brominated vegetable oil we all know and love. Although I don't like Kickapoo Joy Juice, I don't hate it, and that's... well, it's something.

If you like Mountain Dew, you might like this. You're also kind of weird.

#citrus #lemon-lime #kickapoo

Let me drop some knowledge in regards to yucca and/or quillaia/quillaja as soda ingredients. Although I've speculated in the past about the way these ingredients affect the flavor of various sodas (and have seen similar speculation on other soda review sites), I've done a little research and come to realize that yucca and quillaia (or quillaja; it's the same plant) are foaming stabilizers. They usually show up in dark sodas - root beers, birch beers, sarsaparillas - in order to give them a creamy head when poured. Ostensibly, they have very little impact on flavor.

Three more reviews and more to come: I also have forthcoming reviews on Kickapoo Joy Juice, Triple X Root Beer, and AJ Stephan's Sarsaparilla.

Plus, I also found a trove of reviews I wrote over the past couple years and never uploaded. I was waiting to take photos of the bottles to accompany the reviews, but I eventually just threw the bottles away. I will start uploading these, one by one, over the next few months, because there are some pretty important reviews in there.

Abita Root Beer versus Sprecher Root Beer

As long-time readers - both of you - may recall, one of the most enthusiastic plaudits this blog has bestowed went to Sprecher's excellent honey-sweetened root beer. After all, it says right there on the label that it was rated number 1 by the New York Times. I consider it the best root beer I've had. Perhaps as an excuse to try it again, I decided to put it up against Abita Brewing Company's root beer. I think this is an especially interesting side-by-side comparison, because both Sprecher and Abita are primarily beer brewers who make gourmet soda as an eccentric addition.

Abita comes in a brown glass, 12-ounce bottle with a blue label, the design mirroring that of their beers. Sprecher's glass bottle is darker, thicker, and 16 ounces. I drank these straight out of the bottle, so it was hard to compare their coloration and carbonation. Both of these have yucca and/or quillaia extracts to improve their foaming characteristics, so I'd imagine both produce a nice head when poured into a cold glass.

The flavor of Sprecher Root Beer is smooth and rich. The flavors of honey, vanilla, sassafrass, clove, and licorice are clearly discernable. There's a little bit of mint in the mix as well, but less than in most root beers. It gives the impression of being fairly thick - but not so viscous as to be really syrupy. It's a damn fine root beer; truly one of the best.

The Abita Root Beer stands on the other side of the flavor spectrum from Sprecher's dark richness. It was hard not to feel disappointed after sipping the Sprecher brew to switch to the much thinner body of Abita's offering. However, this is a fine root beer in its own right. In fact, I feel that Abita pushes the envelope of root beer flavoring by bringing neglected spicy notes like ginger, cinnamon, and clove to the fore. There's a lot more bite in the Abita than in the smooth, gentle Sprecher.

All in all, I definitely like Sprecher more than Abita, but I feel like it's almost an unfair comparison. The Abita Root Beer is definitely better than average, and I'll probably try it again on its own to get a better read on it.

Sioux City Sarsaparilla

I've been fired up about trying Sioux City Sarsaparilla ever since the Coen Brothers gave it a nod of approval in The Big Lebowski. I've reviewed the Sioux City Birch Beer already, and I found it unique, if not completely satisfying. However, I'm relieved to say that the drink measures up. This is a really nice beverage; among the best root beer-type sodas I've had.

Within the brown glass, cowboy-emblazoned bottle, Sioux City Sarsaparilla is a medium-opacity dark brown hue, with light carbonation. The smell of this stuff is sweet and full of hard-to-identify botanical earthiness.

It's made a little clearer on the tongue: there are evident notes of wintergreen, sarsaparilla, vanilla, and clove. Contrary to expectations, Sioux City Sarsaparilla is not at all bitter, but rather quite sweet, even creamy. The clove flavor is, in fact, rather strong, and has a pleasant numbing effect on the tongue. I don't think I've ever had a soda that did this. As the taste develops, anise or licorice flavors come to the fore.

Sioux City Sarsaparilla is so delicious I've already bought another bottle. It's hard to define what makes it so good. It's not extreme or particularly unusual in any way; just a well-balanced, carefully-conceived drink. I highly recommend this.

Swamp Pop Satsuma Fizz

The smell rising from the long-necked bottle is magical. It smells like opening a cool Clementine on a summer day: tart, crisp, and sweet all at once. You can feel the muscles at the back of your mouth clench and your salivary glands to start churning.

Let's take as given that most orange sodas are worthless bullshit. I don't know how there continues to be a market for the fake-tasting, slightly-metallic sugar-water that is sold under that moniker.

Swamp Pop's Satsuma Fizz is not bad. Not that bad, anyway. The scent and the color (a refreshingly non-day-glo, mostly-translucent yellowish-orange [provided by adding beta carotene {!}]) of this soda were encouraging signs that this soda might taste like real satsumas. The carbonation is peppy, which is nice: I think a little extra carbonation adds zip to the acidity of fruit sodas. I was a little let down by the flavor, though. While tartness abounded in the nose, the flavor was a little wimpy in this respect. It comes on strong with the sweet tang of tangerine, but gets lost in the middle of the flavor. The taste is a little washed out and watery. As much as I respect the earnest, natural flavor of Satsuma Fizz, I would've been happy for Swamp Pop to compensate with a little citric acid to keep the sourness strong throughout. It is extremely refreshing, however.

I feel I have to reiterate: this is an orange soda that tastes like what it is supposed to taste like, not like blood and Sunny D. I like it better than San Pellegrino's Aranciata, which is the next-best orange soda. This is, in itself, a step forward. I'm not sure what gives me this feeling, but I sense that most people would like this soda more than I did. It would, according to my friends who drink, make an excellent mixer with bourbon and bitters or gin. In sum, I would hesitantly recommend this.

Swamp Pop Noble Cane Cola

This cola is killer! I was dubious following the mediocre experience with Swamp Pop's Praline soda, but they've redeemed themselves with their cola.

I was glad I'd checked out the Swamp Pop website before trying the Noble Cane Cola. This unique soft drink is enhanced by the flavor of figs, a flavor I probably wouldn't have been able to identify on my own (if I were observant, I would have noticed the little fig on the label, maybe).

The instant the dark brown, mostly opaque Noble Cane Cola hit the glass, a fruity, almost citrus-like aroma let me know that this soda is serious and seriously weird. The citrus in the nose turns out to be a red herring. There's very little acidity in the smooth, sweet, and complex flavor. The ripe, full fig really complements the bitterness of the herbs and sets off the notes of anise and clove that come rushing in after the initial embrace of sweetness. The complex blend of herbs and spices that make up a cola soda taste convincingly natural. The juicy piquancy of fruit is a high note over the ordinary dark, digestif-type flavors of a good cola. These competing tastes make Swamp Pop's Cola a subtle sipper that blooms across the palette. Noble, indeed.

Double Cola

I've always been very curious about Double Cola. I like the name. Just think of it - twice the cola! Coca-Cola, and Coca-Cola again! Egads! Double Cola turned out to be not like that at all, but a respectable drink in its own right.

Double Cola has been around since 1933, when it was a lower-priced Coke competitor: the RC Cola of its time. The Chattanooga-based brand's glory days, such as they were, have long been on the wane, although it retains certain local pockets of brand loyalty. The Double Cola company also distributes products in certain international markets where Coca-Cola's track record of grievous human rights violations makes them an unpopular choice.

The smell of Double Cola is dark, swirling, and redolent of kola. The flavor is a bit of a disappointment. It tastes not much different from Coca-Cola. It is, at least, a good facsimile, succeeding where many other colas have failed. The color in the glass is dark brown; a little more translucent than Coca-Cola.

Compared to Coca-Cola, Double Cola has a slightly higher caffeine content and less sweetener. This is the first soda I have seen that is sweetened with invert sugar, a combination of glucose and fructose made from hydrolizing cane or beet sugar. I am not sure what effect this would have on the soda, other than perhaps giving it a longer shelf life. It is initially thinner in texture, less carbonated, and more bitter than Coca Cola. It's disappointing, however, because the scent promises a robust herbal bouquet like Chinotto or Jagermeister which the flavor does not follow up on. All the usual players are present and accounted for: kola, clove, nutmeg - but in proportions very similar to Coca-Cola.

As I drink more of the Double Cola, I find its palatability increases. It's a pleasant, easy sipping drink. Unlike Coke, it doesn't assault the tongue with harsh acidity or shoot up into the sinuses with overzealous carbonation. I would probably buy Double Cola again. The appeal is hard to define.

Fitz's Hip Hop Pop

Contrary to what the name suggests, Fitz's Hip Hop Pop has a 1950s-diner look, with its whimsical cursive lettering and red-and-white checkerboard pattern. We're really talking sock hop here, not Public Enemy. Fitz's is produced by a St. Louis-area fast-food chain. The line is anchored by a popular root beer, but a handful of other varieties are also produced. If Hip Hop Pop is any indication, these other flavors are complete afterthoughts.

In the glass, Hip Hop Pop is an unremarkable dark brown with a bit of red. There were bubbles clinging to the side of the glass, but this transpired to be merely a cheerful gatekeeper ushering me into a kingdom of lies.

Where to begin? Fitz's Hip Hop Pop is nearly flat, for one thing. It is also nauseatingly syrupy in texture. It's supposed to be a cherry cola, I guess, but a really shitty one. The scent is reminiscent of Cheerwine, but has a barely-discernable cola flavor. This swill is a Protean miasma of tastes, a hideous and poorly-defined nightmare montage of gag-me sweet artificial flavorings. Drinking it is like imbibing melted-down maraschino cherries, or a mixture of simple syrup, wood glue, and a mother's disappointment. According to the label, Hip Hop Pop contains a hefty 41mg of caffeine, but the bitterness of this element is completely buried.

According to Wikipedia, Hip Hop Pop is supposed to be a Dr. Pepper analogue, which deepens my bemusement and consternation. Dr. Pepper tastes like a crappy birch beer, not like... not like this. Dr. Pepper is kind of good, for one thing.

This is such a poorly-conceived drink that I'm willing to entertain the possibility that it was a mistake. Maybe the carbonation leached out of the bottle. Maybe they accidentally forgot to add citric acid to counterbalance the cloying sweetness. Please don't buy this soda; it will only encourage them to keep making it.

Sioux City Prickly Pear Soda

Sioux City's branding is all about capturing the flavor of the American West, so it seems natural and appropriate to make a soda based on the fruit of a cactus. Did you know that you can't handle prickly pears without gloves? I made the mistake of picking one up in Whole Foods once. It embeds invisible, fiberglass-like needles in your skin, causing your fingers to swell up like Vienna sausages and itch like the dickens. Worse, you can't use your hands to scratch themselves. My initial thought wasn't, "I should peel and eat this and maybe make it into a carbonated beverage!" It was more like, "This is clear evidence that this world is a hell, and I have just dropped into a deeper, more centrally-located level."

Anyway, this soda didn't make my mouth swell up or anything like that. Sioux City Prickly Pear soda is a rich shade of magenta, showcased nicely by the printed clear glass bottle.

On the plus side, the flavor is fruity and crisp. Sugar sweetening helps in this department. It's relatively tart and not sickeningly sweet, for a change. There are no citric notes whatsoever. To be honest, I've never had a prickly pear. A more familiar flavor in this drink is Bartlett pear. More than that, though, Prickly Pear soda tastes like blue raspberry popsicles. I'm told (I don't know if it's true or not) that blue rapsberry flavoring is usually mostly pear juice, so it really all comes back around, doesn't it?

Other people who tasted it with me compared it to Robitussin and watermelon Jolly Ranchers, although I feel these comparisons are a little too harsh. This soda would probably receive a better reception by the general public than it received in my house. It's a simple, tasty, refreshing fruit soda. I wasn't wild about it, but I didn't hate it, either. A hearty "meh."

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