Feast for the senses

You can’t bottle a holiday dinner anymore than you can bottle the post-feast nap in a threadbare recliner or a televised NFL game.

I cracked open the Holiday Pack this afternoon. My team of tasters were assembled. Each had a Solo* cup with their name written in Sharpie marker. Each gave their unabashed first impression, which I faithfully recorded. Meet the team:

B., my father-in-law
R., my mother-in-law
L., my hubby
A., eldest child, age 8
Me, I.

I debated whether the Holiday Pack sodas should be chilled or served room temperature. After going back and forth, I decided to be faithful to true holiday meals and not serve anything chilled. The Holiday Pack came with a spork and a moist towlette, as well as a wine list recommending four different wines to go with each soda flavor. The vintners at Columbia Crest should be pleased to know their Chardonnay, Vintage 1999, is recommended as an enhancement of the Brussels Sprout with Prosciutto Soda (it “carries flavors of apple, pear, tropical fruit, vanilla, and finishes with a sweet spice…”). They fail to note the entire bottle of wine should be consumed before even sniffing the Brussels Sprout with Prosciutto Soda.

As Soda Steward, I poured the sodas in the order one would typically enjoy a holiday meal. First up, Turkey and Gravy.

Turkey and Gravy

The color of Turkey and Gravy soda reminded me of murky turkey pan drippings. I was surprised when I opened the cap. Initially, it smelled sweet and orangey, promising. Underneath the bottlecap were these words: “You shall attain great wisdom with the passing years.” I poured and passed out the cups.

B. said “It’s not turkey and gravy. It’s like Squirt and Gravy”
R. noted it was like artificial sugar, gone bad.
L. could see himself as a child again—a child who knocked over his orange soda onto his Thanksgiving plate and thought it would be good to eat, anyway.
A. Went running for the bathroom
I thought of my dad’s old workboots, the ones he wore woodcutting. They were tan, steel-toed, and had rubber soles. It tasted like the rubber soles of my dad’s workboots.

Brussels Sprout with Prosciutto

The Jolly Green Giant’s doctor instructed him to go to the local lab and leave a specimen in a sterile cup. It was the same color as Brussels Sprout with Prosciutto Soda. Oddly, when I took off the cap and obligatorily sniffed, I thought of those awful popcorn flavored jelly beans. The best thing about opening the bottle was reading the message under the cap, “A friend will bear great news.” Cheers.

B. “I don’t like brussels sprouts. This made brussels sprouts taste good.”
R. thought it tasted like pureed plant stalks, something from the backyard, pureed, then sweetened.
L. felt it smelled like passed gas and tasted worse.
A. was MIA.
I literally took one tiny sip and involuntarily screamed “Oh, God!” in a non-third-commandment-breaking sincere way as I ran for the kitchen sink. I thought I was going to die.

Wild Herb Stuffing

A hot summer day. A child on the street corner, under a cottonwood. The little sweetie has a lemonade stand, 25 cents a cup! You decide to make his afternoon and buy a cup. As you approach, you notice him drop his chewing gum into the lemonade pitcher. He retrieves his gum by plunging his grimy little arm into the lemonade. The color of the lemonade is the color of Wild Herb Stuffing Soda. It smelled refreshing. The inside of the bottlecap confirmed what I already know: “You continue to be lucky in love.”

B. thought for a very long time about Wild Herb Stuffing. Finally, he confidently announced he just drank Old Spice Aftershave.
R. appreciated the effervescence of this soda. It made her think of sparkling water with turkey seasoning.
L. also noted the crisp sensation of Wild Herb Stuffing soda. Baking soda or quinine, bottled.
A. was MIA.
I was reminded of all the sore throats I’ve had since being married. Every time I have a sore throat, hubby insists that a hydrogen peroxide gargle cures everything. Jones Soda might want roll out a line of lozenges and gargles. I felt mildly exhilerated after drinking.

Cranberry

A pleasing ruby color. Smell of cough syrup. Bottlecap says: “Your reputation for being honest will bring rewards.”

B: Cranberry!
R: Cranberry!
L: Cranberry!
A: (no longer MIA) Awesome! and Child #2, suddenly interested and begging for a taste declared: “Sweet massy molassey!” We think he meant “sweet sassy molassey!” but we knew what he thought.
Me: Cranberry!

Pumpkin Pie de la Creme Fresca

Obstetricians give pregnant women a special drink in their 26th week of pregnancy. It helps detect gestational diabetes. This soda is the same color as the “special drink” that “really isn’t too bad if you chill it” and “there’s the bathroom.” It smelled like the Yankee Candle store at any suburban mall. The bottlecap didn’t disappoint: “The strength in your character will bring you serenity.”

B: Tangerine. And wax.
R. detected a slight hint of pumpkin pie.
L’s. initial, first words were “fire, smoke…” then he followed up with “it’s as if it wants to be a pumpkin pie.”
A. thought it tasted like pumpkin pie, on a plate, smothered in soda.
I thought it tasted like a liquified spice-scented autumnal candle from Yankee Candle at the mall. Or a mouthful of potpourri, chewed carefully, washed down with molten candle wax.

On a serious note, Jones Soda donates a percentage of the proceeds from the sale of the Holiday Pack to St. Judes Hospital for Children. We had a fun time sampling the sodas, even though there were moments when our faces were more green than the liquid in our cups. If you see it at Target, consider buying one. You don’t have to drink it.

Because I just did.

*Dixie cups were forgotten. I will make a list when I try the 2006 edition.