Yesterday’s reference to Tahitian Treat, which just sort of popped into my head while I was writing in a odd moment of submerged memory recall, got me thinking about my life as a tonic drinker. The use of “tonic” in reference to carbonated sugar water is a willful bit of provincialism on my part, expressly intended to baffle non-New Englanders and possibly lead them to add “drinking Vitalis” to the list of eccentricities attributed to this cold, bitter corner of the country. (We also refer to rubber bands as “elastics” and use “pigpile” instead of “dogpile.”)
After I posted yesterday’s musings, I ran a search for Tahitian Treat on Wikipedia and discovered that the drink is still being sold, but on a very limited basis in the American South. The article also states that the drink isn’t much more than a red Hawaiian Punch/ginger ale cocktail, which jibes with my twenty-five year old recollections of its taste. I suppose I could do a Google search for online tonic retailers or hit up one of my friends who live below the Mason-Dixon line to mail me a six-pack, but I’m not sure if that would worth the cost and effort. I try my best to say on the sane side of the nostalgia border. “Gazing into the abyss,” and all that jazz.
I don’t drink that much tonic these days, anyhow. There was a time, not too long ago, when it was all I did drink, and I have the dental records to prove it. The year or two before I got married, I’d stay up until the wee hours of the night playing videogames or working on the computer. When I needed a break, sometime around two in the morning, I’d run down to the 7-11 and pick up a bottle of Mountain Dew Code Red and a Caramello. I must have drunk tens of gallons of the unnaturally crimson elixir during that period.
Waking up on a hot August morning, having a bad case of dry mouth, and swigging a mouthful of warm flat Code Red… After the fortieth or fiftieth such experience, one tends to lose one’s taste for the beverage. Also, the massive scolding from my supposedly scold-free dentist (“Andrew, are you actively aiming for dentures before your thirty-fifth birthday?”) and a full on revolt by my already fussy digestive tract figured into my decision to put the fizzy sugar water aside in favor of iced tea or just plain water.
I still indulge in a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper every so often, and I confess a certain weakness for Boylan’s Black Cherry soda (the extortionate prices the local Whole Foods charges for a four pack act as an effective brake on excessive consumption). I noticed that there’s a watermelon-flavored Mello Yello variant available in some markets, which I wouldn’t mind trying given the chance, though I kind of already know how it’s going to taste – like a Jolly Rancher stick dissolved in citric acid.
My wife is a conservative tonic drinker – Caffeine-Free Pepsi and Sunkist Orange only, please – who is fairly disgusted by my more…adventurous…tastes. Me? I’d give my right arm for a still-drinkable (as much as it was ever truly drinkable) case of this inspired concoction. The (now-defunct) videogame rental place in North Woburn center used to sell the stuff. How did it taste? Like sitting in front of a 12” TV and playing Ikari Warriors co-op for six straight hours…with a friend prone to John McEnroe-esque tantrums about the “cheating” AI and how you are “fucking up” his “strategy.”
So not that terrible, actually.
Lost Kids – Cola Freaks (from a 1979 EP, collected on Bloodstains Over Europe) – Nice midtempo Danish punk, with decent female vocals and cool, if ideologically suspect, guitar riffs.
Negativland – Nesbitt’s Lime Soda Song (from Escape From Noise, 1987) – Confounding expectations for almost thirty years now. Floating a melodic pop song alongside bizarre audio collages like “Christianity is Stupid”? Why not?
Dillinger Four – Smells Like OK Soda (from This Shit Is Genius, 1999) – I’m not a big fan of 1990’s punk rock, but this track, from a collection of the band’s early singles and EPs, sold me on the strength of the title alone. I really, really hated the post-Nevermind alterna-splosion. It was responsible for my Crass-like epiphany to drop the punk fashion style and concentrate on what really mattered.
I remember visiting my trendinista friend’s apartment back in the early 1990’s and his fridge was entirely filled with cans of OK Soda and packages of hot dogs. I’m hardly one to talk about such things, but I’m amazed the bastard is still among the living.
After I posted yesterday’s musings, I ran a search for Tahitian Treat on Wikipedia and discovered that the drink is still being sold, but on a very limited basis in the American South. The article also states that the drink isn’t much more than a red Hawaiian Punch/ginger ale cocktail, which jibes with my twenty-five year old recollections of its taste. I suppose I could do a Google search for online tonic retailers or hit up one of my friends who live below the Mason-Dixon line to mail me a six-pack, but I’m not sure if that would worth the cost and effort. I try my best to say on the sane side of the nostalgia border. “Gazing into the abyss,” and all that jazz.
I don’t drink that much tonic these days, anyhow. There was a time, not too long ago, when it was all I did drink, and I have the dental records to prove it. The year or two before I got married, I’d stay up until the wee hours of the night playing videogames or working on the computer. When I needed a break, sometime around two in the morning, I’d run down to the 7-11 and pick up a bottle of Mountain Dew Code Red and a Caramello. I must have drunk tens of gallons of the unnaturally crimson elixir during that period.
Waking up on a hot August morning, having a bad case of dry mouth, and swigging a mouthful of warm flat Code Red… After the fortieth or fiftieth such experience, one tends to lose one’s taste for the beverage. Also, the massive scolding from my supposedly scold-free dentist (“Andrew, are you actively aiming for dentures before your thirty-fifth birthday?”) and a full on revolt by my already fussy digestive tract figured into my decision to put the fizzy sugar water aside in favor of iced tea or just plain water.
I still indulge in a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper every so often, and I confess a certain weakness for Boylan’s Black Cherry soda (the extortionate prices the local Whole Foods charges for a four pack act as an effective brake on excessive consumption). I noticed that there’s a watermelon-flavored Mello Yello variant available in some markets, which I wouldn’t mind trying given the chance, though I kind of already know how it’s going to taste – like a Jolly Rancher stick dissolved in citric acid.
My wife is a conservative tonic drinker – Caffeine-Free Pepsi and Sunkist Orange only, please – who is fairly disgusted by my more…adventurous…tastes. Me? I’d give my right arm for a still-drinkable (as much as it was ever truly drinkable) case of this inspired concoction. The (now-defunct) videogame rental place in North Woburn center used to sell the stuff. How did it taste? Like sitting in front of a 12” TV and playing Ikari Warriors co-op for six straight hours…with a friend prone to John McEnroe-esque tantrums about the “cheating” AI and how you are “fucking up” his “strategy.”
So not that terrible, actually.
Lost Kids – Cola Freaks (from a 1979 EP, collected on Bloodstains Over Europe) – Nice midtempo Danish punk, with decent female vocals and cool, if ideologically suspect, guitar riffs.
Negativland – Nesbitt’s Lime Soda Song (from Escape From Noise, 1987) – Confounding expectations for almost thirty years now. Floating a melodic pop song alongside bizarre audio collages like “Christianity is Stupid”? Why not?
Dillinger Four – Smells Like OK Soda (from This Shit Is Genius, 1999) – I’m not a big fan of 1990’s punk rock, but this track, from a collection of the band’s early singles and EPs, sold me on the strength of the title alone. I really, really hated the post-Nevermind alterna-splosion. It was responsible for my Crass-like epiphany to drop the punk fashion style and concentrate on what really mattered.
I remember visiting my trendinista friend’s apartment back in the early 1990’s and his fridge was entirely filled with cans of OK Soda and packages of hot dogs. I’m hardly one to talk about such things, but I’m amazed the bastard is still among the living.
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