I've already confessed my love for Vitamin Water, the nouveau pseudo-juice from Glaceau. And the other week I tried the delicious mint-flavored Metromint. So I was feeling pretty adventurous as I perused the cold drink case at the market last night, and I decided that perhaps it was time to finally try Kombucha. Kombucha is a wonder-drink said to do all sorts of stuff, but I think most people drink it because it's said to help you lose weight. Anyway, since I was a little intimidated by the urine-like appearance of the original, ginger, and citrus flavors, I opted for the pink raspberry flavor.
BIG mistake.
It tasted like feet. Like salad dressing. I knew as soon as I unscrewed the cap. It's noxious fumes bloomed like vinegar. And still I took one sip. Two sips. Blech. I screwed the lid on and threw it in my bag, hoping that perhaps it would taste better later. The SB and I were off to an indie-rock show, and a drink always comes in handy.
Bigger mistake.
Twenty minutes later, I noticed an unpleasant odor coming from my bag. Sure enough, the Kombucha had leaked a little, and now my notebook, wallet, and all the annoying bits of paper that populate the bottom of my purse were soaked in the pink-piss. I discretely disposed of the Kombucha by putting it in a corner on the ground, intending to collect it on my way out so I could put it in the trash. But it wasn't long before a fellow show goer found it, and because he seemed to be a Kombucha fan, I offered it to him (I had only take a sip). Even he gagged on the stuff. I was then told I'd gotten the "wrong flavor." Whatever. I hardly believe that shit has a right flavor.
Oddly enough, the fact that it tasted like smelly socks has convinced me that Kombucha is probably really good for you. And as much as I feel like a big sucka for quaffing the other aforementioned overpriced elixirs, I've pretty much made peace with my fondness for the jewel-toned and fragrant silly waters. At least they taste good.
BIG mistake.
It tasted like feet. Like salad dressing. I knew as soon as I unscrewed the cap. It's noxious fumes bloomed like vinegar. And still I took one sip. Two sips. Blech. I screwed the lid on and threw it in my bag, hoping that perhaps it would taste better later. The SB and I were off to an indie-rock show, and a drink always comes in handy.
Bigger mistake.
Twenty minutes later, I noticed an unpleasant odor coming from my bag. Sure enough, the Kombucha had leaked a little, and now my notebook, wallet, and all the annoying bits of paper that populate the bottom of my purse were soaked in the pink-piss. I discretely disposed of the Kombucha by putting it in a corner on the ground, intending to collect it on my way out so I could put it in the trash. But it wasn't long before a fellow show goer found it, and because he seemed to be a Kombucha fan, I offered it to him (I had only take a sip). Even he gagged on the stuff. I was then told I'd gotten the "wrong flavor." Whatever. I hardly believe that shit has a right flavor.
Oddly enough, the fact that it tasted like smelly socks has convinced me that Kombucha is probably really good for you. And as much as I feel like a big sucka for quaffing the other aforementioned overpriced elixirs, I've pretty much made peace with my fondness for the jewel-toned and fragrant silly waters. At least they taste good.
2 comments:
i love the story of the kombucha, standing near the door, waiting to be escorted home, like a pissy date or an old fashioned wallflower.
i, too, have a glaceau dilemma. in the little neighborhood where i bank, get my hair cut, wait for the bus, grocery shop and visit friends the only place that sells glaceau, or, really, anything besides diet soda, and a snack is run by a little old lady who LISTENS TO RUSH LIMBAUGH. she's got the only decently stocked pedestrian friendly food on the block and yet . . .
I haven't seen the ads. Are they aweful?
ads ruin everything.
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