dougieDOG Butterscotch Root Beer

The Pooj puts his arms out front, leans side to side.

(The Milkman at Granville Island Public Market, Vancouver - June 2012)

There’s been a lot of conflicting information floating around the internet in the past few months in regards to the World’s Most Expensive Hot Dog. As early as April of 2012, dougieDOG of Vancouver, home of the $100 Dragon Dog, had claimed ownership of the Guinness World Record (source). Relatively recently, dougieDOG made claims of the same of official Guinness recognition again (source). However, according to even more recent news on the Guinness World Records website itself, someone else in Seattle now has claim to the title. Officially, I’m confused – this, of course, happens rather frequently regarding a wider array of subjects than cased meat, and probably means nothing in the long run except that it tangentially relates to root beer.

On the 2nd-and-a-half-ish anniversary of dougieDOG's supposed first (?) induction into the Guinness Book of World Records then (which is to say, not related in any way whatsoever...), we raise a commemorative bottle of root beer – dougieDOG Butterscotch Root Beer, to be exact. dougieDOG founder dougieluv (yes, that's really his name, and yes, that's really how he spells/capitalizes it) has a clear passion (ahem, ::luv::) for frankfurters, with the credentials to prove it.  After touring the US to make a documentary about regional hot dog styles, dougie used his research to open a restaurant in Vancouver to serve these US-regional dogs alongside styles of his own creation (of which the Dragon Dog is but one). In addition to allegedly holding the World Record above, dougieDOG also claims to hold the record for serving the largest variety of root beers in Vancouver (source). My own past experience with a supposedly-record-setting hot dog may have turned me off to participating in anything hot-dog-record-related again (I won't go into detail ... ever ...), but I can certainly get on board with anyone even attempting to make such a root beer claim.  And while I didn't actually procure this bottle at dougieluv's establishment (which is closed now according to Yelp, though several satellite locations and food trucks remain), I did get it in Vancouver, so at least it's from dougie's home district (Galco's has since started stocking it in the great brown south, FYI).

Perhaps dougieDOG Butterscotch Root Beer would have been better experienced in its natural habitat, whilst in a sausage-and-poutine-induced haze, because it’s not particularly noteworthy on its own. The scent from the bottle starts generically root beer-ish (similar to most middle-of-the-road root beers), but quickly veers towards butterscotch. From then on, it’s essentially the butterscotch’s show. It tastes more like butterscotch pudding and less like a butterscotch disk – with an actual scotch-like flavor – but doesn't really taste like root beer at all. Aside from that, there's not much to add except that the texture is on the thinner side, with a clean aftertaste.

Which isn't to say that there aren't a couple of positive notes: it has a nice amount of medium-sized bubbles (no foam though), and does in fact have a good butterscotch flavor. If you’re in the mood for a Flying Cauldron Butterscotch Beer but are not in the mood for the sugar shock that comes with the typical Flying Cauldron experience, dougieDog is the way to go. Just don’t go expecting root beer, that's all. That being the case then, dougieDOG Butterscotch Root Beer gets a 2.

Wonderful World of Root Beer: Cariboo

The Pooj gets run over by a reindeer.

(Steamworks Brewing Co., Vancouver – June 2012)

Cariboo is part of Pacific Western Brewing Co, established in 1957 in Prince George, BC on a fresh water spring. Originally called Caribou Brewing, it claims title as the longest-running BC-based Canadian brewery, as well as title for first Canadian brewer to export to China (1991) and Russia (1996). Although it's now just one line of many Pacific Western products, it still does hold additional significance in that each case of Cariboo-label product sold results in a new tree planted in the Cariboo Regional District (presumably near Cariboo bottling plant). So far 150,000 trees have sprouted (and a lot of beer ingested....), part of an eventual goal to plant 1 million by 2020 (source). No comment thus far from Canada's collective liver...

This was the first uniquely Canuck brew I came across during our brief jaunt to the Great White North a couple summers ago (not the first Canadian root beer I've ever had; just the first encountered during the trip), so I'm pleased that it's a local brew. It's also the first root beer I've encountered so far that actually has ABV (albeit just a small amount – only 0.5%), harkening back to the days when root beer was still called small beer and was still fermented like beer beer. Does the retained alcohol, however, positively affect root beer?

Positive or not probably depends more on what your feelings are regarding beer beer. I, myself, am not really a fan of the taste of beer (which is not to say I'm not fascinated by the process of making beer, and the endless variations of beer that can come about just by making small changes to that process), which might make the presence of the alcohol in Cariboo more pronounced to me than to others more accustomed to the taste. Though it does taste a little yeasty, the "beer" flavor is actually more in the smell and aftertaste (which is also slightly acidic, slightly sour), and in the slight alcohol sting in the throat, than in the "root beer" flavor itself, so I wouldn't say it's that prominent. However, it may also seem more prominent to a non-beer-beer drinker like myself because the root beer flavor isn't particularly prominent by comparison – some notes of birch and molasses, but otherwise generic.

The yeast fermentation process does have one clear benefit: head. While not as foamy as a typical beer, the head builds up to a pretty decent amount of medium-sized bubbles before it dissipates in the time it takes to drink the first couple ounces (a few minutes, depending on how fast you drink). Given the opportunity, I would like to give it another shot – since my can of Cariboo is a year and a half old, there may be some loss in flavor. At the very least, there is a metallic smell that might come more from the fact that it has been sitting in its can for so long than anything else. For now, Cariboo Root Beer gets a low 3.

Wonderful World of Root Beer: Watson’s Sarsae

The Pooj deduces this to be the closest thing to root beer in Hong Kong.

(Somewhere on Rua de S. Paulo, Macau – December 2012)

As I alluded to in an earlier post, the Missus and I were over the ocean and through the jungle over the holidays to visit my grandmother’s house in Hong Kong.  During a short detour to Macau, whilst meandering down a narrow winding street, I spotted a can of root beer from perhaps 15 yards away, tucked in a small refrigerated display deep inside a street-side café.  Before any of my travel companions had even noticed, I was in and out of the café, can in hand.

I should back up – there isn’t really “root beer” per se in this part of the world.  The closest we get is a sarsaparilla-reminiscent beverage called sarsi, or sarsae.  Ordinarily, this would be grounds for catch-and-release when it comes to my root beer cataloging efforts, but given that it is the only fish I caught, I’m going to go ahead and count it.  As it turns out, this is literally the only fish even in the pond (and by the way, stay out of the ponds; having witnessed an all-out turtle brawl, I can, without a doubt, report that the local pond-dwellers are quite vicious) – upon our return to Hong Kong, I discovered that not only is Watson’s Sarsae fairly readily available at most establishments (meaning I didn’t actually need to carry it back from Macau), but that Watson’s Sarsae is the only root beer-type beverage available anywhere.  Which isn’t to say that there isn’t plenty of other soda – most of it either cola or fruity in nature (Blackcurrant Ribena and Honey Lemonade Schweppes were my clear favorites) – just no other root beer, sarsaparilla, sarsi, or sarsae, regardless of how you spell it (I don’t think I saw even a single can of Hey Song).  Now that we’ve officially reached the end of Chinese New Year festivities, it seems a good time to pop open the can I hauled back through US Customs with me.

Watson’s is actually a health and beauty store chain operating throughout Asia that, as a parent company, also operates several supermarket and convenience store chains.  Dr. Thomas Boswell Watson, a Scot, first established his medical practice in Macau in 1845 (so my acquisition of Watson’s Sarsae in Macau is appropriate), but the company known as Watson’s today was neither named after him, nor came about until he moved to Hong Kong in 1856 and became part-owner of the Canton Dispensary – known in the Cantonese vernacular as the Big Medicine Shop (source).  The Canton Dispensary was first established in 1828 with the goal of providing free medical services to the poor populations of south China, and that company would later become AS Watson & Company after Dr. Alexander Skirving Watson joined in 1858 (though the “AS Watson & Company” name was not used until 1872).  In 1903, AS Watson & Company started bottling purified water for distribution into parts the Mainland where clean drinking water was scarce – this later became known as Watson’s Water, and is now ubiquitous in Hong Kong and even available in some places in the US.  Since then, the bottling branch of AS Watson has added juices and soft drinks to the repertoire.  Eventually, Watson’s stores made their way back into Macau in 1988, and in the last decade have also established themselves back in Dr. TB Watson’s native UK (source).

Despite having a pretty neat pull tab, I opted to drink Watson’s Sarsae from a glass, knowing what we do about how aluminum can change the flavor of a beverage.  While there is a slightly metallic scent in the beverage, I can’t tell for sure whether or not any of that has affected the taste.  As you would expect, the can does preserve the carbonation well, and the bubbles, even in a glass are pretty big.  There is some head, but it dissipates somewhat quickly – not too quickly, but it doesn’t stick around for long, just lingering around the edges of the glass.

Given that it’s called Sarsae and not RarBae (er…), it’s understandable that it doesn’t taste altogether like root beer.  Even so, Watson’s Sarsae is like a thinner version of sarsaparilla – not too sweet and a little watery, with a little molasses flavor that’s also evident in the scent.  While it does have a definite plant-based flavor, which is actually more pronounced because it isn’t as sweet, there’s not much depth.  It’s also a little tart, leaving the same squeaky feeling on the teeth that some citrus drinks often can.  The ingredients list both sugar and HFCS, which is interesting considering that it’s not that sweet, and also includes an “acidity regulator,” which is also interesting considering the aforementioned tartness.  “Flavour” is also listed, but it doesn’t go into detail as to what kind(s). 

Overall, I would best describe Watson’s Sarsae as having a “clean” taste, the same way one would describe a clear vegetable broth.  And yes, I know that’s a strange analogy, but that’s what came to mind, so I’m going with it…  Which is not to say it tastes like clear vegetable broth, because, well, ick.  If it did, that would definitely earn a negative rating, but since it does retain at least the watered-down essence of what root beer / sarsaparilla should be, Watson’s Sarsae gets a low 3.

Hey Song Sarsaparilla

For some reason, Blogger un-posted this post from May of 2011, so I'm re-posting it...

The Pooj is not the issue here, Dude.

(99 Ranch Market, March 2011)

First of all, yes, I realize that the can says it’s sarsaparilla, not root beer – I bring this beverage to you because my father described it to me as “Taiwan root beer.” Second of all, there was a second type of Hey Song Sarsaparilla next to this one which is supposedly preserved plum flavor, which somewhat throws into doubt whether this is actually sarsaparilla, or that’s just the name of the company. Third of all, aside from Bundaberg, I have yet to encounter any other foreign root beers – best as I remember, the only thing available in Hong Kong that falls into the root beer category was something called Sarse, which sounds a lot like “sarsaparilla” for people whose native tongue maybe prevents them from saying “sarsaparilla,” and thus may indicate that sarsaparilla is the closest one will get to home grown root beer in Southeast Asia. Fourth of all, assuming you’re not already tired of it all, as best as I can tell (and please correct me on this if you know more than I do) the name Hey Song is basically sounds like a transliteration of the Chinese term for soda, or perhaps a play on words in that regard. I also read somewhere that it actually says “black pine,” but I can’t confirm one way or the other since I don’t read Chinese. Yes, shameful, I know.

Despite all aforementioned factors, however, is this the root beer of my people?

Ermmmm, maybe yes, maybe no. Let’s start with the maybe no. Actually, let’s back it up a little further. Since we’ve established that drinking out of an aluminum can may affect the flavor of a beverage, we begin by first decanting into something less aluminum. Which also gives opportunity to show off some nifty glasses one of my best buddies recently gave me for my birthday…

Hey, careful Pooj, there's a beverage here.

They’re made by cutting the top off of an old soda bottle – pretty neat reuse of an otherwise trashed bottle, if you ask me. And they hold a remarkable amount of beverage, given their deceptively small appearance.

Anyways, back to the maybe no: my first reaction is that Hey Song Sarsaparilla smells like gummy worms. Turns out that the flavor is pretty similar – it kind of tastes like candy, like gummy soda bottles. It has a thin syrupy flavor, slightly sour, with only a lingering, slightly root-y aftertaste. Calling the slightly root-y aftertaste barky might not be entirely accurate though.

Which brings me to the maybe yes: since this is a foreign beverage, I would venture to guess it is geared towards slightly different sensibilities when it comes to the herb blend. I’ve said in the past that there have been root beers that taste like Chinese preserved plums – while I’m not saying Hey Song Sarsaparilla tastes like preserved plums (which begs the question of what the Hey Song Sarsaparilla Preserved Plum soda tastes like), I am saying that perhaps those typical root beer ingredients that remind me of Chinese herbs may exist in higher proportions in actual Chinese root beer or sarsaparilla.

That being said, my root beer sensibilities are distinctly American. Or perhaps the preferred nomenclature is Asian American, please (hah!*). I’d probably drink it in the homeland when better root beer options are unavailable, but I’ll skip it when I can get my hands on something better. Hey Song Sarsaparilla therefore gets a 2.

* Say, friend - you got any more of that good sarsaparilla?

Cruisin' for Root Beer, Part 3: Barq's, Canadian

The Pooj wonders why everything sucks at American airports.

(Some Sandwich Stand in the US Terminal of YVR Airport, June 2012)

We had disembarked in Vancouver not 3 hours before finding our first root beers. Granted, they were all the same brands as the ones we have back in the US - A&W, Barq's, and Mug - but then again, they weren't. Not only were the package labels different, but so were the ingredients. Instead of HFCS, Canadian mass-market sodas appear to use a combination of sugar and glucose-fructose. Before we run and grab our pitchforks thinking there's some great conspiracy to market HFCS only in the US, I should point out that glucose-fructose is simply what HFCS is called in Canada, and should therefore be chemically identical to what we have in the US. Theoretically that would make for a gustatorily identical beverage to the Barq's back in the US, except for the addition of the actual sugar. Logically, the best course of action would have been to acquire a can or bottle in the Great White North, and bring it back to the Great Brown South (seriously, that was pretty much the color of sky greeting us at LAX...) for further study, but I'll say more on that later.

My first encounter with Barq's Canadian sibling was actually at a falafel joint at the Public Market, sort of a farmers' market type place on Granville Island, sort of an artsy retail type place under a bridge in Vancouver (it's actually much cooler than I just made it sound...). Since I had falafel in one hand, a salad roll (the biggest dang Vietnamese spring roll I'd ever seen) in the other, and salmon candy (...) in the other (...), I was unable to perform a true analysis, and therefore simply enjoyed the experience of drinking the root beer with my hodgepodge lunch. Again, I figured the best course of action would be to bring one home for a side-by-side comparison with the US Barq's crowding my refrigerator door, and thus also figured I’d just pick up another can later at the supermarket or something. Unfortunately, only 2 liter bottles were available at the supermarket and the neighboring drug store only stocked A&W (more in that in a later post), despite the label on the shelf saying it was supposed to have been Barq's sitting before me. Given that our primary purpose for visiting Vancouver was shockingly not simply to drink root beer, I forgot about it for a little while and went on my merry way doing all those amusing little things one generally does whilst visiting friends abroad.

Upon arrival at YVR Airport (which was actually for the purposes of departure), I saw a vending machine outside the door selling Coke products, including Barq's. Confident that I would have another opportunity to grab a bottle once through security (instead of, say, hastily shoving the bottle into my checked suitcase, which was already quite full), I strolled past. Now YVR is a really nice airport (as far as airports go), with nice little shops and nice little restaurants.  On top of that, they've got this convenient set-up where US-bound flights have their own little cordoned-off area in the International Terminal that is apparently considered American soil, wherein you can go through US Customs before even getting on your plane. The problem is, once you step through the portal into the American portion of the airport, YVR starts to suck the same way every other American airport does (and don't even try to argue that American airports don't suck, because they do – I mean, do you voluntarily go to American airports when you don’t have to, just for kicks and giggles...?). Here we were, surrounded by the same sucky newspaper and snack shops (seriously, how many Hudson News stores do you really need within a 20 yd radius?), mermaid-themed coffee bars, crappy food court booths and kitsch stands we have back at LAX, while the rest of the International Terminal mocked us from the other side of the glass with its wide variety of retail and dining establishments. Worse yet, none of the shops or vending machines on the American side had transportable root beer of any kind.

I finally located root beer at one (and only one) dinky little sandwich booth in the forgotten corner of the already banal food court. There I bought an airport-food-quality sandwich simply for the opportunity to get the diluted root beer from their fountain, which was broken and otherwise only served Diet Coke, resulting in that lovely photo you first saw a quarter mile up the page at the beginning of this post. Needless to say, I was disappointed.

You'll understand that this is not Canadian Barq's best outing, and will have to believe me when I say that my first can at Granville Island was actually a better version of Barq's than I usually get back at home. Sure, it may all be psychological – we're on vacation after all, so I'm in a better disposition than normal, everything tastes more exotic, everyday experiences seem more exciting, etcetera, etcetera – but I do think that the Canadian formula is better. Whether or not it's due to the real sugar content, I can't say for sure, since I don't know what other ingredients differ from the US version, but for now I’m willing to believe that that is the root of the improvements. I can say that whatever the difference is, the texture is smoother and the flavor is richer. The sugar seems to better bring out the sarsaparilla notes in the brew, which balance nicely with the rest of the herb-y hit one typically associates with Barq's.

The only sure conclusion I can make is that I'll need to revisit Canadian Barq's again in the future. All the more reason to revisit Vancouver, I suppose. We never got Nanaimo bars either, so we'll need to return for those anyways… …Of course, we should probably go more often just to visit our friends there, and not just for the pastries and soda, but you get my point… In the meanwhile, I'll give Canadian Barq's a tentative low 3.5.

Ben Shaws Dandelion & Burdock

The Pooj considers the lilies.

(The Continental Shop, February 2012)

Ben Shaw was a textile worker in West Yorkshire before becoming the purveyor of natural mineral water in 1871. From humble beginnings delivering their products on the legs of the family’s four horses, Ben Shaw's company grew to become the first European beverage company to can soft drinks in 1959. Though the company was purchased in 2005 by Cott Beverages, the world’s largest retailer-brand beverage company, it still retains the family name, and presumably the family recipes.

Again, I don’t know exactly what dandelion and burdock is really supposed to taste like, but I would say that Ben Shaws version has the same cherry-like flavor that Fentimans has, albeit a fuller version of it. There’s still an aroma reminiscent of cough-syrup, but I definitely wouldn’t call it unpleasant. I thought I had detected an almost licorice-like flavor when I first took a swig from the can, but once I pour it into a glass it goes away. Repeated tastings from the can do not yield any more wafts of licorice, though there is a definitely plant-y root-like flavor that perhaps I am, in my dandelion and burdock ignorance, simply interpreting as licorice.

While the ingredients list both sugar and a saccharin sweetener, the latter doesn’t seem to decrease the calorie count much, since a 330 ml (roughly 11 oz) can still weighs in at 120 calories, only slightly less than your average 140 calorie 12 oz can of HCFS-laden Coca-Cola (which, for those keeping score, used to only be 120 calories just a few years ago). I suppose if you compare it to a typical sugar sweetened root beer, which usually clocks in at 180 calories, then there is a difference. Either way, since it's the last listed ingredient, I don’t think the sweetener is added for any “health” reasons, so I’m not really sure what it's supposed to accomplish flavor-wise, except that it adds a slight artificial-sweetener point to what is an otherwise fruit-y aftertaste.

So my dandelion and burdock kick has thankfully outlasted the cold that had been impairing my root beer tasting abilities as of late, though I still wouldn’t consider Ben Shaws Dandelion & Burdock root beer in the way that you and I would typically define it. While it’s definitely got more of a root-like flavor than Fentimans and does taste a little bit more like Bundaberg Root Beer, lending at least a small bit of credence to my theory that Bundaberg aims their root beer flavor toward those of root beverages familiar to the British Isles, and while I would still say dandelion and burdock is definitely worth a root beer lover’s sampling, per our previously agreed upon root beer standards I’d still have to only give Ben Shaws Dandelion & Burdock a 2 .

Fentimans Dandelion & Burdock

The Pooj seeks divine inspiration.

(Artisan House, February 2012)

Dandelion and burdock is the British Isles' equivalent to what we know as root beer on this side of the pond. Both beverages have similar origins in that they were initially brewed from fermented roots that supposedly imparted heath benefits to the imbiber. As the name suggests, dandelion and burdock is brewed from slightly fermented dandelion and burdock roots, as opposed to sarsaparilla and sassafras roots used for root beer. The fermentation process also gives the brew a natural fizziness, probably in a similar fashion that fermenting yeast gives (root) beer its head. Legend has it that Saint Thomas Aquinas first brewed dandelion and burdock using the first two plants he found while walking outside after having spent all night praying for inspiration, the resulting brew giving him the concentration he needed to complete the philosophical writings that would eventually become his Summa Theologica.

Fentimans on the other hand, maker of today’s subject dandelion and burdock, owes its inception much less to divine intervention and much more to a loan default in 1905, when founder Thomas Fentiman acquired the rights to a recipe for ginger beer from a tradesman who owed him money. It’s probably safe to say that Fentiman himself could have done with some help from the hand of God, seeing as his original company folded in the 1960s. Thankfully the company was revived in 1988 by Fentiman's great-grandson, and from its perch in Hexham, near Newcastle Upon Tyne in Northumberland, has since become quite the successful producer of many varied botanical brews. Such brewing and distributing is supposedly handled by the Lion Brewery here in the US (who we know for their root beer and the Olde Philadelphia label), though the bottle says it's made in British Columbia, Canada.

Unperturbed by such details, we push on.

First off, Fentimans Dandelion & Burdock smells like red vines, which, assuming red vines still retain any licorice qualities, may come from its inclusion of aniseed flavor (if red vines aren't at all intentionally licorice-y, then I have no explanation for the previous statement...). Keeping that red vines image in my head, I’d say that on the whole, dandelion and burdock is somewhat cherry-ish. Not cherry-ish like Cheerwine; perhaps cherry-ish like cough syrup, without the strong medicinal flavor. More so cherry-ish like back in junior high when we drank Pepsi Clear with straws we made by biting both ends off red vines and jamming them into our soda cans, shortly after which the red vines would partially dissolve into the Pepsi, making it less Clear and more pink. That kind of cherry-ish.

I'm not really tasting the ginger from the fermented ginger root that Fentimans has a tendency to apply to so many of their beverages (not that I'm complaining, since that’s basically why/how the company was founded, and it's that ginger-y essence that makes their Curiosity Cola so curious and their Ginger Beer so ... well ... ginger-y), but there is a crisp edge to the scent which may account for it. There's definitely some kind of fruity aftertaste, which may come from pear juice, and which also may explain the candy-like flavor (since pear juice is often used in candy flavoring).

Really, I'm not exactly sure what a traditional dandelion and burdock is supposed to taste like, so maybe it's really supposed to taste somewhere between a red vine and a gummy bear. I was somewhat expecting it to taste more like Bundaberg Root Beer, so that maybe I could say that Bundaberg borrows the root flavors from a British-inspired sensibility of what root beer could and should be, which in turn would explain why Bundaberg was so not like what the American sensibility of what root beer could and should be, but in truth Fentimans Dandelion & Burdock tastes nothing like Bundaberg Root Beer. Given that I didn't think Bundaberg's root beer interpretation fits into my personal root beer interpretation, that's not a bad thing. And given that I don't really know what dandelion and burdock is supposed to taste like, I can't really comment as to whether Fentimans is a good dandelion and burdock. What I did aim to find out today was whether or not Fentimans Dandelion & Burdock tastes like American-sensibility root beer, which is a resounding no.

So while Fentimans Dandelion & Burdock is technically a root beer (and I think every lover of the common definition of root beer should absolutely give dandelion and burdock a try), it's not really what we're looking for here in our search for the perfect (American-sensibilitied) root beer, despite the many characteristics they share. Having said that, I think it's worth checking into other dandelion and burdock drinks to see how close or far away they fall from the American definition of root beer. Fentimans Dandelion & Burdock though, as far as it relates to the aforementioned definition of root beer, gets a 2.

Pop Shoppe

Eh?

(Old Town Root Beer Company, June 2011)

The Pop Shoppe was born in 1969 in the Great White North of Ontario, Canada, so this technically qualifies as foreign root beer. Although Pop Shoppe remained popular in its home country throughout the 70s, bolstering its Canadian cred with several hockey-legend endorsements, 1983 saw the company shutter until an enterprising individual restarted things in 2002. Given my lack of success with root beers sourced outside US borders, how do we fare when we’re at least on the same continent?

Well, Canadian root beer is at least as good as anything you can get from the US mass market. Pop Shoppe starts with a strong root-y smell, heavy on the birch, and has a surprisingly thick head. The flavor is pretty sweet, with a slight molasses and slighter licorice leaning. It's also pleasantly smooth despite being HFCS-based instead of sugar-based. While the flavor is nice enough, it does tend to fade rather quickly, so it’s not particularly memorable.

All in all, it’s just pretty good – that’s a high 3.

Bundaberg

The Pooj just smiled and gave me a root beer.

(Cost Plus World Market, January 2011)

Today we celebrate Australia Day – commemorating the First Fleet’s arrival at Sydney Cove way back in 1788 – with an Australian import: Bundaberg Root Beer!

Let me begin by saying that Bundaberg Ginger Beer is my favorite ginger ale to date, so I was hoping for something equally favorable in the root beer department. However, as much as I wanted to like Bundaberg Root Beer, I just couldn’t. Maybe it’s my American preconceptions (or Chinese preconceptions at any rate…) telling me that root beer needs to taste a certain way, and this is perhaps exactly what an Australian root beer should taste like, but there’s just way too much of a molasses flavor for me. There’s an actual “root beer brew” listed pretty high in the ingredients that’s made up of the typical line up of root beer herbs I’ve encountered thus far, so you would expect more of that to come though. Yet all I really taste is ginger and molasses – so this is more like a molasses ginger ale to me, complete with the lingering heat that I like in my ginger ale (without the molasses, of course). If the aftertaste was just a little heat, that wouldn’t be so bad, but there’s also a slightly sour taste that lingers along with the ginger, leaving everything tasting more than slightly medicinal.

I hate to do it, but Bundaberg only gets a 1.5.

Root beer aside, as you may already know, Australia has had some wicked flooding as of late in Victoria and in Bundaberg’s home-state of Queensland. If you feel so compelled, please donate towards relief efforts: Victoria, Queensland.