Dreaming of a Kind-of-Christmas Root Beer, Part 2: Polar Classics

The Pooj feels a chill.

 (Rocket Fizz Camarillo, December 2011)

So… Two posts in one week. What was I saying a couple posts ago about cutting down my sugar intake…?

Er, anyways, continuing our series on marginally seasonally-themed root beer, today we head to the North Pole and sample the resident beverages. Or is it the South Pole that has polar bears? I suppose it doesn’t really matter, since Polar Classics Root Beer doesn’t actually come from either Pole. Rather, JG Bieberbach of Germany first started the company – which he called the JG Bieberbach Company, naturally – in 1882 after moving to New York at the request of the Shafer Brewing Company to help brew the first true pilsner on this side of the Atlantic. After being sold to a liquor distillery in 1901 and acquiring a few more businesses here and there after that, the company, then known as the Bieber Polar Ginger Ale Company, hit Prohibition. Business thereafter was limited to seltzer, ginger ale and mineral water. Post Prohibition, they decided to remain a soft drink company and so remain to this day, operated by the fourth generation of the same family that purchased it back in 1901. Today, at least in its company website’s estimation, Polar Beverages is the largest independent soft drink bottler in US.

Jolly rotund men (and even dour svelte men, I suppose) of either Pole with a sweet tooth should enjoy Polar Classic Root Beer, as its dominant flavor is very sweet and caramel-y. Men (or women) of any predisposition and body type with a root beer tooth, however, might be a little disappointed, since the mild root-y flavor is really only around the edges of the sweetness. While it lacks any distinctive herb notes, it does have a decent amount of vanilla flavor and a pleasantly menthol aftertaste to round out the sweetness, though the sweetness is definitely the defining ingredient in the palette.

On a more positive note, the texture is very smooth. There’s a more-than-satisfying amount of foam that’s soft, with a glossy sheen that suggests the addition of a foaming agent. A quick glance at the ingredients shows quillaia extract, so we are go on the foaming additive.  Said foaming agent also gives a slight acidity to the aftertaste, but not enough of one to bother me.

  

The Pooj feels an artificial chill.

Wait, how’s that again? Did someone say something about diet sodas?

Yeah, so feel free to throw out everything I wrote a couple posts ago. Except that part about the 30 bottles of root beer. Actually, throw that out, too – there’s closer to 40 now (I’ll explain later). In my defense, I actually couldn’t find the regular version of Polar Classics Root Beer for months, so had purchased the diet version beforehand, just in case. This will be the last time I make that mistake, I promise. Why such a reaction? Because when tasting the Polar Classics Diet Root Beer and the Polar Classic regular Root Beer side-by-side, the diet version really tastes like nothing at all.

First, there’s no smell coming from the bottle. None. Save for the slight smell of glue that wafts up when poured in a glass, there’s nothing to indicate that there’s anything in here at all. Granted, I’m sampling this after having just ingested the better part of a bottle of the super-sweet version, so by comparison, I would have been optimistic at best and deluded at worst (yes, I’m taking my root beer consumption a little too seriously, but hey, I have a blog devoted to it, so I think I’ve more than proven that point already…) to expect otherwise. That said, I would have at least expected the diet version of a beverage to taste something like the regular version (for the record, Diet Dr. Pepper doesn’t taste more like regular Dr. Pepper, unless when considering the statement “tastes more like regular Dr. Pepper than _____,” your “_____” is something unlike Dr. Pepper entirely, like say, gazpacho). Any “root beer” character is limited to the aftertaste, which is the same as that of the root beer chewing gum we spoke about a couple months ago.

Diet Polar does share one thing in common with regular Polar: the quillaia extract – the Diet Polar actually holds its head better than the regular Polar. However, possibly due to the lack of real sugar and the typically ensuing thin texture, the resulting carbonation is much harder and makes the overall beverage feel much less smooth than its sugared counterpart. Interestingly, the use of sucralose instead of aspartame as the artificial sweetener actually reduces the stinging feeling in the back of the throat that most other diet beverages suffer from – Diet Coke also uses sucralose (Splenda), but also has the sting, so I don’t know what’s different here.

But really, do we care? We’re here to talk real root beer, not fake root beer. As a real root beer, Polar Classics Root Beer isn’t bad, but not particularly memorable either. Penguins, polar bears, and red be-decked saints alike, we can probably do better. I give Polar Classics Root Beer a 3.

Dreaming of a Kind-of-Christmas Root Beer, Part 1: Tommyknocker

The Pooj can dig it.

(Rocket Fizz Westwood, February 2012)

‘Tis the season for marginally holiday-themed root beer…

While the North Pole should be more than sufficiently staffed with good elves this time of year, we now turn our attention so some of the ambiguously moral characters in the fey realm. Tommyknockers are the US equivalent of the Cornish bucca (also called the Welsh bwca), two-foot tall elfish creatures who live in mines, dress as miners, and are said to steal mining equipment, blow out lamps, tip lunch-pails, and cause general mischief. Called knockers because of the knocking sound that happens prior to a mine cave-in, some say the sound is caused by tommyknockers chipping away at the mine shaft, causing the collapse; others say the sound comes from tommyknockers tapping out warning that a collapse is imminent. Still other stories say the knocking is tommyknockers alerting miners to gold locations. Regardless of what they were, miners wanted the knockers on their side, so they would throw the last bites of their meals into the mines to keep the knockers happy (source).

I didn’t have to propel anything, edible or otherwise, into any sort of shaft to acquire Tommyknocker Root Beer; I just had to hand my money to the nice lady behind the counter at Rocket Fizz – life is somewhat easier these days. Tommyknocker Root Beer comes to Rocket Fizz by way of the Tommyknocker Brewery, which has has a presence in the historic mining town of Idaho Springs, CO in one form or another since the town's founding in 1859 . During the Colorado gold rush in late 1800s, it served the local miners, many of whom were Cornish immigrants, hence the name. As far as I can tell, the mines are no longer in use except as tourist attractions, though Tommyknocker Brewery continues to operate as a brewhouse and restaurant.

At first, the bottle gives off a traditionally root-y scent, but that’s quickly followed by another scent that is slightly savory, but that I can’t quite identify. It’s not clove or nutmeg, which aren’t uncommon in root beers, though not really considered savory; nor is it one of the more commonly available savory herbs like thyme or rosemary.  For an extreme lack of better terms, it smells like someone is cooking dinner. Odd, yes, but maybe not so much when you consider the next scent coming off: maple syrup. Maple syrup is indeed listed in the ingredients, and it is, if I had to name one, the dominant scent. What I may be smelling, then, is possibly caramelized maple, which when mixed with the more earthy smells one more commonly associates with root beer, I may be perceiving as savory.

Maple syrup likewise factors heavily into the flavor, and definitely carries the aftertaste. In addition, there’s a moderately strong organic flavor (organic in the plant-based sense, not in the natural foods sense) with a slight edge, probably birch, and a slightly fruit-y finish. The ingredients also list vanilla, but I’m not detecting any, mostly because the maple flavor is so dominant. Halfway through the bottle, it’s a little hard for me to disassociate any other flavor present with the maple aroma, so there may in fact be more nuance than my taste buds can wade through (which, I suppose, wouldn’t then qualify as nuance…). It’s worth noting that Tommyknocker has a much stronger maple flavor than Vintage Soda’s Canadian Cola, which is supposedly sweetened with maple syrup but still only tastes like cola to me.

Like other brewery-sourced root beers, Tommyknocker has a nice head, with a decent amount of foam that holds up well inside the bottle. The head disperses quickly when poured into a glass, but the overall texture is still pretty smooth.

Normally, I prefer root beers to taste more like root beer than its secondary ingredients, a preference that would typically drop a root beer like Tommyknocker down a few notches in my estimation. True, the root/herb flavor is not particularly strong, but I do like maple syrup, so I’ll let it slide this time. Tommyknocker Root Beer gets a 3.5.

GUS (Grown Up Soda)

The Pooj acts his age.

(Old Town House of Jerky & Root Beer, May 2012)

I’ll be the first to admit that I am not a fan of diet beverages. There’s something about that empty taste of artificial sweetener and that accompanying sting in the back of the throat that takes the enjoyment out of it. Sugar substitutes haven’t really worked for me either, so in my recent attempt to eat healthier, I’ve simply opted to consume less sugar, which means drinking less soda, root beer included (hence the relative lack of posting lately). As a result, much to the Missus’ dismay, there have been well over 30 bottles of root beer taking up space in the fridge (and on top of the fridge) (and in the pantry) for the past several months.

Jeanette Luoh and Steve Hersh faced a similar dilemma (the too-much-sugar one, not the 30-bottles-of-root-beer one) (well, maybe they have the 30-bottles-of-root-beer one, too…). Per the company website, they wanted a satisfying substitute to over-sweetened soft drinks and juices, but didn’t want to be limited to diet sodas, seltzers, or flavored waters. In 2003, they started Grown-Up Sodas (GUS), catering to palettes like theirs by keeping the ingredients real, but simply reducing the amount of sugar in their beverages.

And GUS Dry Root Beer certainly delivers as advertised in the less-sweet department (the label actually states “Not Too Sweet”), both in good and bad ways. First, the good – using less sugar actually allows the birch flavor to come through more clearly (I’m assuming that it’s birch because birch oil is the only special item listed amongst the ingredients), since there’s nothing really fighting with it for dominance. That also allows for the vanilla finish, as well as the alternately fruity and herb-y aftertaste, to take a more prominent role than an otherwise uber-sugared root beer typically would. While the blurb on the label also boasts the addition of clove (it’s not actually listed under the ingredients though), I can’t pick it out, less sugar or not. In addition to that, there’s a nice herb-y scent that keeps most of its intensity from start to finish of the bottle.

Where GUS definitely suffers for the lack of sugar is in its texture. Although the lower sugar content does make for a slightly crisper, sharper flavor, thereby giving the Dry Root Beer some of its promised dry-ness, it does make for a rather thin, watery feeling over all. It’s not particularly smooth at all, noticeably lacking the fullness and body that real sugar can provide. That has the added effect of making the already-strong carbonation feel even stronger – this is definitely not a chug-able root beer (but then, why waste a root beer by chugging it to begin with, right?) unless you consider a searing pain in the back of your throat integral to your root beer experience. Having said that, the carbonation isn’t all bad; it does create a surprisingly large head that dissipates satisfyingly slowly. Once the carbonation settles down a bit, the dry-ness becomes a little more pronounced.

So while the overall flavor of GUS Dry Root Beer is actually pretty decent, after the first few sips – which give a good hit of herb and root (or birch, as the case may be) – it starts to taste hollow and even a little boring. I don’t find myself particularly excited about finishing off the bottle, which actually doubles the lower-calorie effect when you think about it (i.e., it’s lower calorie to begin with, and I’m drinking less of it to boot). This is not to say that I won’t drink it again – it’ll just be relegated to those times when I really want that root beer taste on my tongue, but I’m too calorie conscious to slurp down 42 grams of sugar (there's only 24 grams per bottle of GUS, by comparison).

Root beer – any kind of soda, for that matter – wasn’t really a kitchen staple when I was a kid. My parents actually did a pretty good job teaching us to eat right, so sugary beverages were regarded more as an occasional treat. As far as my root beer obsession goes, I still believe drinking a root beer should feel like a treat, and to that end, GUS doesn't feel so much treat-like as it feels utilitarian (probably good to accompany a meal, or better yet used in a float, where the extra sugar from the soda is certainly not necessary, but where the ice cream can make up for the lack of smoothness). That in mind then, at least when it comes to root beer, perhaps I’m not ready to grow up just yet. GUS Dry Root Beer gets a low 3.5.

Pseudo-SCIENCE: Root Beer Substitute for the Non-Soda Inclined, Halloween Edition

(October 2012)

Ah, Halloween, the gateway holiday to the fall overeating season. While we did not expect to have any trick-or-treaters this year, hence no need to purchase copious amounts of candy, hence no copious amounts of leftover candy, I’m getting my fair share of excessive cavity fuel at the office. Of course, we all know my preferred cavity fuel is generally in liquid form, the All Hallows rigmarole does offer more opportunity to discover solid interpretations than do other times of the year.

Well, maybe not. Root beer flavored treats aren’t exactly going to overtake Snickers bars or M&Ms anytime soon as door-to-door must-haves, so I’ll take them whenever I can get them.

Except for Root Beer Dum-Dums…

The Pooj is speechless – speechless.

The wrapper says root beer, and the sucker itself is even relatively root beer colored, but that’s essentially where any comparability ends.

See.

It smells slightly cinnamon-y and slightly cherry-ish, and tastes generically sweet, like one of those spherical hard candies you get at some restaurants in lieu of mints. Any supposedly root beer flavoring simply comes off as medicinal.

No big loss though – there are still plenty of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in the office candy bowl…

Root Beer Road Trip: Rocket Fizz

 

Rocket Fizz’s flagship Camarillo Store. 

(December 2011)

In honor of the Space Shuttle Endeavor’s epic 2-day commute through the streets of my fair city, as well as Felix Baumgartner’s epic stratospheric skydive, today we drink some hopefully-epic root beer! By its very nature, root beer is a land-based affair (in case you didn’t already know that…), and the closest we’ve come thus far to even self-appointed space-age root beer has been the Fizzies tablets (and we all know how well that turned out…), so as much as I’d like to say we are sampling root beer from space, or that has at least travelled to space and back, alas, we are not. We are, however, getting the next best thing – root beer from a store with space-themed name…! Yes, I realize consuming even celestially-themed-name fizzy drinks is not near as impressive as either space shuttling or stratosphere diving, but I will say that today’s root beer comes with a rather epic road trip.

And this post has been a long time coming, so please excuse the potentially outdated photos…

Since we had a couple days off after Christmas last year, the Missus and I decided to pack our bags pre-New Year and head north for some much needed R & R. Little did the Missus know that at zero hour, 1 pm, she had also been roped into doing some not-as-much needed root beer reconnaissance, to be performed by hitting up every Rocket Fizz location on the Ventura Freeway-CA134/101 corridor…

Whatever fine line exists between hobby and obsession has officially been crossed.

 (Clockwise from the top left: Westlake Village, Burbank, Thousand Oaks, 

Woodland Hills, Sherman Oaks, and Glendale. Not pictured: Pasadena and Ventura.)

Rocket Fizz is one of my go-to soda and candy shops (second only to Galco’s). The original store opened in Camarillo, CA in 2009, and the company has since grown to 26 locations (both franchised and company-owned) in 7 states – by November there will be 28 total stores, with 11 more still planned in 2 more states. I’ve personally visited 12 shops in 2 states (amassing a full third of my collection from their stores) and the root beer selection appears to be mostly the same at all stores (an article on their site claims to have over 70 different root beers between their stores, but I doubt that claim since I have already exhausted their root beer options), probably because co-owners Rob Powells and Ryan Morgan approve every product and vendor themselves. The company also produces several lines of sodas: Lester’s Fixins and Melba’s Fixins, named for Morgan’s grandparents; Judge Wapner, named for Powells’ uncle; Martian Soda, named for Powells’ 4th grade teacher; and Snooki Wild Cherry, named for, well, Snooki… (source) Since May of 2011, Rocket Fizz has also bottled another line of sodas under their company name – 19 different varieties including the one you see before you now.

The Pooj misses the Earth so much.

As you would expect from something called “Root Beer Float” as opposed to just “root beer,” there’s a very heavy dose of vanilla in both the scent and the flavor. However, that vanilla is overwhelming in a scented-candle or hand-soap kind of way – in other words, not particularly in a real-vanilla kind of way. The same idea applies to the Root Beer part of the Float – not particularly distinctive to any root or herb, but just generically “root beer.” I think the best way to describe this is as something that’s supposed to taste like root beer rather than actually be root beer (not unlike the chewing gum from the previous post). While it is sweetened with real sugar instead of HFCS, I still get an empty taste overall. Other than being really sweet (both in taste and aftertaste), there’s not much else to it.

Unfortunately then, Rocket Fizz Root Beer Float is far from stellar. This is not to say that Rocket Fizz is not a good store. Stores like Rocket Fizz sell an experience – that fun, carefree, and nostalgic experience of drinking soda and eating candy – and Rocket Fizz does a fabulous job providing that experience. I simply can’t expect them to apply the same attention to detail to producing good root beer, which is still better left to those who are exclusively in the business of making soda (and beer). Again, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, because for Rocket Fizz to fully provide that experience necessitates selling the products of those who make good root beer, and as long as they continue to focus their efforts on selling soda and candy, I will continue to be a customer (particularly since they are they are the exclusive merchant of Fireman’s Brew Root Beer).

… I just think it's going to be a long, long time 'til I'll be buying their own label of root beer again. Rocket Fizz Root Beer Float gets a 2.

Pseudo-SCIENCE: Root Beer Substitute for the Non-Soda Inclined?

A real post is coming soon – I promise. This has been a very busy month, with little time for root beer-related prose, and even less time for recreationally-imbibed fizzy beverages. In the meanwhile, I’m at least still maintaining my self-appointed position as guinea pig of all things root beer related, and in following, felt compelled to plunk down my $1.50 when I came across this at the store today. 

The Pooj is simultaneously fascinated and appalled.

Extra Dessert Delights has several different kinds of dessert-themed sugar-free chewing gums. Now I’m typically averse to stated sugar-free items, since, well, what’s the point? Having said that, I have tried several different kinds of Extra Dessert Delights in the past (hey, I needed cash, it was the cheapest thing in the store, and at the moment of purchase, I smelled like pastrami every time I spoke) with varying degrees of success. I knew there was a root beer version out there, but had not seen it until recently, and in theory, what’s to not like about having breath that smells like root beer? Granted, my preferred method of attaining breath-that-smells-like-root-beer is by drinking root beer, but these will at least fit in my pocket a lot easier.

Surprisingly, it does smell like root beer – very heavily weighted in the vanilla direction of things, and otherwise a little empty smelling, but like root beer nonetheless. That is, however, where the similarity ends. If I don’t already know it’s supposed to be root beer flavored, I don’t think I would guess it is root beer flavored. Were I to focus very hard on the flavor (and mind you, I am focusing much harder on the flavor of this gum than any gum-flavor should typically warrant focus), and can pick out some spicy notes, but again, it’s mostly generically sugary without any particularly distinctive root-y flavors.

This is not to say that Extra Dessert Delights Root Beer Float chewing gum is not successful on any level. While the suspect root beer flavor does wear off rather quickly (seemingly contrary to Extra Chewing Gum’s intended goal), it does leave a root beer-ish aftertaste not unlike the menthol feeling leftover from drinking a real root beer. Now this could be from actual menthol, to which gum is no stranger, but there is also a distinct additional “otherness” to the aftertaste that can very much fall into the herb-y category – certainly moreso than some of the lesser root beers I’ve written about in the past. And when you think about it, chewing gum is probably more in the business of aftertastes than …er… foretastes … so in that regard, Extra Dessert Delights Root Beer Float does actually fulfill its intended purpose.

Of course it will never replace the satisfaction (not to mention the flavor) of actually drinking a root beer, but I can certainly do worse when it comes to chewing gum. … Like, for instance, the Orange Creamsicle variety of Dessert Delights, which tastes like how citrus-scented dish soap smells. And that’s probably much better than the Apple Pie version – I’m not touching that one…

SCIENCE! Root Beer vs. Sarsaparilla

 

Separated at birth?

(Cost Plus World Market, February 2011) 

In the interests of SCIENCE! and refining my root beer tasting palette, I’m embarking on a series of side-by-side comparisons between root beer and the beverages that the root-uninitiated (i.e., people who have better use for brain cells than comparing marginally different carbonated beverages) commonly view as interchangeable with root beer: sarsaparilla and birch beer. Since root beer is typically made with some kind of birch-type oil and some kind of sarsaparilla-type root, my goal is to train my taste buds to isolate those flavors in the various root beers I sample so as to have a more accurate perception of their true proportion in the herb and spice mix. Eventually, when I build up the nerve, spare time, and kitchen space, these observations will serve as the basis for developing my own brew – until that day comes, all I can do is dream.

Well, that and drink already-made-and-bottled root beer…

Sarsaparilla is the common name for smilax regelii, a trailing vine native to Central America. The term sarsaparilla comes from the Spanish zarza, roughly translated as “bramble,” likely for the plant’s thorny stem, and parrilla, meaning small (-illa) vine (parra). Native Americans first used the shrub for supposed medicinal benefits, as did later Europeans who used it to treat all sorts of maladies including syphilis, eczema, psoriasis, arthritis, and leprosy, amongst others. Whether it actually did anything to remedy such ailments is unproven, and all we do know is that it is a potentially good source of antioxidants (which is interesting when you consider that back in the 80s, everyone – maybe not actually everyone, but at least my mother, who made it sound like it was or should have been everyone – considered root beer a carcinogen because it contained caramel color). Here in the US, the term sarsaparilla is synonymous with the soft drink made from its roots, though the latter is also called looga in other cultures (source).

One person’s looga, however, really can be another person’s root beer since there are enough similarities between the two and more than enough variations of both to make any true comparison difficult. To account for such variables, I will only compare root beers and sarsaparillas produced by the same company in each individual test. We will thus either discover that the two brews are in fact different, or that it’s all a sham wherein the companies involved simply slap different labels on the same product in an evil ploy to trick us into buying more stuff (you know, like iPhones). For the purposes of today’s test then (which I presume you already know from the photo preceding this post), we are using Old Town Root Beer Company’s Root Beer and Sarsaparilla.

From the freshly-opened bottles, the root beer smells sharper and spicier than the sarsaparilla, perhaps indicating, if nothing else, that there’s more stuff going into the former than the latter. This would make sense so far if we start with the assumption that root beer at least contains sarsaparilla root. Visually, both have the same approximate coloring and apparent density, though the carbonation does appear a little stronger in the root beer. Old Town’s sarsaparilla has a slightly smokier, molasses-ier flavor than their root beer, possibly indicating that sarsaparilla root is the flavor I actually taste when I think a particular root beer has molasses in it (or that Old Town adds molasses to their sarsaparilla formulation). In either case, it does have a more definite plant-based flavor than the root beer, which is generally sweeter. As far as Old Town’s root beer goes, the honey is more evident when compared to the sarsaparilla. Both beverages are different enough that at least I perceive a contrast between the two, even if it is only psychological. 

But this would not be a true SCIENCE! post if we did not at least consider removing such psychological barriers. Onward to the blind taste test... 

Take appropriate measures to avoid contamination.

The first round of testing shall be administered by yours truly to Test Subject 1, the Missus. My opening pitch is a curveball – I give her two glasses of sarsaparilla, the first of which she calls root beer and the second sarsaparilla – psychology throws a strike. I vary things up for the second test – root beer first, then sarsaparilla. Without a control sip immediately before each test, Subject 1 does not perceive any difference between the two and thinks both are the same, but she can’t really say whether they are root beer or sarsaparilla. Final test for Subject 1: sarsaparilla first, then root beer. Subject 1 flips the order and calls each one the other. Preliminary conclusion after one round of testing is that there are not enough perceptible differences to differentiate one beverage from the other.

Round two of testing is administered by the Missus on me, Test Subject 2. She starts with a 1-2 punch of root beer and sarsaparilla, and I identify both incorrectly as the other. Test 2 is the same as the first, but this time, I think they are both sarsaparilla. Last chance: both samples are root beer, the first of which I identify correctly, but somehow think that the same beverage the second time around is sarsaparilla, which kind of means that I really didn’t identify the first correctly either.

Do consider that by the time you've had several glasses of either the root beer or the sarsaparilla, you get pretty numb to the subtleties of both. Still, that’s no excuse – today’s conclusion has to either be that there are not enough perceivable differences between the two beverages or that our taste buds are not well enough attuned to said differences. Perhaps the true conclusion is that we need to do more “research.”

And that we will, rest assured, that we will…