Jack Black's Dead Red

What’s a pirate’s favorite beverage?  Arrr, root beer.

(Galco’s, April 2012)

From what I can tell, Jack Black’s Dead Red Root Beer has nothing to do with Jack Black the actor.  Unfortunately, that means we will not be invited to join him in his quarters later this night for some root beer, or toast, or what have you.  It does appear, however, that Jack Black’s Dead Red Root Beer has everything to do Real Soda in Real Bottles – as in not just bottled by them, but actually made by them.  And since that’s really all the information/history I can offer today, we’ll just get right to the root beer…

The freshly opened bottle smells slightly of an oriental herbalist’s shop, which could mean any number of ingredients goes into this brew.  However, tasting the beverage doesn’t shed much light on the matter, since it doesn’t really taste much like any of our typical root beer ingredients.  It does have a slightly medicinal aftertaste that settles into bitterness on the back of the tongue, which really isn’t all that pleasant.  Were I to stretch for an equivalent flavor, I would say it tastes like grass jelly – this could indicate something in the wintergreen family is the primary flavoring agent, since grass jelly is derived from a mint-like plant. One way or the other, there’s something plant-based in the flavor, even though I can’t quite put a finger on it.

One interesting note – there is both caffeine and guarana (which is basically just another natural form of caffeine) listed in the ingredients, so the producers seem to be aiming to create quite the buzz for anyone drinking this.  I can’t say whether it affects the flavor at all, but I do appear to be typing faster than normal, so maybe that says something…  Aside from that, the only other thing I can say is that it has a medium-hard carbonation that can foam up considerable in the mouth, though there’s little head in the glass.

As much as I like Real Soda in Real Bottles, it seems that my favorite soda stores are consistently batting pretty low when it comes to creating their own root beers.  Granted, root beer is probably one of the most subjectively defined sodas out there, so it’s hard to say who’s wrong, them or me.  So I’ll always appreciate Galco’s and Rocket Fizz even though I’m not a fan of White Rose Root Beer or Rocket Fizz Root Beer Float, and likewise I will forever remain a big fan of Real Sodas, their dedication to the carbonated arts, and especially their people.  However, I’ll probably pass on getting more Jack Black’s Dead Red Root Beer next time I’m in their outlet store – it gets a 2.

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.

A&W Ten

The Pooj quests for ten.

 (Vons – February 2013)

To celebrate the 49ers' first Super Bowl appearance in 19 years, the Missus and I hosted a small Super Bowl Party this past weekend. Well, to be more accurate, I wanted to celebrate the 49ers' first Super Bowl appearance in 19 years and the Missus just wanted to host(ess) a party this past weekend. As we all know by now, the results of the game were less than desirable for the 49ers (for which I’m still sad, despite the fact that I, the 5’-6” 135 lb Chinese guys who’s never played anything more than a pick-up game of football in his life, can claim no credit, blame, or involvement in, except maybe disturbing my neighbors’ peaceful Sunday afternoon with loud interjections and floor stomping), at least we did have a great as-SF-themed-as-possible comestible spread. Naturally, the root beer of choice for such a theme should have been Pearson Bros, but I searched as far and as wide for it as could be justified to no avail. Thus I settled for a collection of Bay Area and NorCal sodas, including Bulldog Root Beer from Fresno, Camaño Brothers Sarsaparilla from Berkeley, and River City Blueberry Lemonade from Sacramento, as well as the distinctly non-SF-themed bottle pictured above.

As I’ve said before, I don’t make a habit of drinking, much less buying or writing about diet sodas unless there is a compelling reason to do so (e.g., a new natural sugar substitute, I couldn’t find the normal version, etc…). My compelling reason for acquiring A&W Ten was that it came free from my local grocer (um… that’s pretty much it). My compelling reason, then, for writing about it is threefold: (1) I’ve written about A&W a couple times before, so adding A&W Ten feels, if nothing else, consistent; (2) I’ve been cataloging all of my root beer experiences on this blog, liquid, solid, gaseous, or otherwise, so adding A&W Ten feels, again, consistent; (3) I feel a moral obligation to warn the rest of the root beer-drinking masses to stay away from this stuff.

You may recall that the Ten line of semi-diet beverages was first introduced by Dr. Pepper, who marketed it as a diet drink “for men,” meaning that it still contained some calories – 10 to be exact – despite it being a diet drink. Somehow, somebody in the front office reasoned that men want their diet beverages to be slightly less diet than women do…? In my opinion, both men and women who need to reduce the caloric value of their soft drinks are better off just sticking with the no-calorie diet drinks, as the addition of those 10 calories is not worth the corresponding reduction in beverage quality.

First, it smells like burnt marshmallows with a slight generic root-iness, which in and of itself is not necessarily bad. What is bad is the accompanying sinus-stinging acridity. This, in addition to burning my olfactory senses to a temporary oblivion (if such a thing exists…), also leaves a rather bitter aftertaste that settles mostly on the top of my tongue.

Second, it tastes like a rubber balloon. Now this may have something to do with the smell sufficiently frying my sense of taste as well, but hey, that’s all part of the experience of drinking this, so I’m not going to discount it. Otherwise the flavor is a little smoky, without much of the “aged vanilla” that all A&Ws claim to be made with, or much of anything else. On a positive note, the addition of some HFCS seems to have tempered some of the sting in the back of the throat that typically comes with the “diet” territory – not entirely, but enough that I don’t really notice it unless I’m looking for it.

Of the nine ingredients listed, HFCS is still second only to water, a fact that should alone scare me into never drinking soda again – if A&W Ten has barely 1/16th of the calories as the regular version, and HFCS is the second ingredient for both versions, that gives me a new perspective on how much HFCS/sugar there really is in regular soda…! Aspartame, the artificial sweetener, is all the way down the ingredient list at #6, after the preservative and the natural and artificial flavor. Quillaia extract is also included (regular A&W includes it, too), which results in a decent head when first poured, but dissipates very quickly afterwards.

Even in the pantheon of diet beverages this stuff is just plain bad. There are actually several no-calorie diet root beers out there that taste better – at least as “better” as one can expect any diet root beer to taste – than this. Since I’m not in the business of rating diet root beers (well, technically I’m not in the business of anything root beers…), I’ll forgo any formal judgment. And despite not being able to raise a celebratory root beer after the game, there is some small consolation – during my failed search for Pearson Bros, I did manage to find six new root beers instead, so at least one Quest for Six turned out well this weekend.

Dreaming of a Kind-Of-Root-Beer Christmas Field Trip: Real Soda in Real Bottles

(December 2012)

Yes, I realize that we are well into the New Year, probably past the expiration date of most New Year’s Resolutions, and certainly well past the Christmas season, but I’ve been out of the country (more on that later), and thus am just getting around to completing the full documentation of my root-beer-related holiday festivities. As a kind-of Christmas present to myself, I finally heeded the exhortation of an anonymous fellow root beer enthusiast to visit Real Soda in Real Bottles in Gardena, CA. If you’ll recall, said anonymous fellow root beer enthusiast pointed out that my go-to soda pop stop, Galco’s, acquires their wares through Real Soda, so going directly to Real Sodas would cut out the middle man (regardless of how much I like this particular middle man).

Thanks – hearty thanks – Mr./Ms. Anonymous Fellow Root Beer Enthusiast, because you are responsible for no fewer than nine new root beer acquisitions!

This is just the fruit-themed soda aisle.

As you can see, there’s a lot of soda packed into the little outlet store at the corner of Real Sodas’ plant. There are at least 5 more aisles that look just like the one above, holding an ever-expanding variety of sodas, teas, energy drinks, and water – all sold at wholesale prices in the outlet store. While root beer only accounts for half of an aisle, that’s still three whole stacks, six shelves per stack, full of root beer! On the afternoon that I showed up, the plant was actually only staffed by a skeleton crew due to the holidays. Despite this, the very nice lady working in the front office, who had already worked through her lunch break, still kindly opened up the outlet store for me to browse and even re-stocked the root beer shelves so I wouldn't miss any (hence no picture of the root beer aisle itself).

Real Sodas in Real Bottles literally grew out of a hobby for founder Danny Ginsburg (who, I might add, has been quite pleasant himself in our email correspondence). Ginsburg had collected bottle-caps since he was a young child, and would therefore go out of his way to get sodas in glass bottles. When he was in high school during the late 70s, aluminum and plastic were just beginning to overtake glass as soda’s predominant packaging, so Ginsburg, who preferred the flavor of glass-bottled beverages, was often observed carrying his own bottles of soda wherever he went (instead of just buying the canned versions when he got there). Eventually other people started requesting that Ginsburg bring back specific glass-bottled sodas for them whenever he went on his soda procurement treks – which oftentimes entailed driving hundreds of miles away from his home in Southern California. Thus, through his high school and college years, Ginsburg became the go-to specialty soda provider for his peers, his acquaintances, local social events, and even local businesses.

When more businesses came a-calling, Ginsburg realized that his now almost-weekly soda runs were starting to get more serious than simply picking up a few bottles here and there for his acquaintances. He got a business license, naming his company rather matter-of-factly after what he was already known for supplying, and started distributing regional glass-bottled sodas out of his garage, delivering the products himself in his VW van. It didn’t take long to outgrow the garage, and Ginsburg continued moving into larger warehouses, driving larger vehicles, as well as adding employees until Real Sodas in Real Bottles set up shop in their current Gardena facility. Now, Real Sodas not only distributes several hundred different varieties of glass-bottled sodas from other parts of the country (and the world), it also bottles products for several regional brands that would have otherwise been forced out of business by larger beverage conglomerates. And if that wasn’t already enough, Real Sodas also produces beverages of their own, probably the most well-known being Leninade (source).

The soda world has come full circle for Ginsburg – whereas he once had to call soda companies to ask where he could buy their products, businesses all over the country are now calling his company asking if they can sell Real Sodas’ products. According to the company website , Real Sodas in Real Bottles is now “perhaps unquestionably the most substantial purveyor of glass-bottled soft drinks in the USA.” Not a bad place for a four-year-old boy’s bottle cap collection to end up!

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?

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.