Monsoon Martin’s Definitive Taste Test of Carbonated Soda Alternatives (Mostly Sparkling Water)
Friends,
I find myself in the throes of a gustatory overhaul - I can no longer drink most of the beverages I had been drinking (OJ, POM, lemonade, etc.). And of course, my beloved Pepsi, which I’d been drinking for decades.
For years I regarded sparkling water (and its aficionados) with something between pity and scorn. Well before I had ever tried it, I heard people describe the taste of sparkling water as “like TV static,” “like drinking static electricity,” and “like hitting your funny bone.” My favorite is something to the effect of, “it’s like quietly invoking the name of a fruit whilst someone else is aerating water down the block.”
Once it became clear that I needed to at least try to become a consumer of sparkling water, I decided I needed a colossal taste test to separate the FOHs from the MEHs from the GR8s. My methodology was simple: taste as many of these drinks as I could, rate them with an overall score (out of ten), and share these findings (and my anecdotal observations) with you fine people.
Several points of order I want to discuss before we dive in to the list:
In everyday conversation, we often use the terms “seltzer” and “sparkling water” interchangeably. But did you know there’s definitely a difference?
Seltzer is purified/filtered water that is artifically carbonated. It has no mineral content, often has a sharper or harsher taste/mouthfeel, and is present on the palate only fleetingly before it up and vanishes like a fart in the wind.
Sparkling water is water sourced from a spring or well and containing carbonation that may be naturally occurring and/or artificially aerated. Sparkling water has rich mineral content, which produces a milder—and many feel, more pleasant—mouthfeel and smoother taste.
Throughout the course of this taste test project, I have come to loathe the obfuscations that many sparkling water purveyors employ to expand their share of this lucrative market. These will be noted throughout, and the transgressors shamed.
The most healthful products are those whose entire ingredient list reads something like “Carbonated Water, Natural Flavor.” The Nutrition Facts label can also help ensure that it has 0 calories, 0 fat, 0 sodium, 0 carbs, 0 total sugars, 0 added sugars, and 0 protein (see below). The can also typically boasts of “0% juice” content as well as no caffeine.
I tried sparkling waters from various brands in various flavors (including plain). I decided to also try prebiotic/probiotic sodas like OLIPOP and POPPI, whose advertisements claim that they offer a new kind of soda—one which tastes great and helps fortify the body’s digestion system.
What I did not include on this list: zero-sugar versions of popular soft drinks like Pepsi (which I hate because they contain artificial sweetners); and carbonated energy drinks like Celsius and Bloom (which I have tried, rejected, and moved on with my life). Beverages in those two categories in particular contain not insignificant doses of caffeine, and I’m not looking to get re-addicted to a substance that makes me (even more) jittery and anxious.
As you’ll see throughout the list, I was duped a few times—not realizing a product contained artificial sweeteners, which are so nasty that my considerable powers of histrionics and hyperbole fail me here. Anywho, for those of you who scan ingredient lists, here’s a list of artificial sweeteners to avoid if you wish to:
Acesulfame potassium (Sweet One, Sunett)
Advantame
Aspartame (NutraSweet, Equal)
Neotame (Newtame)
Thaumatin (Talin)
Saccharin (Sweet ‘n Low)
Sucralose (Splenda)
And now, the taste test results. I’ll be starting from 50 (the worst!) and working my way up to 1 (the best!). Each beverage comes primarily in a 12oz. can, unless otherwise noted. Enjoy!
50. OLIPOP Vintage Cola. Tastes like someone spilled a can of off-brand soda onto a dirt track through an overgrown meadow, then scooped the soda (and dirt, rocks, branches, dead bugs, etc.) back into the can. And then sealed it up and shipped it off. 0/10.
49. OLIPOP Classic Grape. Tastes vaguely (and almost inoffensively) of grape, but right on the grape taste’s heels is a kind of black licorice/fennel taste that made me nearly spit out the ghastly concoction. 0.2/10.
48. POPPI Classic Cola. Tastes just like a skunky Pepsi (one that has sat around in its case too long and has acquired a musty, stale flavor. Inadequate fizz, too. Not remotely potable. Dreadfully vegetal. And frankly, unforgivable. 0.2/10.
47. POPPI Lemon Lime. Tastes like a Sprite if it had been homemade by a sullen vegan who has never tasted Sprite, but who has heard rumors. Unfortunately, the sullen vegan was not listening carefully, and the rumored recipe is filled with half-truths and vague, alarming AI proclamations. 0.225/10.
46. OLIPOP Classic Root Beer. Tastes only vaguely like root beer and has very little carbonation to boot. An unholy, resinous mélange of ill-advised ingredients and wholly unearned hubris. Gross. Is there sulfur in here? Months-old romaine? 0.225/10.
45. Wegmans Wonder Pop (prebiotic soda), Grape. So many strange flavors have been assembled in an attempt to recreate grape soda. These efforts were in vain. There is the passing hint of (artificial) grape flavor, but not nearly enough to save this. Not by a long shot. 0.4/10.
44. Wegmans Wonder Pop (prebiotic soda), Lemon Lime. My best guess at the manufacturing process: they took five or six off-brand Wet-Naps, added some AJAX lemon-scented dishwashing liquid, and let them soak in a vat of tap water for 72 hours. The resultant potion was then robustly flatulated into—thereby creating its carbonation—then it was adjudged ready for comsumption. 0.425/10.
Friends, I have to interrupt myself here and tell you that I was excited to try these new prebiotic/probiotic sodas, as they have low sugar and are relatively low in calories. (And they’re everywhere, suddenly.) But these entries from 44-50 are the nastiest beverages I have ever had the misfortune of ingesting. 🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮 They are—with no hyperbolic or theatrical flourishes—quite simply a crime against humanity. Additional note: these prebiotic/probiotic sodas are supposed to be great for gut health, but instead often cause bloating, gas, and abdominal pain.
Now back to the list!
43. Splash refresher (wild cherry). Here is the first of several duplicitous sparkling water-adjacent frauds. It is called “refresher” (rather than sparkling water), but shares shelves with legit sparkling water, so it was promising. Sadly, I neglected to read the ingredients. For true sparkling water, the ingredients should be carbonated water and natural flavors (or, if it’s plain, just carbonated water). Had I read the ingredients, I would have realized it had sucralose before I tasted it and was rendered mouth-sad by its artificial, engineered sweetness. Gross. 0.475/10.
42. Giant Clear Splash white grape sparkling water beverage. (1-liter plastic bottle.) Again, I missed the harbingers of faux-sparkling water calamity: the fact that it’s called “sparkling water beverage” and its ingredient list containing aspartame. This product comes in one-liter bottles that stand athwart legitimate sparkling water, entrapping the negligent browser. In my notes for this product, I wrote that it “has aspartame in it and is therefore unequivocally nasty as shit.” 0.475/10.
41. Wegmans blueberry nectarine sparkling water. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) Wegmans makes some respectable sparkling water (forthwith and hereafter abbreviated as “SW”), but this is not one of them. This unholy alliance presents with an acrid taste, then devolves into a caustic assault on the taste buds (and, I dare say, common decency). 0.6/10.
40. Waterloo lemon lime. Tastes like a (bad) chemical approximation of citrus that is—despite the fact that it’s water—dry. “I do not want this is my mouth,” I said. “That’s what she said,” I replied. 1.1/10.
39. Bubly lime. Phenolic notes with harsh mouthfeel. And a soapy aftertaste(?). Bubly makes some outstanding SW, but this is not one of them. Hard pass. 1.5/10.
38. LaCroix Pamplemousse. Right off the bat, the name pisses me off. It’s fucking grapefruit. Cut the shit. The taste is an acrid, faux-cirtus abomination that somehow also manages to taste musty. 1.7/10.
37. Giant lemon lime. Tart faux-Sprite that is both tasteless and overwhelming. A true contradiction. Also, a contraindication, in the immortal words of Claudius: “Gertrude, do not drink.” 1.8/10.
36. Giant lemon. Nearly indistinguishable from Giant lemon lime. Tastes like lemon meringue icing on a gas station snack cake that expired several months ago. 1.8/10.
35. Wegmans lemon. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) Why does he keep trying lemon SW if he hates it so much? you may ask. Because he is ineducable, I reply. This reminds me of getting a n unwanted nasty-ass lemon wedge on the rim of my water glass in a grimy diner. I also recorded in my notes: “this tastes like Pledge smells.” 2/10.
34. Bubly blueberry pomegranate. Here’s another disappointing Bubly offering—far less tasty than either of its flavors might be on its own. Like medicinal cardboard. 2.1/10.
33. Giant mandarin orange. Not terribly different from other mandarin orange SWs, but I do not like this flavor, so I spurn it. 2.2/10.
32. Wegmans grapefruit. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) No. Marginally better than the Pamplemousse horseshit, but still not quite pleasant. 2.3/10.
31. Wegmans mandarin orange. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) See #33 above. This at least approaches the general region of a drink that could—in some minor, almost accidental way—quench my thirst. 2.75/10.
30. LaCroix strawberry peach. No, the flavor clash is unexpected and devastating. I love strawberries but hate peaches, so there we are then. 2.8/10.
29. LaCroix tangerine. Tastes like tangerines and plastic. I hate tangerines but often dig the smell of new plastic. So it’s a conundrum. 2.8/10.
28. Good & Gather (Target brand) tropical cherry. Tastes unlike any other SW I have tried. Not in a good way, but in a profoundly hinky way. 2.8/10.
27. Sanavi organic sparkling spring water (Very Berry flavor). This is a hoity-toity, ludicrously overpriced SW whose only claim to fame seems to be the use of only organic natural flavors. The mouthfeel is right, with pleasant carbonation, but its taste is too reminiscent of cough syrup to be something I’d reach for. If there are no other liquids available, I’d deign to drink this. 4.6/10.
26. Vintage Seltzer pomegranate. (Sold in 1-liter plastic bottles.) It’s decent, but has far too harsh a mouthfeel. Nah. 5.2/10.
25. Polar Seltzer Jr. Yeti Mischief. (Sold in teensy 7.5-ounce cans.) This one tastes like fizzy Hawaiian punch, so the nostalgia factor makes this almost desirable. 5.6/10.
24. San Pellegrino Sparkling Natural Mineral Water. (Sold in 25.3-ounce glass bottles.) The bottle is cool-looking. But it’s downhill from there: such a dearth of fizz that it was almost imperceptible. The taste is slightly salty with a dry finish and an astringent aftertaste. And there’s 20mg of sodium per bottle—not excessive, but why is sodium in there at all? 5.7/10.
23. Topo Chico carbonated mineral water. (Sold in 600mL plastic bottles, 12-ounce glass bottles, and some are available in cans.) This is fine. I had heard that this brand, produced exclusively in Monterrey, Mexico, would change my life. My socks are still on. 5.9/10.
22. VOSS Sparkling Artesian Water from Norway. (Sold in 27.05-ounce glass bottles.) This one was a major disappointment. VOSS in its still form is pure perfection: a crisp, clean, and completely refreshing elixir. This sparkling version—while still housed in the iconic cylindrical bottle that’s a triumph of Scandinavian minimalism—has small, angry bubbles that dissipate quickly; by the third sip, the carbonation had all but abandoned this forlorn libation. It lacked the smooth self-assuredness of VOSS in still form. And it has 35mg of sodium per bottle, which isn’t going to break most diets, but—why is it there? 5.975/10.
21. Wegmans green apple. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) It’s acceptable in a pinch. I almost want more. Almost. 6/10.
20. Wegmans cranberry apple. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) This is a seasonal concoction that boasts a nice flavor combination, but fails to distinguish itself in any meaningful way. 6.2/10.
19. Rambler Wild Cherry sparkling water (limestone mineral blend) is made in Austin and is the subject of much adulation among SW drinkers. It was not bad, but the taste is ultimately uneven and a tad harsh. Bottom line: didn’t change my life. Another strike against it: Rambler is only available at one retailer—Walmart. 6.4/10.
18. Waterloo black cherry is aight. The flavor is a bit too thin—and the carbonation a bit too aggressive—to make this a staple. Not a huge fan of Waterloo as a brand, and rearranging its component parts gives it a revealing, and more accurate, name: LOO WATER. 6.5/10.
17. Wegmans black cherry vanilla. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) This SW tastes more like vanilla than cherry; it’s decent, but I’d really have to be in the mood for this specific taste. 6.8/10.
16. Wegmans orange pineapple. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) The pineapple balances out the overpowering citrus flavor profile. It’s like mayochup: it’s a mash-up that has no earthly business working, but it god damn does. I liked this more than I thought I would. 7/10.
15. Polar pomegranate. (Many Polar SW varieties are available in 1-liter plastic bottles in addition to 12oz. cans.) This hard-to-find flavor is not exciting enough to warrant the effort it took to procure it. Harsh with a generic taste. 7.2/10.
14. Wegmans raspberry. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) This is OK, but a bit harsh. I don’t want my taste buds to be jostled around in a mosh pit. I want them to be coddled and refreshed. 7.2/10.
13. Wegmans mixed berry. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) Similar to polar pom: unremarkable, but serviceable. The mayonnaise of SWs. This SW is suffering from an identity crisis. 7.3/10.
12. Wegmans passion fruit. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) This variety is fine, but it has a faint but noticeable peachy aftertaste that I would find periodically objectionable. Mood-dependent. 7.3/10.
11. Wegmans plain SW. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) I think the absence of flavor will be a nice change of pace now and again. No-frills, old-fashioned, competent SW. 7.7/10.
10. Wegmans ginger. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) Has a nice, piquant after-dinner flavor—heady, but with just a touch of mellow smoothness. (Bonus points if you can place the movie reference.) Honestly, I can’t distinguish this from the plain. 7.7/10.
9. Polar black cherry. (Many Polar SW varieties are available in 1-liter plastic bottles in addition to 12oz. cans.) Milder and tastier than the Loo Water version. 7.85/10.
8. Maison Perrier Ultimate unflavored. (Sold in 11.15-ounce cans as well as 16.9-ounce plastic bottles.) Delightfully neutral taste and mouthfeel; has a bit less carbonation than I’d prefer, but it’s a solid option. 8/10.
7. Maison Perrier forever strawberry. (These come in 11.15-ounce cans.) This delicate wonder has milder carbonation and a subtler strawberry taste than its American cousins. Oui, I dig it. 8.2/10.
6. Bubly blackberry. This is pretty, pretty, pretty good. 8.3/10.
5. Bubly srrawberry. I really like this one. Crisp, refreshing, and authentically evokes the flavor of my favorite fruit. 8.8/10.
4. Bubly cherry. Even a hair better than the strawberry. The flavor is rich but not overpowering. In the same way that grape flavoring tastes nothing like actual grapes, cherry flavoring tastes nothing like actual cherries. It matters not. WTG, Bubly. 9/10.
3. Wegmans cherry pomegranate. (In addition to cans, most Wegmans Sparkling Water flavors are also available in 1 liter and .5 liter bottles.) This SW is the quintessence of the age-old idiom “Greater than the sum of its parts.” I don’t like it; I love it. 9.8/10.
2. LaCroix Pure (plain) SW. This SW is nigh flawless: clean, refreshing, and delightfully effervescent. The carbonation is spot-on. 9.9/10.
1. Saratoga Sparkling Carefully Curated Carbonated Spring Water. (Sold in 28-ounce glass bottles as well as 28-ounce, 16-ounce, and 12-ounce plastic bottles.) Friends, I was just itching to hate this one because of the pretentious mouthful of a name. But that pretentious mouthful of a name has been fully earned. Hold on to your tighty-whities, because this shit is TRANSCENDENT. Perfection itself. The carbonation is potent but not overpowering; the SW is almost preternaturally crisp and refreshing (nay, that’s too pedestrian a word; revivifying is a better adjective). A positively enchanting libation. The nectar of the gods. 10/10 no notes.
So where do I go from here? I’ve heard good things about Canada Dry Original Sparkling Seltzer Water and Trader Joe’s sparkling water, so I intend to try them. Aldi’s SW brand, called Belle Vie, has its fans and its detractors.
And there’s a very hard-to-find Saratoga flavored sparkling water called Untitled Berry No. 3. I have procured this, and am practically vibrating with anticipation.
And you, Dear Reader - please send me an email (or leave a comment here) if you have a carbonated soda alternative that you love. I will try it!
Monsoon Martin’s Open Letter of Grievance to the Drivers of Baltimore - Part Four
My plantive cyber-remonstration concludes…
The Blazing Bringer of Blindness. Plenty of cars come standard with these floodlights—the blue-white LED headlights that shine much more brightly than halogen headlights. Halogen headlights shine at around 1500 lumens, whereas LED headlights emit 60,000 lumens of retina-searing light. (OK, that number may be high. I think it’s actually around 4000 to 6000 lumens. But still!) Note: I realize people often don’t have a say in what headlights they’ll have. I still hate them. Did I say every item on this list would be rational? Indeed, I did not. (And when the driver retrofits or modifies the headlights illegally, it only serves to deepen the intensity of my white-hot incandescence of my OH MY GOD I CAN’T SEE SHIT.)
The Jalopy. This is the car that stopped being roadworthy several years ago, and yet it still, somehow, runs. I’ve seen cars with no front or rear bumper, no headlights, one windshield wiper, one or more flat tires, severe chassis damage, a significantly cracked windshield, and a profound will-to-live deficit. Aside from trying to extend the life of a car for financial considerations, the principal reason for this parade of wretched wrecks is that in Maryland, a car needs to be inspected when it is first registered—and never again. (Only yearly emissions testing is required to maintain registration.)
The Drifter. No, this isn’t a reference to a transient person. It refers to vehicles that drift near or across the yellow line (or seem to drift in and out of their chosen lane, apparently at will). My outcry when encountering these drifters: “Pick a lane, Dickshirt!” (Sometimes I am so flummoxed by the outrageously bad driving that I actually begin to lose the power of coherent speech.)
The “I Shan’t Deviate From My Chosen Lane” Mulish Driver. This mulish meathead refuses to pull over to the next lane if someone is stopped on the shoulder of a highway.
Corollary: The self-absorbed suck-lord that doesn’t yield the roadway to emergency vehicles—or barges into funeral processions. Or don’t pull over for emergency vehicles, barge into funeral processions, or don’t stop—or even slow down—when a school bus is stopped with the red lights on. This variety of traffic turdlet apparently believes that neither life nor death shall supercede their own convenience.
The Zoomer. My time is more important than yours! In fact, my time is more important than your life!!
Monsoon Martin’s Open Letter of Grievance to the Drivers of Baltimore - Part Three
My exercise in road rage catharsis continues…
The Inconsiderate Parker. This is the narcissistic dick who patks athwart two (or even three! or four!!) spaces. Some Brits call them Parking Wankers (there’s even a hilarious Instagram page devoted to shaming such transgressors).
The People-Pleasing Courtesy Hound. Something between a doorman and a doormat. This is the driver who lets car after car go ahead of them in bumper-to-bumper traffic, presuming that all the drivers behind them are glad to cede the road. Sometimes they are almost aggressive in insisting after you. Disrupts the flow of traffic and doesn’t feel like kindness. Prepare to feel the wrath of my huffy, protracted horn.
Stupid-Assed Cyber Trucks. Self-explanatory, really. Every time I see one, I make a face as though I have unexpectedly eaten a mushroom. I have, out of decency, refrained from making you look at a picture of one.
The Turn Signal Disuse and Misuse Corps - aka The Misdirection Squad. This is a proud and ceaselessly creative group, comprising:
Drivers who seem to have forgotten that the turn signal is there
Drivers who give the turn signal a perfunctory flip just as they’re beginning their turn, helping no one
Drivers who inexplicably deploy the turn signal as they are about to commit an infraction noted elsewhere (e.g., the weaver, the zipper merge jagoff, and the middle-lane abusing shitbird)
The Bicyclist on a Rural Road, where hills and bends make it difficult for a driver to pass them. (In fact, I just learned that the typical hobby bicyclist is called a MAMIL—middle-aged man in Lycra—and I am here for the dismissiveness and incisiveness of this term.) Even worse: a pack of these grinding tryhards taking up an entire lane. (Yes, I know that bicyclists have a right to be on the road, blah blah blah, but they fill me with rage. I—with no hyperbole or histrionics—hate them.)
The “I Will Kill Us All to Avoid Missing My Exit!” Tom-Fool. This highway menace realizes at the last moment that they are in the wrong lane, so they cut across (however many it takes) lanes to make it.
Corollary: The Forking Idiot. This is when someone thinks they may have missed their exit, but they’re not sure, so they stop right at the crotch of the exit ramp. In extreme cases, this person will pass the exit by 200+ yards and then reverse on the highway or careen down the grassy knoll to take the proper exit.
Monsoon Martin’s Open Letter of Grievance to the Drivers of Baltimore - Part Two
My list of complaints continues…
The Unrepentant Off-Cutter. You cut me off by pulling out in front of me—so suddenly, in fact, that I have to apply my brakes vigorously. Rest assured, I will be applying my horn quite vigorously as well. This is particularly maddening when there is no one behind me for at least a quarter mile and that person could have waited 1.5 seconds, then pulled onto the roadway after me.
Related: my nana was a verbal wizard, especially when it came to traffic commentary. My favorites: “Where’d you get your license, Pep Boys?!” and “Blow it out your ass!” and “Get bent, ya crumb!” Maximally concise, yet breathtakingly incisive.
The Drivers (Riders? Straddlers?) of Motorcycles and electric bikes (and even scooters) creating their own lanes, flouting most traffic laws and generally behaving as though the rules of the road don’t apply to them.
The Zipper Merge Jagoff. Two lanes narrow to one. Plenty of notice. The sensible thing to do: stay in your current lane, then zipper merge in an orderly and civilized fashion. Instead, Turd Ferguson next to you is jockeying for position like it’s the Indy 500. Untwist your knickers, Turd. Do you really need to get there 2.67 seconds sooner?
Corollary: the shoulder jammer. In one of these zipper merge situations, there’s often a daredevil who decides that the shoulder is an extra lane. They zoom up, bypassing car after car, until they are thwarted by one of these Highway Justice dingleshits who feel it’s their duty to patrol the shoulder and block transgressors.
The Extreme Tailgater. Especially charming on one-lane roads. Where do you want me to go? I shall proceed at the pace I feel I can safely navigate. You can gesticulate and crowd me all you want. Also, your mom. Note: I often say “Hey, why don’t you just climb inside my asshole!” when encountering this situation. Another common yawp: “Get fucked, bumper humper!” (Disclaimer: I never said my responses to these rage-inducing driving behaviors is mature, advisable, or child-appropriate.)
The Distracted Driver. I have seen drivers engaging in the following activities whilst driving: texting, watching videos, eating, applying makeup, reading, playing cards, flipping through a large CD carrying case, yelling at children in the back seat, using a woodturning lathe, playing a video game, and sleeping. Shit you not. (Alright, shit you a little. I made up the lathe. But all others I have seen with my own two eyes.) How many times have you been behind a car at a red light and they don’t budge once the light turns green? In fact, how many times today? The frightening truth is that driving a potentially lethal weapon often garners the least focus and attention from drivers.
Related: When my “gentle nudge” beep comes out as a “testy bellow,” I look in my rear-view mirror as if to say, “What impatient pissypants has just breached the aural peace (and rules of etiquette) by sounding the horn so aggressively?” So if the person in front of me (at whom the nudge was directed) looks back indignantly, they will see me looking back indignantly and assume it was someone behind me.
The Red Light Optional Brigade. I have seen many drivers for whom a red light is a traffic convention from which they are exempt. And I’m not just talking about folks who see a yellow light, speed up, and careen wildly through the intersection. I’m talking about the light is RED RED and I’m watching agape as these speed demons just sail on through. I generally respond with “I guess he was in a hurry” or “slow down, speed demon!” or “muhhh-thaaaa-ffffucka.”
Monsoon Martin's Open Letter of Grievance to the Drivers of Baltimore - Part One
Hello, Baltimoreans. I have driven among yous for several years now. To quote Frank Costanza, “I've got a lot of problems with you people, and now you’re gonna hear about it!”
I have found the people of Charm City to be, by and large, lovely and welcoming. But the same person who will hold the door open for you at Wawa - smiling broadly - will also, once driving, cut you off and unleash a shitstorm of profanity toward you. Often, that is also done while smiling broadly.
I present to you my list of grievances, many of which rise to the level of irrational loathing, and regarding which I have been told by mental health professionals, "When something is out of your control, the thing you can control is your reaction to it."
This is a worthy goal, my pursuit of which has been, to date, an utter failure. A work in progress, I suppose.
The list:
The Weaver. This is a driver who thinks he (let's face it, almost always a male) is playing a first-person rally car video game. This driver cuts it razor-close, but is long gone once I lay on my horn and gesticulate wildly as if to say, "What the fuhhhhh??!!" (Note: often accompanied by actual words and coarser gestures to that effect.) The weaver gives no shit. He is engaged in a road race with his friends (real or imagined) and we are all NPCs.
Corollary: Road Racers. These are packs of 4-5 numbnutses who believe that they are engaged in a high-stakes contest, whose winner earns glory and a handsome prize. In reality, they are just knuckle-dragging knuckleheads in shitty cars terrorizing other drivers.
Corollary: Car Farts. Some of these addle-pated blunderbusses actually modify their cars so that they produce deafening backfires, accompanied by jarring showers of sparks. The backfires sound very much like gunfire—especially when they happen right as one of these cars passes, as happened to me. Damn near soiled my pants, I did.
Note: This is a lengthy video. But it’s cued up to the right spot. (In case it isn’t, watch from about 2:40 to 3:10.)
The Maddeningly Polite Weaver. This is a conventional weaver, but with the addition of conscientious use of turn signals. Why does this aggravate me? If you're going to be an asshole, lean all the way in. Adding turn signals to narcissistic, unhinged driving is like shoving someone down the stairs and yelling “Sorry!” as they tumble along.
The Sociopathic Double Parker. This craven douchenozzle has stopped their car in the middle of the road—and if we’re lucky, put on the hazards as an irrelevant nod to traffic decorum. This driver is particularly infuriating when there’s an open area at the curb where they could have parked without disrupting traffic. Most infurating is when a driver double parks on a one-way street (or a street only wide enough for a single lane of traffic. No one can get by, and the sociopathic double parker give zero shits.
The Shitbird who treats the middle turn lane of a busy road like it's the shitbird’s own special onramp. This happens often on roads like Reisterstown, where you typically have two lanes going each direction and a center lane to assist with left turns. The lane is there to facilitate left turns leaving the roadway—not as your own personal onramp to help you make a left turn onto the middle=lane road.
Corollary: Ding-dongs who use the middle lane as an extra travel lane to become a bonus passing lane. I’ve seen several accidents that stemmed from center turn lane misuse.
The Backer-in. Friends, this list is not in any order—but if it were, I’m sure this infraction would be near the top of the list. This spree of sociopathy is particularly infuriating when deployed in a busy, crowded parking lot. Some dingus seems to have driven past a spot, but then suddenly throws it into reverse. Now every other car behind the dingus has to wait while said dingus executes this operation.
Corollary: the dinguses who do this are very often the least skilled at driving in reverse, necessitating several passes—each accompanied by fiddling ineffectually with the side mirrors—before the car is safely ensconced.
When I see a driver back into a spot that could have easily been a pull-through, it takes a great deal of restraint not to accost them and confiscate their license.
People who don’t have any idea how to act when encountering a blinking yellow (slow down and proceed with caution, yielding to other vehicles already in the intersection) or blinking red light (treat it exactly like a stop sign).
Monsoon salutes Salute!
The last thing one expects to find in a sleepy strip mall in the middle of Sinking Spring, PA is a dynamic, sophisticated, scrumptious, authentic Italian restaurant. (One would expect to find a tanning place, a secondhand shop run by a ministry, a used furniture store, and some sort of Asian buffet - anything willing to pay the cut-rate rent on a sliver-sized parcel in a dying shopping center. But not a really, really good Italian restaurant.)
But that's just what Salute (sah-LOO-tay) Ristorante Italiano is: a truly great Italian restaurant, right here in Berks County.
It's best to make reservations, especially on the weekend - our server told us they get in the neighborhood of 150 reservations on Friday and Saturday nights (that's 150 each night) with no advertising.
That's right: Salute, which opened November 20th (Monsoon's birthday) of 2014, has survived--nay, thrived--on word-of-mouth recommendations only.
So let me add my mouth to this.
(I fully acknowledge that just sounded wrong. I will rephrase.)
So let me add my words to this mouth-party.
(Maybe I will just move on.)
The place was hopping by 5:00. All staff members were dressed in crisp black outfits and everyone who greeted us was warm and solicitous.
The chef is a guy named Peppe Agliano, and if that name sounds authentically Italian, it's because it is. He is an actual Italian person who is from Sicily, which is in actual Italy.
It's got a fancy outer entrance that, I think, is designed to cut down on the coldness seeping in, but also to make sure you realize that the place you're going into is not your ordinary little shabby strip-mall offering. It's a proper restaurant (that's what "ristorante" translates to in Italian). There's even a guy holding the door open for you. (I think he was employed by Salute. Maybe he was just a nice, door-holding fellow.)
The food, it was delicioso (delicious)!
We started with the Mozzarella In Carrozza (fried breaded mozzarella), which was divine. Best I've ever had. The server (who was attentive and responsive) brought us a basket of assorted breads (with assorted sauces), which we didn't even have to ask for.
The main dishes--damn right, they were good. The Cotolette Di Vitello Alla Parmigiana (veal parm) was the best I have ever tasted. The pasta it came with was aneletti. To my knowledge, it was the first times I have ever had it. It was wondrous. There were even different sauces on the pasta and veal, which was bold. (It was even marginally better than that of Mom Chaffee's, which is saying something.) The Fusilli Alla Carbonara (Mrs. Monsoon's entree) was outstanding, and was presented with an actual fried egg white, which was super fancy. And the Tagliata Di Manzo (sliced grilled beef), which was enjoyed by the mother-in-law of Monsoon, was a dream within a culinary dream.
And the presentation! Oh, the presentation. The most delightful little plates and saucers and vessels. And around each of our dishes, the chef had "painted" a flourish, as though signing his masterwork. It was as though the hand of God Himself had brushed the plates in benedictory blessing.
(I have veered into hyperbole. I will try to rein it in. But the presentation was impressive.)
We were stuffed, but I insisted that we try the desserts, because by then I knew I was going to write this thing, and I believe in thoroughness above all else. I suffer for you people.
I had the ricotta pie, which was good but not great. The thing was drowned in chocolate sauce, which Mrs. Monsoon said was a bit much, but which I relished. Mrs. Monsoon had the tiramisu (from the Italian phrase meaning pick me up) - she said it was good but not the best she's had - and the MOMM (Mom of Mrs. Monsoon) had the pistachio gelato (she said it was great).
It's not a place that you can go every night, unless you're rich. Appetizers are $6-$12, entrees are $15-$25, desserts are $6-$8. So that'll add up. Well worth the money, but still.
So go there and tell me what you think.
Buon appetito (enjoy the eating of the food)!
Monsoon's NYT letter; Boehringer's rave; weather update
My good blog-readers...
I am pleased to announce that your old pal Monsoon has written a letter to the editor of the New York Times, and it has been accepted for publication in the 13 March edition of the Sunday Magazine. You can check this link and scroll toward the bottom; my entry is headlined "Dislike Button."
My letter was edited for space due to the new format of the Letters page, so here (for you Monsoon completists out there) is the unexpurgated version:
Editor:
I have long enjoyed the Sunday Magazine as the must-read component your increasingly expensive publication. However, the February 27th issue was, for me, a barrage of bad news. I understand that Mr. Lindgren, the Magazine's new editor, felt he had to take steps to remake the glossy in his image, eliminating those columns or features he deemed outdated or redundant. When I read of Deborah Solomon's firing from the Magazine's interview segment, I felt it made sense to rid the magazine of her combative, repetitive, and sometimes misleading pieces.
But the tale that unfolded in the February 27th issue was one of wholesale attrition. First, I read that this column would be Randy Cohen's last as the Ethicist, later learning in an online article that he had already been replaced. Mr. Cohen's elegant, understated responses to ethical quandaries were the first words I read in each edition of the Magazine, and I am already wondering how Sundays will be the same without his work.
Next, I read that this would be the final column for Virginia Heffernan and "The Medium." As the internet becomes an ever more integral part of our lives--my wife and I often ask one another as we look up a recipe or bit of trivia, "What did we do before the internet?"--it would seem that such a column would be indispensible.
Finally, and perhaps most troubling for a high school English teacher and lover of language, was Ben Zimmer's announcement that this would be the final "On Language" column. Mr. Zimmer performed admirably in the unenviable task of replacing the late William Safire in writing this feature. In this time of rapid changes in the development of language--the redefinition of what is acceptable, the spectrum of global influences, and so on--makes a column like this essential.
Mr. Lindgren's apparent policy of taking a scythe to the Magazine in an effort to improve it and make it more relevant seems to me shortsighted and impetuous. It's a classic case of throwing out the baby with the bathwater, and neglects to consider the deeply held loyalties and preferences of your readership.
As you can see, the editors chopped my references to Hugo Lindgren, the Magazine's new editor, while tightening up some of my more longwinded tangents.
It's almost spring, and the March 11th opening of Boehringer's, Route 272 in Adamstown, is a most welcome sign of that season's approach.
A note about the pronuncation of this throwback drive-in's name: we have been calling it "BOAR-in-jerz" (rhymes with "Four in Purrs") since have been frequenting the joint; most locals say "BERR-ing-ers" (rhymes with "Herr Ringers"); I have even heard it pronounced "BOW-ringers" (rhymes with "Foe Flingers") and "BAY-rin-jerz" (rhymes with "Day Fin Curs").
The German pharmaceutical company Boehringer Ingelheim provides some guidance here: the "oe" construction is an Anglification of the "ö" (o umlaut) in German. The "ö" is difficult for the typical English-speaking mouth to pronounce, but the proper pronunciation is something close to "BAY-rin-gers" (rhymes with Jay Fingers) or "BOH-ring-ers" (rhymes with "Foe Thing Burrs"). Given the tendency of most Pennsylvanians in this region (of German or Penna. Dutch descent) to swallow the "g" in their pronunciations, I'd say either the locals' version ("BERR-ingers") or the second German version ("BOH-ring-ers") is closest. Can anyone shed some light here? Is anyone still reading this?
Well whatever you call the joint, it's fantastic. Boehringer's is celebrating its 75th anniversary this year, and has just created a Facebook presence so you can "Like" them, keep up with goings-on, and generally rave about the place.
Mrs. Monsoon and I went there today for the first time this season. Saw some of my students there (two former, one current) and exchanged pleasantries while waiting for our order. Had my first cheesesteak there (plain, of course). I wasn't expecting Pudge's (the best cheesesteaks in the history of the world; they're in Blue Bell). But I had heard they were good, so I gave it a shot.
My good people, it was damn good. Far better than a cheesesteak from a roadside drive-in has any business being. The roll was good, the cheese was intermingled nicely with the chopped beef, and the overall feeling I departed with was one of pure gustatory pleasure. (Of course, the perfect fries and ice cream cone chaser didn't hurt, either.)
Etiquette is key at Boehringer's: order up at the counter, then step back to wait for your food. The holding open of doors is particularly helpful. Pay with cash only--credit cards and checks are not accepted. Some jackwagon trying to pay for his hot dog, fries, and vanilla milkshake with a platinum card can really gum up the works. Boehringer's is a well-oiled machine, Tucker. Get with the program.
You can't really go wrong at Boehringer's--hot dogs, burgers, steaks, fries, and homemade ice cream. And milkshakes! Oh, the milkshakes. You have to find just the right green-shirted employee, but I have had a few chocolate-peanut butter milkshakes there that made me forget my name.
The ambiance is nice, too. Not inside the place--though there is a sort of controlled chaos that I find strangely calming. I'm talking about the creekside picnic tables where you can enjoy your food and watch the ducks pad about. It's like a little park: dogs, fowl, trees, rocks. It's usually quite comfortable and breezy there, even on a really hot and humid day. Sometimes the ants can be a little vexing and the bees a little threatening and the ducks a little aggressive, but what do you want? You're outside and it's lovely. Eat your butter brickle and stop your frickin' complaining.
It's open Tuesday through Sunday, 11am to about 9pm.
I'd love to hear your favorite Boehringer's memories, stories, foods, etc. Email me!
Now on to the weather...
Today was nice - a bit brisk, but plenty sunny. Sitting outside at Boehringer's got a little chilly as highs only reached into the mid 50s.
Sunday will be nice, but a little cooler: mostly sunny and rather windy with highs in the lower 50s (but this high will feel like the lower 40s due to the whipping winds). Low just below freezing Sunday night.
Monday will feature more clouds than sun and highs in the upper 40s. Just light breezes on this day. Overnight lows in the upper 20s.
Tuesday will begin with plenty of sunshine, but clouds will build in late. Expect milder southeasterly breezes to make the mid-50s high feel even a bit warmer.
Wednesday looks rainy and mild with temperatures in the mid 50s for much of the day. We'll see showers and drizzle rather than the soaking downpours of last week.
Thursday and Friday will be sunny and milder still--Thursday's high will be in the upper 50s, Friday's in the low 60s. Maybe an overnight shower Friday into Saturday, but nothing too bad.
Saturday and Sunday look nice: highs in the upper 50s to low 60s, lows in the mid to upper 30s.
Next week looks rainy and cooler. But it will officially be spring! So there's that...
Close Encounters and Autumnal Vicissitudes...
Weather-Shieldings,
(Sorry – I’m teaching Beowulf right now and it’s difficult to get it out of my head.)
Last night, went to my favorite movie theater (Penn Cinema, Lititz) for the latest installment in their “Monday Night Movies” series. I’ve written before about this outstanding theater, which features state-of-the-art screens, Digital 3D, and impressive amenities. And construction is nearly complete on a new IMAX theater next door to the main building, slated to open in time for the Harry Potter release on Nov. 19th.
Watching Close Encounters on the big screen reminded me of a time when the movies were about humanity as much as they were about spectacle. The movie was utterly riveting and genuinely breathtaking, but did not contain one explosion, car chase, or murder. And yet, given the lack of those elements, it wasn’t tame or simplistic or cloying, like so much Disney fare. On the contrary, it made powerful statements about who we are, how we want others to see us, and about the power of wonder to cut through even the most entrenched cynicism, the most thickset rationality.
Anywho, last night’s feature was 1977’s
Close Encounters of the Third Kind
The night began with Penn Ketchum (the theater’s owner and namesake) coming out and firing trivia questions at the crowd. The film itself was awe-inspiring: a gorgeous print of a wonderful movie. Richard Dreyfuss’ performance was legendary—nuanced and manic, but never ham-fisted. He won the Academy Award that year for Best Actor, but not for this film; he won for his role in The Goodbye Girl.
The experience reminded me of seeing Poltergeist in the early 80s and being terrified by the scene of the mother trying desperately to get out of a pit dug to accommodate an in-ground pool, clawing at the mud in the pouring rain and sliding again and again back into a nightmarish clutch of skeletons. No one cut off his own foot, there were no meat cleavers to the chest, and no one was disemboweled—and yet it remains one of the most frightening moviegoing experiences of my life. (The creepy clown in that kid's room didn't help matters, either. Yeesh.)
Here’s a full-season list of the Monday Night Movies series. I highly recommend taking the short trip down 222 for one (or more) of these features. (Email me for easy directions.)
9/13 Gone With the Wind
9/20 Close Encounters of the Third Kind
9/27 Kelly’s Heroes
10/4 Titanic
10/11 Jailhouse Rock
10/18 From Here to Eternity
10/25 The Goonies
11/1 The Shining
11/8 Caddyshack
11/15 The Big Lebowski
11/22 Planes, Trains & Automobiles
11/29 True Grit
12/6 Home Alone
12/13 National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation
So enough about me. How’s the weather?
Weather narrative: The next couple of weeks will feature highs in the 90s and highs that will barely make it into the 60s; that’s what I call a season of vicissitudes. The next few days will be increasingly humid and rather hot, with highs at or near 90 throughout the rest of the week. Watch for isolated thunderstorms on Wednesday afternoon.
The weekend is looking somewhat volatile, weather-wise. Saturday looks like the better of the two days, with the just the chance of some passing showers; Sunday may have more widespread showers. Highs both days will be in the mid 70s, considerably lower than the previous several days.
Next week, after a rainy Monday, we settle in for some weather typical of early autumn: highs in the upper 60s. By the end of next week, highs will struggle to get into the 60s at all.
The following weekend (the first weekend of October) is looking beautiful.
Beyond the forecast: By mid-October, we’ll see highs only in the low to mid 50s and lows dipping into the 30s…