7:45 PM >> Babies mit Bearden

OK, jerk. I've ignored Ensign's rantings and reviews of commercial foods and beverages for the past several years, but he convinced me a few months ago - we were watching the UGA/SC game I believe (ah the good old days when we used to win) at Taco Mac in Decatur - to try Pepsi Jazz. Admittedly, he warned against the Black Cherry flavor but raved about the Strawberries and Cream Pepsi Jazz. I was wary from that start about any soda, much less a diet soda, which had Strawberries and Cream flavoring would be appealing in any way whatsoever, but I do like Fanta Strawberry from time to time, so I thought I would give it a shot. We strolled over to the CVS across the street, but they had none, no surprise to me now that I have some hindsight on the impossibility this product's popular appeal. I walked away that day somewhat disappointed since Ensign had done a very effective job of pumping me up about the uncommon goodness of the Jazz. I had scene the commercials - the cute, hip black woman walking down the street drinking the Jazz with all of her obnoxious surroundings suddenly converging into a sort-of Jazz symphony (jackhammers were snare drums, screaming babies were trumpets, etc.). We are all too old to believe such ridiculous hype, but nonetheless I am a naive romantic deep inside and longed to see the world in harmony, what with all the wars, genocide, and Madonna adoptions going on, and was willing to risk something as insignificant as a buck or two for a soda to solve the problems of the world, as least as I perceive them.

Notice: Pepsi Jazz makes no promise to actually solve the world's problems, only to make them seem entertaining to the consumer.

A few weekends ago, a very dear friend of mine and her fiance, a dear friend of mine as well, married on a South Carolinia island overpopulated with deer. After four days of free beers and brats, bad golf and tennis (my ace is getting better), kicking beach balls in the living room, and dancing with parents, Corporal and I headed home via Robert Smalls Parkway. We stopped for gas, entered the shop to get a soda and snack, and there on the shelf was a lineup of Pepsi Jazz, both Black Cherry and Strawberry and Cream. I was compelled to pick Strawberries and Cream based upon Eddy's review, so Corporal picked Black Cherry. I'll leave it to Corporal to give a review of that soda, but I'll leave you with a hint of what his review might say: it sucked.

But I had my Jazz and was excited even. The Corporal kindly paid for the treat and we went back to the Benz. I sat in the pilot's chair, buckled up, and twisted the cap. Just as I was about to pull onto the highway, I downed my first gulp of the Jazz. Things became very different. Rather than a beautiful, harmonious symphony of sights and sounds, I experienced complete chaos - a cacophony on my tongue and in my throat. What was it that had suddenly hurtled me into a sudden wave of displeasure? The absolute tragedy of the collapse of crescendoing expectations - all ceased climbing and nosedived into the pit of my stomach with my first swig of the Jizz, for I would have just assumed drink that which goes by the same name (phonetically).

I'm not even sure I need to describe it except to say that it tastes exactly like Diet Pepsi, Diet Coke's nasty aftertasty cousin, with the addition of an unnecessary and even injurious flavoring - a complete offense to any reasonable lover of life's finer indulgences. In no way could I be convinced to endorse a drink that seems to have come from the bladder of the Devil's brother himself, not even for one dollar.

I don't blog, and I may never blog again, but I do think that I am obligated, now that I know the truth, to prevent Ensign from betraying the trust of this blog's readers by condemning them to the surprise of buccal torture. He has no right to lead this blog's readers astray, down a path to disappointment and depression. He has made great claims on a mulitude of culinary subjects, and he may have even made an expert of himself on the subject, but do not let him fool you. I shutter to think what other claims he has made that are so far the opposite of what he states. Simply beware... I trusted, but I verified. And by verifying, I can now testify - the Jazz is awful. I must believe that this puts the entire collection of Ensign's reviews out on appeal.