I’ve been in Indiana for the past week, what’s your excuse? I come back to find the office a complete mess and Gonzalo wearing only what I’m 90% certain are a pair of your tighty whiteys, what’s up. Anyways, shite state of affairs out there, I’m sad to report: there is fuck-all to drink. I know, big surprise in the land where Faygo reigns supreme. Did you know that if you are searching for a good beverage in Indiana, you will actually die of thirst? It is a true fact. This report is basically proof.
Ohana Raspberry Lemonade is measurably terrible and I doubt anyone would disagree, so it’s not worth the ones and zeroes to really get into the whys and wherefores. All that matters is this is a juice that not only has no real juice in it, it doesn’t even have anything approaching fruit flavoring in it. It’s simply the chemical approximations of sweet and sour, delivered with the grace and joy of a metal rasp to the tongue. Nothing good will ever come of the existence of this drink, but that’s fine because no one will ever really like it. It’s not even a minor Baldwin–it’s a guy who lived near the Baldwins, growing up.
Generally, complaining on the internet about a beverage is the surest guarantee of a slew of commenters furiously chiming in to hail said beverage as their all-time favorite. But this can’t possibly be anyone’s favorite, unless it’s the type of thing where they drank it once or twice on a youthful dare, and now that they’re adults the memory has somehow taken on a life of its own, coming to inhabit the kitschy intersection of vague memory and ironic nostalgia.
That intersection actually exists, by the way. It’s in Indiana.