Here’s some stuff that I know about England:
- Nathan Barley, Look Around You, and The IT Crowd are fantastic TV shows.
- Whatever the opposite of a fan is, I am that for the Beatles.
- The Ricky Gervais Podcast is my favorite thing ever.
- Monty Python is way more popular than it should be.
- And there aren’t nearly as many chimney sweeps employed there as I would like.
Then of course there are all of the negative stereotypes about England:
- The bad teeth.
- The substandard cuisine.
- Their weird 13 month calendar (Cliveruary).
- The popularity of meat pies made of human flesh.
- And what we call potato chips they call Thatcher Ninnies.
I’ve never been to England, but I do know some very nice people who are from there. Sadly, none are chimney sweeps (sigh…some day). It is a place I would very much like to visit in a non-EPCOT fashion (though I’d like to think I’d still wear the mouse ears).
Sadly, until I get a chance to go, I will have to sate my desire on BBC America and the local British foodisher. Which brings me to this can. My lovely fiancé found herself in the aforementioned British market (I think there was an unadvertised sale on bowler hats) and picked me up some delightfully exotic beverages. More on the other selections later.
This is Tango Apple soda. It’s a British soft drink. “Tango” is British slang for “Sylvester Stallone” and “apple” is slang for “Cash.”
I am a fan of apples. Who amongst us is not? Not only are they nature’s toothbrush, but they also are just plain delicious. However, I am not a fan of Tango Apple. Besides the weird can size and freakishness of the metric system, the flavor just wasn’t doing it for me.
The drink is tart. Not sour like sour apple candy, but tart like a good apple should be. However, the appleness of the soda comes from concentrate, and it tastes like it does. Way too concentrate-y.
What really destroyed this stuff for me were the artificial sweeteners. The drink is flavored with sugar as well, but it doesn’t matter. The acesulfame K and aspartame are entirely too chemical and leave a horrid aftertaste. Every sip left me wanting to rinse my mouth out to get rid of the film I felt clinging to my pink matter.
Who needs that? What if I meet a hot British chick like Kate Beckinsale or Robbie Williams or Madonna. I can’t be all stickied up. Come on Tango! What are you trying to do to me here? The war is over! We can be friends again.
If you find yourself in the local British food emporium, pass this stuff by. It’s just not good. Or get a can for someone you don’t care for. Like an Irishman.
A dirty stinking Irishman.