Humans seem to have an odd fascination with putting soda where it doesn't belong, and in that vein, soda cans. Now, I'm not going to bring up the viral videos of that man putting soda cans or jars up his rectum, but I'll tell you where else soda doesn't belong: dessert. It doesn't belong in apple dumplings, it doesn't belong in pound cake, and it doesn't belong on top of my damned ice cream sundae.
And now, for the badly related Foodette joke of the day! I'm crushed. Get it? Ha ha ha, stop throwing things.
This is the counterpart to the famous orange soda, Crush, not to be confused with the equally famous fetish of crushing things for sexual pleasure, but hell if I'm even going to step on that with my six inch go-go boots. And it appears to be a corn syrup laden confection, thick and not luscious and pretty awful. Kayla reviewed the the more vile-looking Dr. Pepper dessert topper here
, also discussing fetishes, though we didn't use telepathy to decide this.
I tried it on vanilla ice cream, hoping that the gods of gastronomy would cut me a break and turn it into a creamsicle or something, but instead, I just got this viscous pool of strangely textured liquid. It was so odd, it seemed to solidify upon impact, like a semiosmotic fluid, not quite solid, but not quite liquid. It was crystalized, and perhaps, since it was in the clearance section, it was stale, but its viscosity and saccharine flavor might have confused it for a high-quality honey instead of a shitty dessert syrup, too.
I'll give them credit. They didn't fuck up "orange". It was definitely orange, like an orange on the terror alert or having thousands of oranges lobbed at you in a softball throwing machine. So that gave some points. But I don't understand the concept. Just drink your damned soda and have your damned ice cream and leave it that way. Dammit.
Labels: 1, dessert