Ginger Beer 4: Ginger Beer but with a lemon aftertaste haha

Not that anyone checks my blog anymore, but welcome to first Bundaberg Beverage Review in 18 months! (Most of my activity now is found on my communal Facebook Page.)

Today also marks the 2 year anniversary of my VERY FIRST post, a scathing review of Pineapple and Coconut!

But yes, onto Ginger Beer: Lemon Myrtle (Myrtle who?)

You’ve had long enough to try it for yourself so here’s my verdict:

Just kidding. I don’t do short summaries. Read on if you want.

Ginger Beer, Spiced Ginger Beer and Lemon Myrtle Ginger Beer all sit in a living room, discussing differences in their characteristics, hobbies and lifestyles.

A metronome goes off in the background and a piano whimsically chimes between a high and low note.

“I like Australia Day!” Remarks Ginger Beer with a spritely smile.

“And I love Christmas!” Adds Spiced Ginger Beer with a grin just as cheesy.

“And I like Easter because it celebrates death!” Says Lemon Myrtle Ginger Beer awkwardly trying to join in on the fun.

Ginger Beer and it’s spiced companion pause awkwardly and give Lemon Myrtle a concerned side glance.

There’s a brief awkward pause before Ginger Beer interjects,

“But we all like holidays!”

And then all they all sing, “CAUSE WE’RE DIFFERENT BUT WE’RE THE SAME!” Simultaneously in their different pitched voices accompanied by a tuba.

(Stolen very much from Aunty Donna. If you choose to look them up, be wary.)

Lemon Myrtle is neither an improvement nor a downgrade from the original Ginger Beer, but more of a sidestep.

Much like Spiced Ginger Beer, it’s ‘different but the same’ as Ginger Beer with without being distinctly separate in its own right.

The Lemon flavour doesn’t scream out like a Sarsaparilla bottle begging to be noticed.

The difference is noticeable, but it’s far from a game-changer, much like Disney re-releasing the Lion King as a live action movie.

It’s an exact replica of a staple classic aside from one change (if you can correspond a subtle flavour change to a CGI adaption of a cartoon).

That being said, it’s definitely worth a try, even if you come to the exact same conclusion as I did.

ACTUAL VERDICT: “It’s different but it’s the same”

5.5 Bundaberg Barrels out of 7.

Kirks Pasito: Out of it’s own league.

Pasito is an overachiever in the realm of the unremarkable and underwhelming, much like how an ANU student perceives themselves compared to students from all other universities.

Much more so, it is undoubtedly superior to its counterparts in the Kirks range.

It surpasses his or her age group in wisdom and maturity, due to learning from their four elder siblings mistakes.

It shouldn’t be possible to get so much satisfaction from a budget soft drink, and yet a solid 10-strong slab of these cost the same as a mere four pack of its business class doppelganger Bundaberg Passionfruit.

“Why?” I hear no one ask.

“How can you justify this stance?”

As seasoned readers of these posts are aware, I do not delve into, nor have any genuine understanding of the flavours of any given beverage, because this is what I’d sound like if I did.

“The authentic passionfruit flavour evokes the true satisfaction felt by paraguayan farmers biting into the juicy flesh of their local produce after toling under the hellish humidity of the hot sun–”

That paragraph was more painful to conjure up than taking a sip of Bundaberg Pineapple and Coconut.

This isn’t a McDonalds commercial promoting one of their terrible loose change menu burgers. It’s not packed with over-romanticised descriptions of cooked cow flesh (100% Australian Home Grown succulent fresh juicy tender crisp undeniably local beef pattie).

I know full well there’s no need to explain what Pasito tastes like.

What you do need to know is that my subjective opinion of this drink should be an infallibly objective measure of its quality.

It’s worth the price your teeth and your spare change pay for it.

Whatever the desperate slogan on the circumference of can says, it’s justified for once.

It’s worth repeating the same sentence over and over with slightly different wording for it.

OVERALL SCORE: 6/7 Strangely Coloured Toucans

Kirks ‘The only time it’s acceptable to call soft drink SODA in Australia’ Creaming Soda.

A red bubbling beverage, losing its carbonation from too much externally impacting forces.

What goes into creaming soda anyway?

How about an unspecified natural flavour? (Thanks again, unhelpful can).

Also, why in the name of all things red and sugary does it get to call itself CREAMING soda?

Well apparently it actually originated in Italy, and supposedly contains varying degrees of cream I can only assume.

Also, definitely quote me on that. I did the extensive academic ‘Wikipedia Headline via Google Search’ research method (now an acceptable research practice at the University of Western Sydney).

But wait!

I’ve shared too much information anyway!

I am currently spending too much reading space addressing creaming soda as a whole, but I don’t want to bever-racially stereotype all creaming sodas! After all, even Burgundee from Bundaberg is a creaming soda, although possessing actual flavours.

“But we’re done with Bundaberg reviews!” I hear no one actually say, but pretend some fictional audience member said in order to move the article along.

Onto more instant google search facts you shouldn’t take with a grain of salt, the term soda originates from the Arabic term ‘suwwad’, of which means ‘salt-wort’. Did I subsequently google what salt wort meant? NO. You can do that.

One way or another though, because nobody knows quite what this drink is, you won’t find it on offer at either McDonalds or KFC (see, primary range of drinks from CocaCola and Schweppes at both comfort food chains), which is why the Kirks brand developer jumped in and decided,

“We can actually be the leading brand for this drink! We don’t even have to be the budget option!” Followed by shouts of thrifty mild-tempered semi-jubilation.

The Kirks can does boast on a dark silver seal of approval that is has no artificial colours and flavours. The fact that the label doesn’t stand out when it really should aside, the fact they just whack in “natural flavour” in the ingredients list with no further specifications shows that, funnily enough, most customers don’t really give a s.

And frankly, neither should we. Just enjoy the damn beverage without the unnecessary side of self-righteous guilt!

Why does everything need to be so healthy all the time, huh?

[INHALES PASSIVE AGGRESSIVELY]

*Screams following sentence very fast in one breath*

“We all know this Western cultural health and fitness epidemic simply exists to mitigate your physical insecurities under the guise of being an objectively beneficial practice, with that very practice being compromised every three minutes because your entitlement that says ‘treat yourself,” for not stooping to the same low as Samantha.”

And what are you going to have? One of these bad boys from your work fridge!

Karen takes a well deserved can of Kirks Creaming Soda from the work fridge after one-upping that self-righteous snob Samantha in the office [Source: The School of Hard Knocks]

Now, we talked last time about how actual journalism references its headline in the opening paragraph. We’re not getting better.

In Australia, from my understanding, you call soda ‘fizzy’ right up until you’re about 12, then proceed to refer to it as ‘soft drink’. The presence of ‘soda’ in the name Creaming Soda, as a soft drink in Australia, where nobody says ‘soda’, is important.

Why? Because if it were called creaming ‘Soft Drink’, it would force you to think about the word ‘creaming’. This results in your inevitable disappointment unless you vigorously shake the can before opening it.

My actual thoughts on it? It tastes like I’d expect any Creaming Soda to: sugary, sweet and relatively enjoyable.

The above sentence could’ve saved you the previous slob of incoherent drivel that was 95% of the article, but here we are, ladies and gents.

OVERALL SCORE: 4.5/7 Samantha destroying Karens

Kirks Olde Stoney “Ginger Beer” is carbonated dust syrup.

Listen closely kids.

Remember Kirks as a brand of soft-drink belongs to the domineering Disney of the carbonated beverages world, the Coca-Cola Company.

It’s the budget range, just like that thrifty friend of yours that travels to Thailand just to get their wisdom teeth removed.

Further expanding along close South-East Asian destinations, there’s the one we all think of that’s cheaper to fly to from Sydney than flying to Canberra. Bali.

Have I ever been? No.

Do I intend on going? Not really.

Do I plan to label it as a stingy off-shore bogan paradise based purely on stereotypes and anecdotes from other people? Certainly.

Picture landing in Denpasar (I mean, I assume so, given I looked on Google Maps and it yelled at my eyes signalling it has an international airport).

After your three hour $150 Jetstar flight with no entertainment, nor end in sight at the time, you straddle off the plane and out the airport to get immersed in the rich natural beauty of the beaches and jungles to gain an understanding of the culture…

— if you’re from anywhere other than Australia, which, given my readership demographic, I highly doubt it, so you’re just there to down some cheap drinks at one coastal resort on Suluban beach in the far south.

You’ve taken a taxi there that’s travelled eighty kilometres all for the cost of the equivalent of 11 Australian dollars when…

Okay, forget the second half of the long-winded analogy.

Kirks Ginger Beer is the fifty dollar scuba diving trip you take in Bali, where there’s no guarantee the equipment works and you don’t drown…

Which is a round-about way of saying Kirks Ginger Beer is the third-rate poor man’s Ginger Beer. You get it. You’re also better off grinding raw Ginger in a blender, mixing it with water, then drinking that instead (probably).

According to Coca Cola Australia’s website it allegedly contains “Ginger extract”, whatever the hell that means, but it certainly isn’t the complex process used to naturally brew the near flawless and justifiably glorified Bundaberg Ginger Beer.

It’s like when you were in primary school and some poo-poo head kicked shoe-full of tanbark at you, with the ensuing clumps of dust, bark and soil spluttering into your mouth.

Now make that unpleasant sensation into a soft drink and you have Kirks Ginger Beer.

Of all the sugar-filled carbonated beverages it’s not worth having, it’s the one not worth having the mo–

Well aside from Pineapple and Coconut.

Also most ‘diet’ and ‘sugar-free’ variants of drinks.

Or like the tendency this post has to start a new paragraph after every sentence.

If you do see a 10-pack Cardboard carton of Kirks cans from your local Woollies, ladies, gents and [INSERT HILARIOUS EDGY STATEMENT MOCKING THE IDEA OF THERE BEING MORE THAN TWO GENDERS], than know there’s a reason that they’re default pricing is just 61 cents a can.

Also, out of the five options available, shame on you if you select it.

One thing I will give it though, is that it’s at best tolerable.

Tolerable in the same sense as the first Transformers movie after a few drinks.

Unlike Bundaberg brewed drinks however, which are expensive and unlikely to be used as mixers for your already expensive alcohol, you’ve probably already tried it.

If you have tried, just remember: if you don’t agree with me, you’re wrong.

OVERALL SCORE: 2.5 / 7 MICROSCOPIC DUST MITES.

Unwanted Extras Series: The Inferior Sequels Diet Trilogy Episode III: Diet Lemon Lime and less disappointment

As you’d expect, Diet Lemon Lime and Bitters is a less sweet, less flavoursome variant of the original; however unlike the previous two diet iterations, watering down its intensity makes it more tolerable and therefore better. Yes, much like these reviews should be.

No longer are you left so much with that flavour yearning to soar above its competitors but simply leaves a sour strain on the tongue, or gasping with shock like Avengers: Infinity War did to all of us.

Instead, you are left with more of a second-hand sensation from the op-shop section of the soft drink isle. The price of each individual 375 mL bottle, even as part of a 4 pack may resemble that of an entire 1.1 litre bottle of it’s supposedly inferior Schweppes counterpart, but, there’s enough Bundaberg tinge in there to justify it, not straight-up ruining it like the original L.L and B does if ya know what I mean.

Would you look at this? This text is going along side an image rather than beneath it! That’s very advanced.

To assist you with this comparison, imagine a friend of yours that always wants to be the centre of attention.

Have that friend?
Don’t have a friend like that?

Don’t have any friends?

Okay, just use your imagination either way.

Said friend probably tries very hard to be the centre of attention on a regular basis and strives for the approval of others, to the extent that’s rather obvious (see: Original Bundaberg Lemon, Lime and Bitters).

Now, imagine that friend chose to dial back their behaviour and exhibit an air of calmness only made possible for them by alcohol, rendering their company far more bearable and in turn making them seem overall a better human being.

Yes, as you would have never seen coming, this friend has become Diet Lemon Lime and Bitters; watered down, not trying as hard and calming the f down with the over-the-top bravado thing and inadvertently becomes a better, easier to stomach product.

That being said, this is no defense or reprieve for it being a dastardly dreaded diet drink.
Also, it’s still not really worth riling yourself up about or even requisitioning over a good ol’ Schweppes sample in any circumstance.

God forbid you’d buy this beverage in a pack of 4 and thus you’d probably have to shell out the cash it would cost for a Nintendo Wii Nunchuk from a second-hand neckbeard gaming shop (Like $3.50 – 4.50).

Yes it may be tolerable, but for the price you pay it’s really not worth your pence and shillings over the literal bakers-dozen-minus-two superior Bundaberg Beverage options available to you.

If you are wishing to try it because you wish to cut down on sugar, or are actually on a diet, please stop. Trying soft drinks of any kind whilst attempting to be ‘healthy’ is really an objectively stupid decision.  Otherwise, if you’re like me (unlikely, in general) and wish to try it simply so you can say that have, do it but only once.

OVERALL SCORE: Four and a tenth Bundaberg Barrels out of seven (4.1/7)

 

GUAVA: Sweeter than a perfectly scripted romance.

Sometimes trying to date an incredibly attractive person as a bit like applying for a job. Said person probably receives several date invitations which will generally be accepted or declined based upon your resume that outlines your gratifying features, affluence and qualifications. If you have enough redeeming qualities on a surface level, you may be accepted for an interview (your first date). If you handle the pressure with composure and elegance, you may be asked back a second or third time. If you’re lucky, they’ll secure you in for the position and you’ve got the job! (Enter the relationship, whatever).

You know where this is going.

Predictably enough, Guava IS that seemingly perfect, flawless and bewildering guy or girl that’s simply too good for you.

Okay, I get it. The analogy doesn’t quite work. Guava is a beverage and you purchase it and– well the metaphor gets messy from there.

Everyone knows that if you classify anything under the hollow superlative of “the best”, it’s probably the smallest Russian doll in the centre of several additional layers of ‘bests’ including the ‘best of the best’, the ‘best of the best of the best’ and so on.

That outer-most Russian Doll sits pretty on some dusty cedar-wood bookshelf  that belongs to your great aunt who lives in a nice secluded 1930s cottage. It’s a proud relic in a humble home in an isolated New South Wales country town that comes up as a typo in Microsoft Word.

It nonetheless stands proud like the tried and true celebrants of Australia Day in all their VB-sculling, durrie smoking glory. Proud like blasting ‘The Horses’ by Darrel Braithwaite at full blast through the speakers of your 2007 VE Commodore (that your dad told if you couldn’t drive, you’re not a real man). Proud like you’re doing all this in defiance of Triple J’s Hottest 100 no longer held on January the 26th.

Imagine Toy Story 2, the Godfather and the Shawshank Redemption combined their respective glory and were instead premium beverages (still more plausible than scientology). This therapeutically life-giving elixir of magnificently glorious purity…

Okay full disclosure, nothing on this earth is THAT good, but I’ve well and truly hammered home with Mjolnir how bloody good I think this drink is.

It’s the embodiment of the infatuation of a thirteen year old boy who thinks he’s in love for the first time.

This drink, in my humble and impartial opinion, is one of the best beverages mankind has to offer. Whether you howl at the moon, cut office red tape, ride hot air balloons or even if you vape, this is the drink for you.

My Score: ALL of the Bundaberg Barrels! (5/5)

Pink Grapefruit: These are the bois you’re looking for.

Sorry about the potentially misleading title. This drink actually ranks second on my Bundaberg Brewed Drinks hierarchy. Let me clarify this though: THIS DRINK IS AS HARD TO FIND AS SAND IS COMMON ON TATTOOINE (If you don’t get that reference, I make no apologies and I recommend you stop reading immediately).

Trust your instincts and count all the previous negotiations with a grain or seven hundred and forty-two thousand, six hundred and ninety seven of Naboo sea-salt (if you hadn’t already) in light-sabre of the following transmission.

The force is certainly fairly strong in this one unlike the Phantom Menace and its authentic citrus-tinged pink-as-a-sunset-sky-in-Cloud-City colour and gloriously Gungan-free grapefruit-ness hits the spot unlike a Storm Trooper.

Usually anything containing Grapefruit tries really hard in its trendy packaging laden with healthy-sounding buzz-droids (sorry, words) to lure you over. Despite their best efforts at manipulation through the dark side of the force, they ultimately taste the same way as you feel when watching Hayden Christiensen play as Anakin in episodes II and III.

Pink Grapefruit however, within in its elements and brilliance is purely original unlike The Force Awakens and catches onto you flawlessly, winning you over immediately like Rey. It’s beautiful like the original Star Wars Battlefront II, it’s tangy celestial citrus supremacy and it’s timeless like the tale of Darth Plagueis the Wise.

Lord Grapefruit was a powerful regal specimen among the citrus, so wise and so powerful he could influence his vitamins to prevent the ones he loved from going blind.

The highly bitter fruits on the citrus-spectrum contain some nutrients and remedies some consider to be unnatural.

His nutrients and vitamins became so sought-after and he became so powerful that the only thing he was afraid of his losing his popularity and reputation, which of course he did. Unfortunately he taught his cousin Duke Pink Grapefruit everything that made him trendy and affluent and in 2011 he blinded him, stealing all his fame and fortune while he was asleep. It’s ironic he could save others from going blind, but not himself.

A tragic tale we all can learn from, which may seduce—coerce— I mean convince you to never take the more ‘bitter-than-Han-Solo-over-Luke-in-episode-five’ citrus fruits for granted. The actions of the dark side of the force reduced the unemployment rate on Alderaan to zero, and along the same star-destroyer of thought drinking Pink Grapefruit is healthier than an Anakin Skywalker style lava bath, so why not land in the hangar of your local supplies station and force one into your system? Be warned though. It’s harder to find than a dialect C-3PO can’t translate.

My Score: Four and four-fifths of an over-done joke out of five (Lego Star Wars Canisters) (Uh, the text is bold so your eyes should be drawn here… 4.8/5)

Blood Orange: BLOOD makes EVERYTHING better!

An outdated meme,
A recycled dream,
A man who wants blood in his
Orange with cream.

(‘Huh, what? That doesn’t even make sense!’)

Okay, let’s cut to the chase for once. I LOVE this drink and it tastes bloody brilliant in my unbiased opinion.

Blood serves the purpose of helping move and stream oxygen and nutrients throughout the body through veins, arteries and capillaries…
Without blood, you are NOTHING.

In Quentin Tarantino films, the anatomy of the human body consists of skin on the exterior and purely blood on the inside; without blood, Quentin Tarantino films are NOTHING.

Were blood oranges given their name based upon their interior colour based upon the blood – red juices they contain as opposed to ‘regular’ species of orange which contain orange coloured juice?

NONSENSE.

The blood orange’s blood looks like human blood and therefore it bloody makes everything bloody fantastic despite appearing to leave you with blood on your bloody hands.

Maybe you feel like the use of the term blood has been bled a little dry, to state the bleeding obvious.

This isn’t Lemon Lime and Bitter Disappointment, dear readers. You aren’t better off venturing to the far-from-venerable selection of Schweppes somewhat satisfactory Agrum range on this occasion from your local duopolistic supermarket joint.

Like a rocketing fist clenched with flaming fury firing into the jaw of indifference or a blazing Nazi battle-tank barnstorming barbarically through a ferociously frosty Gulag, the sweet and sadly surreptitious taste of Blood Orange hits you hard like realising Santa’s as real as your chances of being the first man or woman to land on the moon.

It’s as under-rated as western New South Wales country towns and as under-appreciated as Coldplay’s Violet Hill (Youtube it, look it up on Spotify, do yourself a favour). Blood Orange is that close friend of yours who may not appear overly successful on a surface level but is loyal, quietly confident and is one the most wonderful people in this world once you begin to acquaint yourself with them.

Always remember: Red onions are better, Clive’s a trendsetter, jumpers not sweaters, I don’t like feta and you’ve a vendetta.

A vendetta against anyone who failed to immediately register the Clive I was referring to is none other than the Meme God himself Clive Palmer… oh and something else about blood oranges being better than normal oranges. Yes, I remember.

Overall, I strongly recommend it to you all. No in fact, more than that; I am obliging you, forcing you, threatening you. If you’ve read this post and don’t salvage a slab or a bottle of Blood Orange in next 7 days, you WILL be visited by the spirit of mild irritation. He shall descend upon your abode and make a mess of your pots and pans.

You have been warned.

My Score: Four and twenty and twenty again and another twenty hundredths of a Bundaberg Babbada-barrels out of five (4.6/5)

“The name’s Peach. Princess Peach”

Once upon a unspecified time, there lived a princess whose livelihood and occupation primarily revolved around being kidnapped as a full-time career, by none other than the notoriously unintelligent but successful dragon-turtle hybrid thing Bowser.

Of course, the same old plump, short and not overly good-looking Italian Plumber who egotistically dons an ‘M’ on his cap representing his own name ventures through god-forsaken plains, deserts, fields of snow and volcanic apocalypses dying literally hundreds of painful deaths to supposedly ‘rescue’ her (I mean, have you ever literally brushed your nose against a giant sentient mushroom with angry eyebrows? Classic armchair critic!)

We all know how it really goes. The numerous obstacle courses good old Mario undertakes aren’t really to rescue peach. It’s simply a decent workout he performs having clearly developed some refined parkour skills. When he finally conquers the final chambers of the LAST castle (never seeming to learn the seven bloody times the princess isn’t even there), he beats up Bowser (who he genuinely despises out of bitter jealousy).

This good old timeless battle won by almost literally pulling out a rug beneath him (rug, bridge that collapses forcing him into a pit of lava literally activated by a button —-whatever) isn’t to actually rescue the princess, it’s so the Princess will finally give in to actually maybe spending a day together as friends seeing his pitiful levels of desperation (to make matters worse, she secretly hires Luigi to third-wheel each time.) After a day of virtually no dialogue exchanges between the the two of them, she returns back to her boyfriend Bowser’s NEW residence (mandatorily in a keep surrounded by the volcanic fires of hell) by no later than dinner time. (He’s a poor bastard, Bowser. He’s in the Guinness Book of World Records for most instances of moving house in a lifetime)

The lava is fake and never truly disintegrates Bowser, who maybe takes the odd trip to the Mushroom Kingdom Royal Hospital using one of his aerodynamically ambiguous flying pirate ships to patch up his wounds, enjoying another three months of spear-heading an empire of pebble-brained pawns and also as the CEO of a construction company that colonises and industrialises wastelands covered entirely in lava.

The camera-crew and the media don’t portray or show Mario staying in a nice, relaxing four-star hotel with room service and Breakfast and Bed run by hospitable toads at the end of every day…

Oh sorry, you mean to tell me this a blog that reviews Bundaberg Drinks and isn’t supposed to make fictitious synopses of popular video game plot lines?

As little as eight years ago, eight of the thirteen Bundaberg beverages on offer today did not exist. There was only Ginger Beer, Sar-sap-a-really-hard-to-pronounce, Lemon, Lime & Average, Burgundee, Apple ‘Ale’ (as it was known back then) and just ‘Lemon’ (the latter two shelved in 2010 and reintroduced as Apple-not-Cider and ‘Traditional’ Lemonade in 2014). These are today classified as the ‘brewed range’.

.
(Figure 1.1 An Apple Ale Bottle I have because I think I’m a collector or something)

Peach (formerly known as Peachee until late 2014) was a standout beverage that sparkled on the tongues of romantic moviegoers, family picnickers and neo-communist Sydney University Club Presidents (probably) for several years before any other sparkling bois were introduced into the range in 2010.

Some friends of mine several years ago at a sleepover I went to criticised it for tasting like “Carbonated peach syrup,” and claimed that “maybe I have a strange likes and dislikes.”
I conceded and thought, “Come to think of it, perhaps they’re right.” and started re-evaluating my tastes. Needless to say I promptly got new friends.

Bundaberg Princess-maybe-not-princess Peach is like a loyal, nurturing, fun-loving and gorgeous girl whom unlike Princess Peach will neither lead you on for thirty years nor be in a strangely idiosyncratic relationship with a monolithic wingless dragon.

Peach’s unique punchy and in-your-face flavour is a rare sensation to savour like green grass in Canberra or an episode of Doctor Who that isn’t blatantly promoting a political agenda.

It is good.

It is very good.

The Lord looked upon his creation which inadvertently would reproduce and several thousands of years down the track— fast-forwarding to well past the colonisation of Australia to whatever ancestral origins eventuated in the birth of the individual of whom would slate Peachee as a drink for the Bundaberg Brewed Beverages Company leading to its creation… *pauses, takes in large breath* and he said it was good.

That’s all I have to say about that.

My Score: Four-and-a-half Barrelberg Bundas out of five (4.5/5)

T-rop-ic-al MANGO BRO! The best Mango beverage! (Out of the three that probably exist)

The introduction of Tropical Mango into the Bundaberg Drinks range marks the first new entry in almost three years; the first new sign of life since the largely underwhelming trilogy of actually-lemony-lemonade, apple-not-cider and Pineapple & Disappointment.

To start with a tired analogy, there are two types of people in this world: those who like mangoes and those whose parent’s children were cursed by a witch doctor or something to never be able to appreciate their heavenly tropical taste.

The only other soft drink I’ve tried that contains Mango however, is the Orange & Mango drink in the Schweppes pseudo-fruity fusions range (definitely the correct classification). Hence, I don’t have an average income earning middle-class Sydney-sider range beverage or Soft Drink to superciliously compare it to.

So, uh… what do I say now?

It’s like drinking a mango, really.

If that doesn’t paint a pleasant picture in your mind, well it should. That is unless, as previously mentioned your taste buds were inadvertently cursed by a witch (the only foreseeable circumstances in which Pineapple & Coconut would be someone’s favourite drink)

Of course, with the Mango Brew and Puree (the two words you will have seen many, many times now), you’re also drinking carbonated water, cane sugar, colouring foods including concentrate of apple, safflower, lemon and carrot; the usual.

It’s like the feeling of being genuinely, fully relaxed maybe in a beautiful coastal shack right on the beach in Bargara (basically the beach town of Bundaberg) with your favourite people in the world on your mandatory Christmas break.

It’s like a lifestyle you wish you could live all time in your heart despite your rational brain knowing you’d realistically tire of a perpetual paradise that isn’t economically viable.

Look at it this way, will you? A four-pack a’ Bundaberg Tropical Mango when it ain’t even on special at Woollies may’ve sneakily snuck up like a scissor-handed serpent from Saudi Arabia but it’s still a serviceable $5.70.

That’s definitely cheaper than buying four mangoes on average, so why don’t you scamper on your sunnies, singlet, thongs and budgie smugglers and sniggedy-snag yourself one from wherever you happen to see one next? Does that include cooning one off some unsuspecting cobber? Well if you’re that kinda person I’m certainly not condemning nor encouraging such an act (just kidding, stealing is WRONG).

Overall, it’s almost as grand as the Emperor’s New Groove and I greatly agree with myself in granting you the confidence that you should g(r)o and g(r)et yours(gr)elf one ’cause it’s (gr)etty great. (See translation)

My Score: 1/4 of 17 Bundaberg Barrels outta 1/4 of 20 (4.25/5)