Boots Sarsaparilla Root Beer

I recently heard an insane story that i have to share. Granted, this story is coming to me third-hand and i know none of the people involved. I heard this story from my wife's best friend Shasta. She relayed this tale to us from her sister, and this whole thing supposedly happened to one of Shasta's sister's friends. So with all that preamble i mean to say i didn't do anything more to verify this story than to hear it from Shasta so i can't cop to its veracity. Still, it's that good of a story that i have to pass it along. 
Shasta's teenaged sister has a friend that is a guy. His name is... (totally not making this up on the spot) Jamtillon, a real name. Anyway, Jamtillon is a somewhat shy kid but he has the hots for this girl in their social circle that sounds like should be named Gwendolyn. So Jamtillon works up the courage to ask her out on a first date. 

NOTE: this is a first date. Adds to the insanity. 

Jamtillon asks Gwendolyn to come with him on the Polar Express. Now, we all live in Mesa, AZ, which is a suburb of Phoenix. In Williams, AZ (the small town where i grew up) the Grand Canyon Railroad operates and serves as the lifeblood of that town by attracting tourists from all around the world and offering them an old-timey train ride up to the southern rim of the Grand Canyon for a real authentic 1800's experience. If i'm being reductionist about it i would say it's essentially turning a 1 hour drive into a 2 hour train ride for a fairly nominal fee. Anyway, to make even more money during the Holiday Season the railroad puts on a short 1+ hour ride just outside of town where they read the story of the Polar Express to all the families and kids, many of which are dressed in holiday pajamas. They have cookies and drink hot chocolate and sing songs and do that kind of stuff until they get to "the North Pole", which is just a cardboard cutout town with a few people standing outside and waving. It's both innocent and charming as well as a total waste of money and a humungous racket (again, that's the pessimistic reductionist in me talking). Anyway, it's a perfectly acceptable date except for one crucial fact. Mesa is a 3+ hour drive away from Williams, meaning they have to drive up, do the train ride, get something to eat and drive back. So you throw in a couple pit stops and bathroom breaks and this date (first date) is at minimum a 9-10 hour endeavor. Right there, this thing is doomed from the start.

Anyway, as the story goes, Jamtillon picks up Gwendolyn and begins the drive up to Williams. He is trying to be noble and avoid embarrassment by holding in his farts the whole drive. When he pulls into the train station in Williams he decides to be a gentleman and offers to get out and open the door for his date. But Jamtillon is a clever dog. He really just wants an opportunity to "blow off some steam" while his date sits in the car. What he doesn't account for is that while he walks around the back of his car to open her door, he blows off a lot more than steam. To be blunt, he drops a load in his pants. Panic washes over Jamtillon. This is a bad, bad start. But he recovers quickly when he tells Gwendolyn, "Let's go into the gift shop and get some pajamas to change into for the train!" Gwendolyn tells him she's fine in the clothes they have and doesn't want any pajamas. The train is leaving soon, so he doesn't have a lot of time to act. "Ok, well I'm going to go get some pajamas. Why don't i just meet you on the train?" He watches Gwendolyn board the train and turns to go into the gift shop. He finds a pair of pajama pants, purchases them and then proceeds to the port-a-potty outside because the bathrooms inside are being renovated. Gwendolyn grows concerned as she hears that the train is leaving soon and sees Jamtillon exit the gift shop and head into a port-a-potty. Jamtillon enters the port-a-potty and removes his pants and underwear, throwing them into the toilet as they are "unredeemable". He then unfolds his pajama pants and discovers... it's a sweatshirt. It's not pajama pants at all. He has bought the wrong thing and cannot get his pants and underwear back out of the port-a-potty. Gwendolyn looks around wildly as the train begins to pull out of the station. She keeps her eyes fixed on the port-a-potty until Jamtillon finally emerges. He is wearing the sweatshirt as pants and looks to the window where their seats are to make eye contact with Gwendolyn. And just then, the train pulls away from the station. When Gwendolyn gets back from the trip to the North Pole, Jamtillon is gone. Clearly, this is the only recourse he has at this point. No voicemail or text, no indication that he was coming back. He just ghosts her. She has to call her family to drive the 3+ hours to come pick her up. 

Now... that is the worst first date i've ever heard of, but given all that happened i think that's the only natural conclusion it could possibly have. But again, going back to the fact that this first date is at minimum 9-10 hours, i could have told you from the start that this was going to be a disaster. Which is what i thought about this root beer prior to drinking it. Boots Sarsaparilla Root Beer is brewed and bottled in Bellville, TX. The Boots Beverage Co. began as Bellville Bottling Works and was purchased by a German immigrant named Ambrose Kristen. His image is displayed on the label of the bottle along with a small snippet of the tale of his journey to Texas. Boots has a variety of flavors, each inspired by members of Ambrose's family. Ambrose earned the honor of having the root beer flavor carry his name. 

Looking at this root beer, it has all the apparent signs of a bad root beer. It's not even really trying to look its best or be enticing to people. The label is colorful and professional with all the hallmarks of several generic root beer brands. The root beer itself is also quite pale. And when i cracked the cap, the aroma i get is faintly medicinal. Not a good track record based on other root beers with similar telltale signs. I took one look at this and pegged it for pure trash. But i gotta tell you... i really was taken back by this root beer. This stuff is truly a solid root beer. It's very sweet and creamy, heavy vanilla flavor, and it's sweetened with cane sugar which gives it a nice finish. It almost tastes like a root beer float. 

My official review is that Boots Sarsaparilla Root Beer gets 8 (eight) IBCs. I really would never have looked at this without tasting it and thought it would be a top contender, and yet, here it stands among the greats of root beer. Truly as shocking to me that this is good as i am that Jamtillon would have the hubris to take a girl on a 10 hour first date. And we all see where that landed him... in a mobile toilet wearing a shirt for pants. So i admire the boldness of Boots to determinately stake their place in the root beer pantheon. This one is surprisingly one of the best root beers i've had in a long time.  

Hosmer Mountain Sarsaparilla Root Beer

On a recent visit to Bear Lake, ID for a family reunion i was formally introduced to a game from my wife's childhood called Loopin' Louie. I say formally introduced because i've heard about this game incessantly whilst never having played it on account that the childhood set belonging to my wife's family lay in a tattered box under my bed for the majority of my marriage, filled with half missing/half broken parts. It was, needless to say, useless, and as such, trash. In fact, that is where my wife rescued it from soon after we were married and she discovered that her father had thrown it out. Unrelated, my wife really likes that show Hoarders. She's seen 'em all...

Anyway, it was significant to her because it was a game she played with her now deceased grandfather with whom she had a very loving and close relationship. So i understand that. What i have a harder time understanding is the lore of the game Loopin' Louie itself. For the uninformed, Louie is a middle-aged pilot who is vaguely Germanic looking and flies an old WWI/WWII era prop-plane, and for whatever reason he really really hates chickens. Oh and also, just an aside, when the game is assembled it slightly resembles a swastika. It's a 4 player game of which the object is to protect your chickens from Louie as he blindly follows his innate instinct to fly his plane directly toward them to presumably murder them. Each player is outfitted with a different colored paddle to bump Louie's plane up and over the chicken coop to prevent a grisly death when the chickens met the business end of a propeller. Some members of my wife's family assert that the color of the paddle makes the difference. Several are in the camp of "red always wins", and indeed the winner of the family tournament was using the red paddle to claim victory. But i contested that there was no way red has an advantage. Everyone had the same opportunities and limitations because the game is pretty simplistic at the core. Yes, the only hope we had was to nudge Louie out of the way on his murderous tirade and hopefully guide him toward our opponents, inwardly hoping the death of their chickens will satiate his bloodlust for at least a few moments. But it never will... It never ever will... Louie just loops around and around to tag each chicken coop again and again. He just loops. He loops and he loops. He's Loopin' Louie. And he won't rest until every chicken is dead. Every... last... one. 
While the question of Louie's motive quickly jumps to mind and whose answer is still a mystery, i found a more interesting line of inquiry when my brother-in-law posited the question of what role we the players had in this debauchery. Were we farmers trying to protect our flocks from an insane pilot in the early stages of dementia? Were we the chickens fearing for our own lives and narrowly escaping (and sometimes not) the stinging blades of death raining down from the heavens above? But the answer, i told my brother-in-law, is so much simpler than that. You see, we're the paddles. We don't control the paddles, we ARE the paddles. It's plain to see. It doesn't matter what color you are because Louie only sees one color. Red. Not the red paddle, the color of blood. And once you realize that, only then can you truly understand Loopin' Louie. 

Like my wife with this game, i have a long and sordid relationship with the root beer. I wouldn't call this my white whale but it's been on my most wanted list for sure. I can't remember when i first even heard of this root beer but it's been at least 5 or 6 years. That makes it sound like this is some legendary root beer of yore, and i don't intend to ascribe it that. I simply mean that this is one that i have heard of but i have found difficult to find through my regular channels. Hosmer Mountain Sarsaparilla Root Beer is brewed and bottled in Willimantic, CT. This is one of an extensive line of sodas crafted by the folks at Hosmer Mountain Springs Bottling Co. The company has a long history in the area and began making sodas in 1948. It started as a family business and i think it is still run by the sons of the guy who started it. I will give them credit for longevity and adapting the business as the times dictated. And i know i'm late to the game with this one and all, but they point to a specific root beer review for confirmation of their standing within the industry, and i just gotta say... come on... we all have the same credibility here. This is just a vanity project. No one takes these things seriously, but if they did then this is really the only review that should affect the layout of your website, that's all i'm saying. 

The shape of the glass bottle is fun, it's a little different, dare i say elegant even. I like the old school paper and glue label, sticking to the old ways of doing things. The clear glass gives me a good look at how pale looking this root beer appears, though it may be no different than others. When i cracked the cap i got very little aroma and most of the carbonation escaped leaving this on the more flat side of the beverage. Not my favorite thing, but it does well to make up with the taste. This soda is sweetened with both white and brown sugar and flavored with a sarsaparilla extract. The label calls this a sarsaparilla root beer but they also offer a sarsaparilla flavored soda in their line. I wonder if any distinction is made other than the name or if they simply are identical in taste and only differ in the marketing. Regardless though, that's a good classic flavor for root beer. It feels a little thin, but still has a refreshing finish to it. I would say that by any reasonable standard this is a solid root beer. 

My official review is that Hosmer Mountain Sarsaparilla Root Beer gets 7 (seven) IBCs. This is a close contender for a score of 8, but i think it just lacks the little something to nudge it over the edge. Solid showing though, really showcasing the abilities of the Hosmer Mountain Bottling Co. I'd be very interested to try more or their 30 flavors of beverages. And perhaps if Louie had refreshed himself with a cold Hosmer Mountain beverage it may have finally abated the carnage he is destined to unfold upon all chicken-kind.

But it never will. It never ever will. Cuz Louie? Well... he's just gonna keep loopin'.

Zia Root Beer

From Aug 2000 to Aug 2002 I lived in Ontario, Canada while serving a mission for the church I was raised in. I was in my early 20’s at the time and for a 9 month stretch I lived in a medium sized city called Burlington right on the shores of not-so-beautiful Lake Ontario. Our days consisted of a pretty regimented schedule of tasks and duties, one of our mandates being to provide service to the communities we were placed in for a few hours a week. We did service for individuals and organizations in a number of different ways, including visiting elderly people and assisting in nursing homes, volunteering at food banks and blood donation centers, a lot of cleaning and organizing of personal homes and storage spaces, and being in Canada we did a fair share of snow shoveling. But one of the most memorable people we provided service for was a man named Hassan. At the time he seemed so much older to me but he was probably only in his mid 50s at the time. He was an immigrant from an Arab nation, I don’t remember which, who had grown children but lived alone and was basically house bound. He stayed in his small apartment on the top floor of a 3-story walkup and I don’t recall ever seeing him go outside at all. I don’t even think he had a TV, though he may have had one in his bedroom. When we were in his apartment he would just sit in his chair and chain smoke while we talked. I image it was that way when we were not there as well. We would do simple things for him, like collect his mail and run small errands. When he discovered I had my own set of hair clippers he requested that I begin cutting his hair at regular intervals, and by cut his hair I mean he just wanted me to buzz his head. English was his second language, if not third or fourth, and he didn’t have a very good grasp of it. He called me Krumy-nicker, a phonetic spelling of the way he would say my last name (hint: roll the “r” at the beginning for the authentic experience). He would endearingly refer to my set of hair clippers simply as “the machine”, and I still find it endlessly amusing when he would ask for a haircut on our next visit by simply saying, “Krumy-nicker, can you bring the machine?”. Grocery shopping for Hassan was always the same. He would send us to get 1-2 loaves of processed white bread and a case of Pepsi from the basic grocery store down the road. Additionally, he would send us to a small shop in a strip mall which sold halal foods. We would present a piece of paper with his order to the person at the counter and they would hand us back a clear bag containing what I can only describe as a few lumps of sweaty cheese soaking in brine and filth. That’s all this guy ate, ever. He once asked me to go get him cigarettes, and when I told him we wouldn’t buy those for him it was the only time I saw him get upset with us. But it passed quickly and he was generally grateful for our visits and our help and we developed a nice relationship with him. Three times I thought I may be transferred from that area to another town and each time I told him he broke into tears, including the time I really did get transferred. He would give me a big embrace at the end of our visits and would tell me, “Krumy-nicker… I love you too much.” I will always remember him and the strange but comfortable relationship we had together. I respected him and he appreciated us. I heard he had passed away a few years after I had come back home, which was 20 years ago this August.

That story really has nothing to do with the root beer I am reviewing today. I just figured it needed to be written down somewhere so I don’t forget it. But like Hassan, I was a stranger in a not-so-strange land when I tried Zia Root Beer. My wife (and kids) presented this root beer to me on Father’s Day this year while stopping at my in-laws house in West Jordan, UT on our way up to Bear Lake, ID for a family reunion. She said she picked it up at the local Smith’s grocery store there, though the bottle says this root beer hails from New Mexico. The very visually pleasing label is adorned with several Native American symbols common to the New Mexico region. Zia Root Beer is just one of several, uh… unique flavors offered by the Zia Beverage Co. using ingredients local to the area, like prickly pear cactus and piñon nuts. In fact, the root beer flavor is steeped with ingredients like yucca root, anise, mint and cloves. Sounds delicious, right? Hold on to that thought while we dig in a little more.

What exactly is yucca root? Turns out it’s basically a type of potato. Does it make for a good flavor in a “root” beer? In my expert opinion, the answer is a hard no. 

Though the initial crack of the cap released a fairly pleasant aroma of root beer, the flavor was heavy on the anise/licorice, heavy on a Necco wafer taste (but only the bad ones), and lacks almost any actual traditional root beer flavor. The ingredients say this also contains vanilla but I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that. Additionally, it was nearly flat but still packed a little sting in my mouth that was neither irritating nor satisfying. They use natural cane sugar to sweeten it and I get small hints of mint that I had to search for after reading the list of ingredients. Overall though, it just tastes bad. Someone more familiar with the root may simply say this root beer tastes like yucca, to which I reply, “you can say that again.” This stuff is yucca for sure. 

My official review is that Zia Root Beer gets 3 (three) IBCs. I like the label and the idea of the fun and funky regional flavors, but just because it’s called a yucca root does not mean it translates into a root beer. Overall the taste in my mouth just feels dirty, even a little gritty. Perhaps those yucca roots need to be washed a little more before throwing them into the brew. So the score is mainly based off the originality and the fun label doing the heavy lifting because the flavor just aint bringin it. My suggestion would be that if you are dead set on using yucca you might need to find some more complimentary secondary ingredients. Dial back the clove, dial back the licorice and find a way to make this something I would ever consider getting again because as it stands now this is a one and done situation.