Lost in Translation: Vernors

I have never been incredibly good at doing impressions. And even when I do them, I'm often not aiming for accuracy. I'm aiming for originality. For example, my De Niro impression involves opening my mouth and scratching my cheek. It doesn't make a lot of sense to anybody but me, but it is Justin Tiemeyer's De Niro impression. Mostly, I take one line and make it work. When I lived in Brooklyn, I must have annoyed the crap out of my roommate Fiona while I was practicing saying the vowel "o" the way I imagine Alan Rickman would. Of course, that's not a great example, because I also do impressions of him saying, "McClain," "Mr. Potter," and "What are you going to do with that fish?" I think my best impression is my stereotypical old Jewish woman impression. That's the one that gets the most laughs. But it's not very stereotypical, because there's no precedent for old Jewish women loving Yoohoo as much as I make them out to adore the chocolate substance. Every once in a while, however, I'll make fun of my girlfriend's (and my friend Adam's) love for ginger ale by saying, as the old Jewish woman, "Can somebody get me some Vernors?"

And, yep, you guessed it, Vernors is not exactly the best known product in the world. It should be, though, because it is America's oldest soft drink (that's another good word for carbonated beverage - I should have included it in the last post) that still remains. Certainly, there were ginger ales before Vernors, but you don't see Butler's or Delatour on the shelves anymore. Amy has recounted a couple of times the fact that people don't sell Vernors outside of Michigan. In my opinion, it's no big loss, because I've always thought that Vernors tastes gross. My mom used to always have a two-liter in our refrigerator and I liken the flavor to soft drinks from a machine where the syrup has run out. All you are tasting is water and carbon dioxide. But I can imagine that for a Vernors lover there might be a feeling of righteous indignation knowing that you are less likely to find Vernors in other states. After all, every superficial fact about Michigan - the weather, the economy, the political battles - scream that one ought to get away from the state as quickly as possible. And yet, it seems, the Vernors seems to pull some people back.

Regarding Faygo and the wet burrito, it was hard to find actual documentation to prove that the products are mostly indigenous to Michigan. Such is not the case with Vernors. For most of the beverage's history, it has been an entirely regional product. Created by a Detroit pharmacist, it was originally only distributed in Michigan and the surrounding areas. Even though Vernors was expanded to thirty-three of fifty states in the eighties and nineties, eighty percent of all Vernors sales still come from the state of Michigan alone. Strangely, Vernors has become a very popular beverage also in Florida, but this is actually because of the amount of retired or relocated former-Michigan-residents. I find this detail interesting for two reasons: 1. it confirms my suspicion that Vernors is the beloved drink of old people, and 2. that Michigan ships its elderly to the state of Florida at an alarming rate.

You know what happens now. Now, it's time for your Vernors experiences. Where do you live and have you ever seen Vernors there? Is it popular? Do you know anyone else with Vernors stories or the lack thereof? And also, as always, what kinds of products and places do you try to talk about where you are only to find that nobody knows what you're talking about?

Lost In Translation: Faygo

There is often a hubbub surrounding carbonated beverages when you travel from one place to another. The most familiar argument is whether you call it "soda" or "pop" or "soda pop." Here in the North, people claim that everyone here calls it "pop" and they make fun of you for saying "soda." In the South, people claim that everyone calls it "soda" and they make fun of you for saying "pop," especially if you have a Midwestern accent. They will say, "Paaaaaap." Like everyone's from Chicaaaago. I don't know who claims "soda pop." Perhaps that's more of a temporal thing than a spatial thing. Those jerks from the 1950s (Get it, jerks. Like soda jerks.) make fun of us for splitting the word into "soda" and "pop," while we make fun of them for thinking that the two words can exist peacefully side-by-side.

As for the soda vs. pop debate, I can vouch that most people in the North that I have encountered actually call it "pop" whereas most people in the South that I have encountered actually call it "soda." Since I have lived in both regions and sometimes wake up wondering where I am geographically located at that particular time, I usually go with "carbonated beverage" or "flavored liquid." Why? Because they're non-partisan.

It has also been told to me that people in the South call every kind of flavored liquid Coke. If it's Pepsi, it's a Coke. If it's Mountain Dew, it's yellow Coke. You see, Coca Cola was invented in Atlanta, Georgia, so the idea behind this urban legend is that everyone in the south calls carbonated beverages Coke because of Southern solidarity. A co-worker in Denton, Texas once told me that all Texans, himself included, call these beverages Coke. And yet, I never heard him refer to any drink other than Coca Cola Classic as Coke. If he ordered a Pepsi, he said, "Pepsi." If he ordered a Mountain Dew, he said, "Mountain Dew." As a matter of fact, after living in Texas for three years I can say that I've never even once encountered this nomenclature in practice. I know that it does happen, but I think it can be said that the statement, "Everyone calls it Coke" is decidedly false when only a couple people have ever done this. My brother Micah lived in Texas for quite some time and now lives in North Carolina. He might be of a different opinion, but one would think that after three years of experience I would have heard this at least once. And keep in mind, I worked at an establishment that served fast-food fried chicken in Texas. If anyone were to fit into this stereotype, don't you think it would have happened there?

Yes, I know that I've gone three paragraphs without addressing the actual topic of this installation of "Lost in Translation." While there are a variety of things you can and cannot say about carbonated beverages throughout the nation, there are many places, including most of the South and I would imagine much more, where if you say something about "Faygo" nobody will know what you're talking about. Of course, if they're avid ICP fans, your friends from various geographic regions will have some acquaintance with Faygo. ("Send yo' momma straight up to the sto.' Tell that [expletive deleted] to bring home a Faygo.") But I was baffled to find that one of my favorite childhood beverages was unknown in much of the United States.

Faygo was invented in Detroit, Michigan. And considering that it is also often referred to as Faygo Pop, you might imagine that it has something of a Midwestern following. While it is said that Faygo can be found throughout the United States and Canada, it just can't be found in a lot of places I've lived. It's like ordering a Shamrock Shake in March in New Mexico. They have never even heard of the phenomena. They don't know that there are other McDonalds' out there that carry it. Such is the case with Faygo. Many people cannot imagine a world where a soda pop company called Faygo exists. But the people of Michigan, we know what's up.

In 1987, Faygo Pop was sold to National Beverage Corporation. Of the many subsidiaries, the most popular is probably Shasta. I'm pretty sure that this is where the division lies. In the North, at least in the Midwest, Faygo has claimed superiority, possibly because of our connection with the Detroit-based original company. But in the South, and possibly in other regions, people drink Shasta. We're all drinking beverages made by the National Beverage Corporation, though there is a noticeable difference between Faygo and Shasta variations on the same drink. I remember they served Shasta drinks at Taco Cabana locations in Texas, and I used to drink it simply because it was something I never remembered seeing in restaurants in Michigan. Little did I know, but I was drinking Bizarro Faygo.

Now, this article is based on research, but also heavily on personal experience. Where do you drink? Do you have Faygo, Shasta, or both? If you order a Mountain Dew, do you call it soda, pop, soda pop, or something else? Do you call it by name or do you call it yellow Coke? Also, what other regional delicacies are you familiar with that you can't talk about with people of other regions because of their lack of experience? What did you once think was a world-wide thing only to find out that it is local? Drop me a line. Especially if your name is Micah Tiemeyer, because Micah is a little more of an Uncle Traveling Matt (Fraggle Rock, anybody?) than I am. But the rest of you can join in also.