Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Moxie Confusion
This past weekend I took a quick jaunt up the coast to Portland, Maine. While a great foodie town and all-around wonderful place to visit for lobster and beyond, the reason for my trip was for a book signing, not dining. The event was in Lisbon Falls and celebrated Jim Baumer’s Moxie: Maine in a Bottle.
I’m always happy to visit Maine, as I’ve spent many a summer there on family camping trips (Two adults, four kids, and a canine in a pop-up camper; I’ll let you fill in the rest.) Nowadays I head up on the Amtrak Downeaster for good food, family, friends, and fun; Maine hip-hop is often involved.
I’m sure you all know what moxie means, right? Well, in case you don’t, I personally enjoy the brief description here. I feel like the only people I’ve really ever heard use the word are Mainers, in such statements as “He’s got moxie!” My strongest association with the word, in fact, is when I was given a Moxie girlz doll (right) by my great aunt upon finishing my doctorate. (In jest. I don’t still play with dolls.)
It may therefore be understandable to some, if not most, that I had absolutely no idea Moxie was the name of Maine’s official soft drink. I got the metaphor in Jim’s subtitle—Maine in a Bottle—but missed entirely the literal meaning. This gave me considerable amusement upon arriving at a small country store that was almost entirely orange and featured quite the panoply of Moxie products, including the beloved beverage as well as t-shirts, baseball caps, ice cream, bumper stickers, and beyond. I was fairly shocked given I don’t recall ever seeing this product and I’ve been to Maine dozens of times. Okay, then, the book is about the state of mind and the soda itself. Sure. Now I get it.
Here’s a brief recap to give you a better sense of the scene.
Meeting Moxie
The setting.
PKN enters a very, very orange store, surrounded by the Moxie Man logo looks stunned, feels like a moron. Clearly out of the loop. (Think: you’ve just entered Willy Wonka’s factory and had no idea he made chocolate.)
PKN (to shopkeeper behind ice cream counter): “Hi! Wow. I had no idea Moxie was a real thing.”
(Why would I possibly ever say that?)
Shopkeeper: “Do you drink soda?”
PKN: “Umm…no, not really…”
[Why are you even still talking?]
[Tries quickly to recover.] “I mean, unless it’s mixed with bourbon, or something…”
[Attempt unsuccessful; the shopkeeper appears unamused. Crap—is this a dry town?]
“But I’m happy to try some. I’d LOVE to try some!”
[Obvious overcompensation.]
“What does it taste like?”
Shopkeeper: “Well, the first taste is terrible, and you’ll want to spit it out. The second is a bit better. And by the third, you’ll realize why we consider it the fine wine of soda. Now, take a sip, let it roll around your mouth a bit…”
[Well, with an advertisement like that, I can’t wait!]
PKN takes sip. Projectile vomits.
I’m kidding! Back to the true story.
PKN: “Oh, okay… it’s kind of like root beer.”
Shopkeeper: “Would you like to taste the ice cream?”
PKN: “Sure.” (tastes ice cream) “Anyone ever drink Moxie ice cream floats?”
Shopkeeper: (laughing) [I am now being mocked, and deservedly so.] “I’ve made millions of ’em. There’s a line down the street every year during the Moxie parade.”
[There’s a friggin’ parade?]
PKN: (laughs) “Oh, sure. Right…”
[Slinks away, humiliated.]
Moxie Postscript
Oh, and this is why I don’t normally drink soda, by the way.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62JMfv0tf3Q&feature=youtu.be
Unless used a mixer, as I mentioned, although that’s very rare as you may infer given my penchant for creative cocktails like pomegranate martinis, blackberry margaritas, and strawberry-bourbon lemonade. That said, there is a time and place and, both humbled and inspired by my Maine Moxie trip, I brought a can back to Boston for a so-called Country Girl (bourbon+Moxie). It would make the perfect ending to my trip, obviously, and I was looking forward to a little moxology of my own.
Got home, unpacked, went for a run, showered, filled my glass with ice … and then remembered that I was out of bourbon.
The solitary can of Moxie thus remains in my fridge, leading to what I believe to be silent mockery by the Moxie Man every time I open the door.
And my continuous humming—to the tune of “Macho Man”—“Moxie, moxie, man … I-want-to-be…. a moxie man.”
Cool ad. Great message.
For the concept, that is, not the soda.
Just so we’re clear.
That was great gave me a much needed chuckle to start my day. ..
I’m so glad to hear that. Have a great Wednesday & thanks for reading. 🙂
Wow, orange Moxie t-shirts and baseball caps- sounds like something I might just wear!
I was thinking about you in your Tang Man costume, I won’t lie.
Thanks for coming up on Saturday. Glad you got to experience Kennebec’s-The Moxie story for the first time. Lots of history in that old store. Frank’s the one who got me started down the road to learning about, and then writing books about Moxie. It is a beautifully anachronistic product and one that I’ve acquired a special affinity for.
You are very welcome, and thanks for visiting. It was a true pleasure. I really enjoyed reading the book this week (BUY IT, READERS! It is a lovely slice of Americana) & I’m sure you know that my post was all in good fun. Who knew that my Maine Moxie trip had professional interest as well? An unexpected pleasure, indeed, and great to see everyone, too.
Always on the lookout for something new and, hopefully, interesting, I found liter bottles of Moxie here in CT. I bought just one bottle. Upon opening I was immediately both intrigued, but concerned. The odor was fragrant but hardly floral. A rather dusty and mechanical scent. Far from anything you would actually drink unless is was prescribed by a doctor. Undeterred, I soldiered on– actually pouring it into a glass with ice. I went into the tasting as if it were a stinky cheese: the taste would outweigh the scent and I would be cast into a new world of flavor and experience.
Wrong.
When the first molecule entered my body I went into a panic. I could not reject the stuff fast enough. Like a host expelling a parasite. I was horrified, stunned. How could such a substance exist, nay, succeed for as long as it had!? What the hell is going on in Maine!?
I took another sip to verify my first impression and, yes. Verified. Awful. Battery acid bad.
All the same, I’ll stick with RC if I want anything exotic.
M
Matt!! Thank you so much for this hilarious comment. The can remains in my fridge … and now I wonder: was it just the thrill of the whole Moxie experience that led me to believe it was drinkable at all? Only time will tell… and I will report back at that time. Furthermore, I LOVE it when people use the word nay. (As I do.) Cheers, PK
The anticipation of the thrill is usually greater than the thrill itself. Leave it in the fridge.
Well said. I do enjoy opening it and seeing the bright flash of orange on the refrigerator shelf. Even so, I must try the Country Girl, for so many reasons that are probably obvious, from the name of the libation to its ingredients. But your point is well taken: why ruin a perfectly good bourbon on the rocks with Moxie? …
Great article! This reminds me of my first encounter with Moxie, and I must agree–it’s certainly an acquired taste. That said, I confess that I’ve got my own personal cache of the stuff now, hauled 1,400 miles from Maine to Missouri expressly for that purpose. By carefully indulging only once every two weeks the supply should last until next year’s restocking…
I am so glad you enjoyed this post. Thank you for writing!! May the Moxie be with you. (Or something.) Cheers, PKN