#80 - The 5% Nation of Moxie

The 5% Nation of Moxie

2/1/06 (#80)

The most common inquiry from guests at my house concerns the empty Moxie containers that sit in random places around our home. "What's Moxie?" folks innocently ask, unaware of the Pandora's pop can they are opening with that simple question.

Explaining Moxie shouldn't take as long as it does when I do it---but then, my relationship with Moxie is not usual, so my descriptions follow suit. (Actually, among devout Moxie drinkers, my relationship is perfectly usual---Moxie is either loved or loathed, it is rarely anyone's third choice: Moxie is first, or it's last. If you're craving a Pepsi, a Moxie satisfies the yearning about as well as Chinese mustard would for a person craving hot sauce on their pizza.)

In fact, explanations are difficult only if you like Moxie. Detractors achieve conciseness with disconcerting alacrity---none so succinctly as my friend Brett, who reported the results of his investigation in a now-cherished email, the entirety of which read: "Saw a soda called Moxie. Steve tells me the Mainers live on the stuff. Tried it. Tastes bad."

When I'm spreading the gospel of Moxie, I often encounter such brevity---though more often, I am treated to mock studiousness and/or grunts like, "Hmmmm" or an obviously disingenuous "Mmmmm." (Non-verbal responses are common because folks are busy trying to work up the nerve to swallow the stuff.) I enthusiastically shared one of the iconic orange cans* with some guests, ceremoniously pouring each of us a 3 ounce juice glass of glass of the dark brew like a vintner might debut their latest Pinot Reserve. The two novitiates remarked on its uniqueness and seemed to have genuine curiosity, though that suspicion was later disproved when I found their barely-sipped glasses tucked into the bookshelf after their departure. (Heretics.)

Like any great story, Moxie has a clouded history, one rich with conflicting claims over who first brought forth this supreme carbonate, where the name originates, and which tired mill town can claim rights to it as a tourist attraction.** Introduced in 1884, Moxie has always been unusual--- the flavor is such that the manufacturer's own promotional materials once advised that people might need to "Learn to Drink Moxie"**. Imagine the unfair expectations on a company's marketing department to have to hawk a beverage that, by the brewer's own admission, you probably won't enjoy the first time you drink it. Or the second. Or the third. And yet, people learned: Moxie was the most popular soft drink in the nation until the 1920's. (A fact that warps the brain, even that of an aficionado.)

But I don't care about the history. That's like a casting agent asking for Lauren Bacall's high school grades---no longer, and more accurately, never relevant. Moxie has a history, but for me, it exists purely in the present tense.

Here are some common neophyte reactions to this peculiar and delicious*** beverage:

• "It's a root beer!" This is usually delivered by someone who thinks that for 130 years, attempts to describe it have somehow avoided any reference to root beer. More accurately, Moxie tastes like an attempted root beer that went awry in the brewing process.
• "It's medicine-y." Well, so is vodka, yet that doesn't seem to hurt vodka's sales, does it?
• "It tastes flat." Well, hard to argue with that one. It comes out of the can with a notable carbonation deficiency---and its spirit fades rapidly after opening. You can sip on an hour-old can of Coke and still get a passable cola experience; After about 25 minutes, a Moxie has reached the nadir of its deconstruction---an hour old, a year old, interchangeably bad.
• "It tastes old-fashioned." Yes, it does. Moxie is to the modern carbonated sugar waters what Squirrel Nut Candies or Goldberg's Peanut Chews are to Skittles---Moxie passes as a soda because in 1884, it was that or water, and by then everyone was pretty damn tired of water.

Now let me attempt to define this beguiling elixir as a proper zealot sees it:

• If Moxie was a beer, it would be a stout. (Dark, rich, dry, nothing "light" about it.)
• If Moxie was hard liquor, it would be Jaegermeister. (Dark, rich, vaguely medicinal, and either adored or abhorred by opposing camps.)
• If Moxie were a coffee drink, it would be an iced espresso with 2 sugars. (Dark, unaffected, unapologetic, bites but doesn't leave marks.)
• If Moxie was a tea, it would be the worst tea you ever tasted. But you might learn to like it anyway.

So if you're wondering what Moxie is like, now you know. But the proverbial proof is in the pudding---next time you're at New Season's or the Beaumont Market, pick up a six pack of "Moxie Original Elixir" (their other flavors---orange, cream, black cherry---are fine, but they're more like standard issue soda pop), put it on ice for a day, and let your tastes buds be the judge.

Of course, don't believe them if the taste buds return a verdict of "undrinkable"---at least not until the sixth bottle. By then, the defense should have been able to make its case. And if it can't, remember this: If you're not going to drink it, I will.

---

* Courtesy of kind family members, I get it shipped in from Maine, as the locally available bottles are concocted in a different brewery---"That's naht Mahxie a'tall" said Frank Ancietti, the comical man at The Moxie Store in Lisbon Falls, Maine, before launching into an update on the status of legislation to make Moxie the official Maine State Beverage. (If I lived their, I'd have a lawn sign expressing my support.) This link is a picture of Frank, and the east-coast version of the brew: http://www.moxie.info/graphics/moxhus1.jpg (On the west coast, the packaging is intentionally retro; on the east coast, it's looks retro, but only because the packaging hasn't been updated since the Truman administration.)

** http://www.crabcoll.com/journal/moxie.html (an unofficial history of the drink)

*** Some who have tried Moxie insist that I use the word "delicious" too loosely.

©2006 wpreagan