Oh, my.

So it’s been a little over a month since we’ve had the official taste test of this Jones Tofurkey and Gravy soda. That’s mainly because, in the back of my mind, I’ve spent this entire time trying to come up with the adjectives to do it justice. I still haven’t fully come to terms with my experience, so please bear with me as I scrape the bottom of this barrel for the phrases necessary to convince you to never, ever try this soda.

But no matter what I say, you’re just going to try it anyhow. I know from experience: When you’re in a position to take a sip, curiosity over this trainwreck-in-a-bottle will get the best of you. But that’s OK. It’s all in good fun.

Jones dreams up these limited-edition soda flavors and sells them every year right around the holidays. A Turkey & Gravy soda made its debut in 2003, and other flavors followed almost every year after that, most notably 2004’s Mashed Potato soda and 2007’s Christmas Ham soda. I have no doubt that Tofukey & Gravy will return for Holiday 2010, because it’s got appeal to people who used to get a kick out of eating things their friends dared them to. Which is almost everybody, I think. Oh, and it’s vegan. That scores Jones some points from those who don’t partake in the holiday poultryfest.

So when you go to the Jones Web site to place your order, there are a couple of strategically placed red flags, all of which you will ignore. The first is the soda’s tagline, which reads in exaggerated sans-serif font, “Soda you can chew on.” Has anyone ever really wanted that?

The second warning is a turkey holding a sign that reads “Turkey approved.” But look closer: this turkey is absolutely terrified. If you Photoshopped a gun to its head, it would resemble a possible hostage situation. Its blue eyes are almost pleading with you to go back from whence you came. But you won’t listen. You’ll place an order, and the box will arrive on your doorstep fairly quickly. Just in time for a party, where you and your bravest friends will pass the bottles around in a circle and compare stinky faces after you take your first sips. “Ugggh,” “Whoah…eghh” and two octaves worth of gurgling noises soon follow the slightly sweet and overall rancid flavor of gravy, diluted Dimetapp and artificial sweeteners.  Hey, the turkey warned you. Sorta.

The best thing out of the whole deal was the collector’s metal lunch box the soda came with — but even then, I didn’t feel right about keeping it because it had a cute little cartoon depicting an animated wad of Tofurkey at the circus. I dislike both Tofurkey and the circus. Wait, why did I want to try this soda again?

Photo credits: Turkey and lunchbox photos are from Jonessoda.com.

A few weeks ago, my boyfriend and I gathered some friends together to squelch our mutual curiosity for a tiny, scarlet berry and it’s “miraculous” effects.

The gathering was called flavor tripping, and the berry is deemed Miracle Fruit. Eating one of these will weird-out your tastebuds to varying degrees and allow you to experience food in a different way – by ditching some of their nature-intended flavor profiles for radically different ones. The promise was that acids and sour foods would take on sweeter notes, while already sweet foods would become cloying. It sounded too good to be true. And in some respects, it is. It’s a crapshoot, really.

First, you bite into the berry, roll the pulp around your tongue for a few minutes (to coat tastebuds) and spit out the seed. If you’ve done it right, it’s effects should last anywhere from 20 minutes to two hours, depending on the potency of the individual fruit, and, as Wired magazine speculates, depending on your genetic makeup. There’s no guarantee that it will work, and no guarantee of how long it will work. You just have to trust that it will. And for the most part, it did: A few people reported that the berry worked instantly, but others say the effects were extremely subtle until a second berry was ingested. (I had ordered extra berries for this scenario.)

For their price ($3 each), they’re not anything you would reach for when you want a snack (and the Miracle Fruit’s taste isn’t anything to write home about, either). So, are they worth it? Read on for the rundown and some comments from flavor-trippers.

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This post is spawned from a weird radio commercial I heard on the way to the office this morning. In it, a friendly male voice plainly says “In Minnesota, it is illegal to cross state lines with a duck on your head.”

I wondered if it was still illegal if the duck in question was cooked.

This led me to think about other food laws and bans that are currently in place in America. The foie gras ban in California for 2012. This whole business with the Roquefort tariff — where cheese lovers will soon pay a 300-percent markup for the cave-aged, French bleu – is a current hot-button topic, too. (The L.A. Times recently reported on a delay in the tariff)

I started searching for other serious food bans and tariffs, but then realized that exposing our country’s strange food-related laws would be more fun. Read on, dear readers, and judge for yourself if these are too wacky to be true.

• In Alaska, it’s illegal to give a beer – or any other alcoholic beverage – to a moose.
• Missouri cities can levy a tax to support a band, as long as the city’s mayor plays the piccolo and band members can eat peas with a knife.
• In Greene, N.Y., don’t eat peas and walk backwards down a street during a concert. It’s illegal.
• Clawson, Mich.: There’s an actual law that makes it legal for a farmer to sleep with his animals. (I hope this means “sleep,” as in “catch some Zzs” and not “sleep” as in “sexy time.” Gah.)
• In Texas, if you take more than three sips of beer while standing, you’ve broken the law.
• Connecticut law says that a pickle is officially a pickle only if it bounces.
• To Idaho women in hetero relationships: It’s against state law for your man to give you a box of chocolates that weighs less than 50 pounds. (Cash in, sisters!)
• Residents living in a small town in Colorado may not own chickens, but may own up to three turkeys.
• In Gainesville, Ga., it is illegal to eat chicken with a fork.

Sources: MundayWeb, TurtleZen, The News Journal, Mental Floss, Roadside America.

– Cynthia Furey

Side note: March Madness is a month-long challenge in which I will post Monday through Friday for the entire month. Thank you for reading!

Our beautiful America was built on the promise of golden mountains, golden opportunities and Golden Arches, the latter being a big reason why the rest of the world thinks we’re a nation of excess. And for the most part, they couldn’t be more right.

Consider the Bacon Explosion, a recipe developed by competitive ‘cuers from Kansas City: Two pounds of bacon, two pounds of sausage, some barbecue sauce, more bacon, all smoked and sliced like it’s a Christmas ham. It caused quite the Internet stir, resulting in The New York Times dedicating journalistic manpower to produce a full-length story on the meat beast. And on the BBQ Addict’s Web site (where the recipe originated), there are hundreds of comments.

Competitive eating is also gaining popularity (Joey Chestnut, photo above). Eating contests were once events reserved for backyards and drunken parties, but lo, they boast a global headquarters for all those worldwide who want to take excess to a professional level. Blogs have popped up with schedules of contests small and large, and many of them document their own, non-IFOCE-sanctioned contests.

We also love Guinness culinary record-breakers, most recently the world’s largest cheesecake in Mexico City (which, incidentally, The Wall Street Journal has deemed the “World’s Greatest Food City”).

Like many Americans turn to a tub of Haagen Dazs when we’re feeling blue, it seems the rest of the world is right there with us. This may have something to do with denial for the current economic state – though we’re down, we’re not out, and we’re going to eat heartily to prove it. Cost will not stop us. A lot of cash was funneled into that two-ton cheesecake, and bacon is not cheap. Though the cost of butter, sugar, flour and chocolate have risen substantially, people still stage cookie-eating contests at dinner tables and festivals across the nation. Excess used to be frowned upon, but as a nation we’ve wrapped our arms warmly around the concept. It’s a form of comfort. It’s not a bad thing.

Those against excess will think this is an appalling shift in the way we’ve been eating. It’s body-taxing to sit down and eat 3 days’ worth of calories in a single bacon roll, and it’s unpleasant to watch a body react by rejecting 50 Oreo cookies or hot dogs or what have you. For the naysayers, I offer a glimmer of optimism: Aren’t we always saying that things get worse before they get better? Maybe we’ve hit culinary rock-bottom. Maybe there are better things to come.

For the enthusiasts, I say that this is your time to shine. There is no other time I can think of — save for these historical occasions — where excess is as accepted as it is now. The human body is resilient. Do your thing, as I will do mine. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe)

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Have you ever read “Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant”? It’s a collection of stories in which food writers divulge their secrets of what they eat when they’re alone (and some of it’s not foie gras, that’s for sure). Each story is poetic, telling of loneliness and comfort, whether eating eggplants for months or ingurgitating ingredients that should never have been paired (think egg noodles with cottage cheese).

I have my own version of the latter. It’s my Favorite Things sandwich. The beauty of a Favorite Things sandwich is that a person can have more than one. Mine changes with whatever’s available in my apartment: Sometimes it’s peanut butter, almonds, bananas and chocolate chips on Wonderbread; once it was turkey breast, ground beef, cream cheese and bacon bits on toasted and buttered sourdough. A Favorite Things sandwich can be made of anything you want, even leftovers. The only condition is that it has to be comprised of your favorites. It also has to be eaten alone, or if you must, in the company of someone whom you trust. I wouldn’t eat a Favorite Things sandwich in front of just anybody.

Normally, each blog post begins with a food photo. This post is an exception, simply because I fear that my honesty may appall some of you. Sometimes, Favorite Things sandwiches can’t be pretty, no matter how hard you try. And while this isn’t as bad as some of the Favorite Things sandwiches I’ve had in the past, I still hesitate. The choice is yours, you may click on the link below for a visual and recipe for my latest Favorite Things sandwich. Or you can pretend I said nothing at all.

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