Where to start with this one?
The resounding legend of our age, possibly single handedly responsible for the sparkling water supernova of the last several years. The can that launched a thousand sips. The taste of a generation. Eau de millenial.
We’ve lost track of how many cases upon cases that we’ve drunk of this living legend over the last decade or so.
It’s difficult to review The Pamplemousse, unclouded by the accumulated years of memes, thinkpieces, and total LaCroix oversaturation. But here we go:
The nose is juicy, ripe, full, crisp, clean: like you’ve just sliced open a fresh grapefruit, serrated spoon in hand. There’s a genuine citrusy sour scent, too, a quality lacking in many of the other grapefruits in the bubbleverse. One is prepared to enter the eleusis of pamplemousse.
Basically: this smells really good.
But it all collapses on first sip. A thin wisp of grapefruit echos from another dimension, flitting in and out of reality as it rolls through your mouth. There’s a dryness, a bitterness, the watery ghost of that first hope.
A grapefruit is a fruit that contains multitudes, a lucious fractal spiralling through sweetness, acidity, and 50 shades of pink. Every taste of one is a hero’s journey through kingdoms of light to the depths of the shadow realms.
LaCroix captures none of that. They shave the multifaceted Citrus paradisi into a single plane, a homeopathic drop of pith in an ocean of carbonated water. There is nothing of the glorious celestial citroid’s polyphonic choir, only a single, monotone note repeated like a sour OM resounding from the beginning to the end of the universe.
But somehow, this all works. Do we contradict ourselves? Very well then we contradict ourselves. We could, and do, drink these all day. They’re just so damn refreshing!
What is the naturally essenced black magic at the heart of the pamplemousse? We may never be able to answer why these are so compelling even though there’s nothing specific to recommend it when placed under the tongue’s microscope.
But that’s the mystery at the heart of all religious experiences: they leave no traces available to the scientist. Or perhaps we’ve drank so much of the LaCroix kool-aid that the cult has permanently washed our minds. Who can say?
The star of LaCroix may have faded slightly as of late, but the pamplemousse remains as a pillar of an empire, a sphinx slowly eroding in a sparkling desert, but which still gives voice to the timeless riddle that stumped even Oedipus: why is this so good?
"Carbonated Water, Naturally Essenced"
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