I was cooking dinner tonight when I decided to make a root beer. "Woo!" I shouted as I tasted it. Then I realized how funny that really was. I called out to my husband, who was in another room, "I don't think anyone gets as excited as I do about root beer!"
It is kind of odd. One of the young men at my synagogue and I have an on-going conversation about root beer. His, he says, must have licorice in it.
"Ewww!," I responded.
"If there's no licorice in it, it isn't real root beer," he told me.
I will just continue drinking mine, then, fake or not.
I rarely have sugar, so I make mine using white soda, agave, and McCormick's root beer flavoring. I make it and drink it right away -- it's not the kind that ripens -- that always tastes way too boozy to me.
So I had one tonight. What a delight. Good thing it was -- the fish was way too salty, so all I ate was rice and broccoli. The memory of the root beer soothed my palate after the fish disappointment.
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