Since these sort of rabbit hole posts can go on forever, I’ll draw to a close here, although not before noting that carrageenan also shows up in the Panamanian beverage called ‘isinglass, which appears to have a nominal origin in isinglass, a substance derived from the dried swim bladders of fish. Here we reach an odd junction point, since it turns out that, before animal-based gelatins became widespread via industrialized farming, they were produced as a byproduct of these bladders. Circa 2016, bladders are a bit more scarce, and so the seaweed subs in for drinks (and in beer brewing, where the collagen is used at the end of brewing process to clarify the liquid). What this tells us about the origin of frothy, gelatinous drinks in the Caribbean I cannot say, although I imagine that, like the British Bovril, this is just another example of an archaic food item, once intended to avoid waste, clinging on after its original utility has died out, partially by touting its purported salutary properties. Sodas may seem simple, but a little sipping can reveal a lot of information.
A good, if not exactly terroir-oriented, way to gauge the tastes of a place is through its sodas. These will generally provide you with a shorthand barometer of the national sweet tooth, and also a concise sampling of some of the fruits, flavors and spices favored by locals. Looking at soda, in the case of formerly colonized countries, can also be an inroad toward surmising the influence of the colonizer(s) upon those tastes. The most extensive example of this may be Vimto, the king of the colonial sodas, a nominally British beverage that now enjoys far greater popularity in Asia, the Caribbean and especially the Middle East. A similar situation occurs with the lingering specter of Peardrax, a drink which, although now discontinued in its country of origin, continues to enjoy robust popularity in Trinidad & Tobago, where it’s taken on status as a sort of national soda, a status it shares with its autumnal apple partner Cydrax. All this with names that sound like under-the-sink cleaning agents. Caribbean sodas often grow out of a prior traditional of fermented alcoholic and non-alcoholic brews, skewing toward approximations of juices from fruits (or roots) which, if not always native, at least have some entrenched history in the area. Pear and apple ciders, on the other hand, innately seem like cold-weather concoctions, which would explain why the 'Drax favored at Christmas, and enjoys a likely-related popularity as a toasting drink on special occasions. Both draxes were originally products of the now-defunct Whiteway Orchards (a fact still noted on the label), based in the bucolic southwestern English town of Whimple (a pleasant pastoral picture of the former orchard can be found here). As for the taste, despite the long distance from Devonshire, Peardrax definitely remains true to its cidery roots, with a slightly sweet flavor that’s redolent of hard cider stripped of alcohol. I’m not entirely clear, however, why the drink description on the bottle bears French text. Trinis also enjoy Sea Moss, a strange drink that seems to sit on the far opposite side of the beverage spectrum. This one floats (pun absolutely intended) about a good portion of the Caribbean, apparently imparting sexual superpowers to all who consume it. The power of liquid virility is also said to reside in Peanut Punch, a similarly thick concoction of legumes, milk and spices that, to my palate at least, lands somewhere between a smoothie and a Mexican horchata. Put the two together and you get the Jamaican Big Bamboo, an appropriately phallic moniker for a canned beverage boasting the union of two singular libido boosters. The “Sea Moss” in the title here may seem like a fanciful bit of creative appellation, but it’s worth noting that these creamy beverages are actually derived from seaweed, specifically Chondrus Crispus (aka carrageenan), which beyond sounding like a third-tier Dickens character, has found wider use as a stabilizer for supermarket goods, puffing up your ice cream, soy milk, toothpaste and shampoo, among other things. It may also be a carcinogen, although I imagine consuming the real stuff via these concoctions is a bit less hazardous than getting it in concentrated lab-derived form. That said, I’d still avoid this canned variety in the future, seeing how it isn't really a fair approximation of either drink, neither of which benefits from the combination. They should ideally be consumed separately, either prepared at home or purchased fresh from your friendly neighborhood Caribbean joint. This version isn’t terrible, and benefits a bit from being mixed with milk, but on its own is the chalkiest thing I’ve quaffed since jokingly consuming an Ensure during my wild teen years.
Since these sort of rabbit hole posts can go on forever, I’ll draw to a close here, although not before noting that carrageenan also shows up in the Panamanian beverage called ‘isinglass, which appears to have a nominal origin in isinglass, a substance derived from the dried swim bladders of fish. Here we reach an odd junction point, since it turns out that, before animal-based gelatins became widespread via industrialized farming, they were produced as a byproduct of these bladders. Circa 2016, bladders are a bit more scarce, and so the seaweed subs in for drinks (and in beer brewing, where the collagen is used at the end of brewing process to clarify the liquid). What this tells us about the origin of frothy, gelatinous drinks in the Caribbean I cannot say, although I imagine that, like the British Bovril, this is just another example of an archaic food item, once intended to avoid waste, clinging on after its original utility has died out, partially by touting its purported salutary properties. Sodas may seem simple, but a little sipping can reveal a lot of information.
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