America.
A country known for its natural beauty, rugged individualism, and unhinged portion sizes.
In celebration of the States’ 250th birthday, Bush’s Beans dug deep within their bean-well to create the ultimate patriotic (pardon my French) accouterments: Rocket Pop Flavored Baked Beans.
Of course, any God-fearing American knows there’s nothing more beloved in this country than a child’s sweet treat named after a weapon. Summer after summer, frozen red, white, and blue popsicle bombs are dropped directly into adolescent mouths. And our nostalgia remains, even after Americans reach an age when they start wondering whether they really should have dessert, considering they just consumed four slices of plain white bread alongside their potato salad and barbecued meats.
But in honor of the semiquincentennial, Bush’s bravely posed an important question: What if a saccharine, icy dessert was also beans?
Eagle screech!
Is there anything more American than taking baked beans, the national food of our former imperial rulers, and creating an unholy, twisted version with an insidious, cloying aura you can’t quite put your finger on?
Obviously not. Our forefathers knew that the British were only ever half-right. That’s why we have our own standard system of measurement, but still only size things up by how many football fields long they are. It’s why we adopted a democratic system of government, but made it impossible for a third party to ever win. It’s why we have a head of state, but they’re not allowed to be a woman.
Bush’s describes their inventive concoction as an “explosion of cherry, lime, and blue raspberry flavors.” And like any good red-blooded American food product, none of those actual fruits appear in the ingredients list. Instead, they’re grouped under the mysterious moniker “natural flavor.” And after all, what is more natural than a blue raspberry?
Upon opening the can, you’re immediately hit with an odor that’s somehow both putrid and medicinal, uniquely representative of the American healthcare system. The smell of artificial cherry flavoring (despite its “natural” characterization) overpowers everything around it. For a moment, it feels like these beans might contain the power of the American cure-all liquid NyQuil Cold & Flu. But then you recall that you’ve simply opened a can of beans, and that 250mg of sodium per serving is probably more likely to heal your electrolyte deficiency than a lingering cough.
As with any American side dish, the beans require little effort and only need to be warmed. Of course, there’s always the microwave, but for a more upscale experience, you can heat them up on the stove. As the beans simmer in a small pot, their aroma becomes more ominously pungent.
Finally, after eight or so minutes, the beans are ready. And as you dip your spoon in, anticipating a hit of pure stars-and-stripes Americana, you quickly discover that, while sweet, the beans taste nothing like rocket pop. Instead, they taste like regular baked beans that got left out too long next to a fruity Glade Plug-in.
There is no flavor of cherry, lime, or the elusive blue raspberry. There is only bean sauce, bean chemicals, and beans.
In true American fashion, you will gaslight yourself into thinking the flavor is good. Clearly, it wasn’t good, but maybe you misinterpreted its nuance? You’ll go back for another spoonful, and then another, and then one of just the brown bean fluid, because surely that isn’t actually how they taste, right? (It is.)
Even when you’ve decided that you’ve had enough, the experience isn’t over. In fact, it’s just beginning. Bush’s has created a lingering finish, so you’ll still taste the beans late into the evening. Yes, past the beer pong, the sparklers, and the mosquito bites. The flavor will provide unrelenting company long after the rockets have lost their red glare. You may even experience a bean-flavored belch as you watch a firework show from a flimsy lawn chair and wonder if they’re all going to look like sea anemones, or if the fireworks guys have anything cool planned.
But you know what? That’s the good ol’ US of A at its heart, baby. Sickeningly sweet, but honest to a fault.
What you see is what you get, even if what you see is a lot of incredibly wealthy guys getting really into cryptocurrency. But there are beans in there, too. Underneath it all, there’s some fiber, too, which is supposed to be good for your heart.
The United States is full of hope—a never-ending aftertaste you just can’t quite seem to shake. The type of flavor you keep eating more of, thinking maybe, just maybe, the next time around it’ll be a little bit better.
Happy birthday, America.
