X-Entertainment is still feeling pretty bad about those lobsters.
Candy Apple Kool-Aid:
Brace yourselves for hot drama and intrigue: This may very well be the rarest Kool-Aid flavor of 'em all. "Candy Apple," debuting in the 1970s with little more than its peculiarly white packet art to help it stand out, is often said to be the most short-lived of the Kool-Aid flavors. By the standards that decades-old drink mixes go by, I paid a fortune for this one. Much more than it was "worth," for sure, but what could I do? Kool-Aid collectors and connoisseurs are all secretly striving for a full deck, and when a legendary bird like Articuno or Candy Apple Kool-Aid comes along, you throw the damn master ball or pay whatever it takes. After many months of happy ownage, today, I will slice open the Kool-Aid packet and make with the reviewing.
Lest anyone be trapped in a terrible mental block, I'll confirm that Candy Apple Kool-Aid is indeed based on candy apples -- fruits shellacked with a sweet, sticky, hard and edible candy coating, usually impaled with a popsicle stick to avoid getting one's hands all gooey. They're of particular prominence around Halloween because King Halloween strategically placed his holy day in the proximity of apple harvests, but whereas candy apples were a trick-or-treat norm around the turn of the century, they're barely blips on the radar today, reserved as extra extra extra special treats. I'm confident that what I'm typing makes sense, but there's a chance it doesn't.
Because of our society's gradual and painfully admirable shift to only giving away packaged-and-sealed goods on Halloween night, candy apples have all but lost their shining star: In years prior to the great trick-or-treat shakedown, candy apples were just as likely to be thrown in a costumed freak's loot sack as a fun-sized Snickers bar. Maybe that was the point of Candy Apple Kool-Aid. Maybe the Kool-Aid people didn't want to let a fantastic taste be buried in a sea of urban legends and holiday apathy.
After thoroughly mixing water and sugar with a very purple-esque Kool-Aid powder, I was left with what you see above. Candy Apple Kool-Aid is on the fence; it's not sure if it's red, pink or somewhere in between. Though the fact that red is the most common Kool-Aid color seems to decrease the specialness of such a fuckball obscure flavor, I'm happy to report that no other Kool-Aid flavor tastes anything like candy apple. It starts off with a cherry blast before settling in to an inarguable apple aftertaste, and unless my mouth was deceiving me for the 1000th time, I detected a strong hint of cinnamon lurking in its depths. Sure enough, research proves that cinnamon was a standard addition to real candy apples. These Kool-Aid people never half-assed anything.
ALSO OF NOTE! I've mentioned the legendary "Kool-Aid FAQ" before, this being a widely circulated text document written by dozens of Kool-Aid freaks during the Internet's formative years. Sadly left to rot since 1999 or so, the mile-long info sheet is still full of great Kool-Aid tips and tricks -- one of them being the idea that certain flavors taste just as good hot. Candy Apple is one of those flavors, transforming into a kickass, lip-staining "tea" after just a minute in the microwave. Not that this is of any real concern to you, because you have about as good of a chance of finding a talking goat as you do a sealed packet of Candy Apple Kool-Aid. I just like fucking with you.
So, why was Candy Apple Kool-Aid so short-lived?
I'm not being rhetorical. I really want to know why.
