Rainbow Punch Kool-Aid:
(2/5/06) It's been months since my last Kool-Aid review, and the six people who are (or were) fans of this project likely thought I'd tossed it aside in favor of better, more exciting projects. Like not posting. And articles about what's inside my freezer. And stuff. What's amazing to me is that even during this downtime, I've still kept up with the Kool-Aid love. Here I thought I was frontin' for the sake of another eccentricity notch on my patented Weird Belt, but no, it's true, I really do love Kool-Aid and its many folds of powdery lore. This review is of particular importance to me, because God damn, it took me nearly two full years to track down a single package of Rainbow Punch. All told, it was worth the sweat and sugar.
Granted, Rainbow Punch wasn't a Kool-Aid I "grew up on," and to be perfectly honest, I never once saw it during my youth. This is partly because studying Kool-Aid wasn't a childhood interest of mine, but mostly because Rainbow Punch was terribly short-lived. Despite its glorious packaging and enticingly vague flavor name, the stuff is so close to plain old Cherry that there was little sense in Kraft trying to force supermarkets to beef up the amount of real estate given to Kool-Aid.
If I had to guess at the concept based on name and package art alone, Rainbow Punch was intended to be a hybrid beverage, full of different fruity flavors. It doesn't quite work out that way in practice, but the thought of the Kool-Aid Man divvying up exactly-equal vials full of Orange, Lemon-Lime, Cherry and Grape mixes to create this one-of-a-kind superdrink is pleasant enough to make Rainbow Punch one of my favorite Kool-Aid flavors in history. Ah, who am I kidding? I just like it because the package art makes the world smell safe.
Finally able to taste the rainbow, I was appalled to find that my Rainbow Punch's packet contents -- now 22 years old -- had all but completely solidified. Like uncooked Steak'Ums. I mean it with all sincerity when I say that it took an electric mixer to get the stuff to dissolve in water, and in that I can report with equal sincerity that trying to make Kool-Aid with an electric mixer is a big fucking mess that you should always strive to avoid.
When it comes to Kool-Aid, I judge based on four things: Name, Package Art, Color and Flavor. I like the name and I love the package art, so we're halfway to an A+. The color is a
very slight variation on Cherry, this being just a tiny bit lighter. I dig it, but where Rainbow Punch shines the most is in taste: It's really, really good. Picture three parts Cherry, one part Lemonade and a half a part of some other flavor you can't really put your finger on. That's Rainbow Punch, and that's goooood.
If I don't seem as excited as I should be over a Kool-Aid that's so clearly sent from heaven, it's just because I don't want to amp y'all up too bad. There's just no way you'll ever find Rainbow Punch for yourself -- not unless you're prepared to spend ten minutes here and fifteen minutes there for the next two years, and even then, it's a crapshoot. It's not the rarest Kool-Aid flavor ever made (not by a long shot -- certain flavors only lasted a few weeks), but it's up there. High in the sky. Somewhere over the rainbow. Punch. Mmm.
--
Matt
