Tasting 100-year-old food: The good, the bad and the dusty
I gathered some of the most iconic unopened food items on the planet — some over a hundred years old. From a 1940s Coke to a 1990s petrified Twinkie, I spent over $16,000 collecting forgotten snacks and canned chaos from every decade of the past century. My friend Parsa joined me for the taste test, though there were moments he probably regretted that decision. Based on our experience, definitely don't try this at home.
We kicked things off with food from the 1920s — an era when canned goods and preserved items were everywhere, mainly because fresh produce was limited. Cars were still new, and shelf-stable food was revolutionary.
The almond paste required a small battle to open, and chunks of it shot out like a sticky grenade. It smelled like molasses, not almonds. The can was practically disintegrated, so it was clear that it had not been fully sealed shut in years. Too unsafe to eat, but it smelled nice and the packaging was eye-catching.
The honey, on the other hand, looked well-aged and tasted incredible — until it numbed my mouth. That freaked Parsa out. He started panicking about flushing it out with water, which made me more nervous than I wanted to admit. While it tasted great and nothing bad happened to me, I definitely won't be eating this again. If I were in the 1920s, this honey would hate to see me coming.
I also purchased cloves, a popular spice during this era. The cloves still smelled like Christmas, and to the bare eye, looked brand new. The wheat-based supplement called Imperial Granum that I also found came with instructions inside of it, with some pretty outdated information. It was wild holding paper that old — and even crazier reading the directions on how to feed it to a baby.
In the 1930s, the Great Depression reshaped America's diet. People leaned heavily on affordable, shelf-stable items like crackers, porridge and syrup powders to survive.
The penny drink, similar to a modern-day Kool-Aid, turned water into a suspiciously purple hue, while giving it a slight fizz. It tasted like something brewed in a chemistry lab, not a soda shop. There were also chunks of the powder that wouldn't dissolve, no matter how much stirring I did.
I'm one of what seems to be the few people who love Grape Nuts. The 1930s version of Grape Nuts smelled like an old attic and looked like mouse food, leaving me thankful to be in the 2020s. Surprisingly, the Quaker Grits and Jiffy Porridge looked totally fine but unleashed a wave of dust when opened. Most of the food here wasn't scary — it was just bland and ancient.
The 1940s were defined by World War II and food rationing. People got creative, substituting sweet vegetables like carrots for sugar since it was so hard to find and used powdered eggs for breakfast just to stretch meals a little further and save fresh animal products for important, special occasion meals.
I wanted to know if an 80-year-old Coke would still be fizzy. To my disbelief, it was. I lost a bet with Parsa and had to admit defeat. As for the flavor, well, we both immediately spit it out. It tasted nothing like the Coke we have today, but it's probably from sitting in a bottle for 80 years.
The vintage Kool-Aid from this era dissolved and came alive with color — until I tasted it. It was seriously sour. I tried to find Kool-Aid from every decade to compare the evolution, and this was the oldest package I could get my hands on.
In the 1950s, convenience food exploded. TV dinners, casseroles and neon-colored desserts became staples in post-war America. Jell-O completely ruled this decade. We also saw a rise in fast food chains during this decade, including the start of McDonald's, Burger King, Pizza Hut and more.
Confetti popcorn was a popular item, looking like a circus in a jar. Once popped, it was plain white and totally stale. The colored shells were just marketing. Honestly, my expectations for this were low, but I was completely surprised that the kernels popped normally.
We tried vintage Jell-O, but it refused to set. Canada Dry had gone flat, but 7-Up still held a crisp fizz. This was the era of TV dinners and bright branding, and you could feel food getting more fun — but also more fake.
In the 1960s, people still wanted fast, colorful meals. Instant soups, freeze-dried meals and fun packaging were everywhere. Color TVs were becoming the new normal and food advertisers worked to make their products super colorful for the full effect on television.
I found a can of the classic Campbell's cream of celery soup, a popular pick in this decade. It was a horror show, to say the least. It stained my cutting board, smelled like decay and was unrecognizable upon opening.
Golden butter candies were a hot commodity back then, and looked like literal chunks of gold. They looked and smelled perfect, as if they were brand new.
I loved to see the transition in marketing and packaging for Grape Nuts since we last tried them in the 1930s category.
Just in this example, you can see how brands began to use more eye-catching packaging as a way to bring in new consumers. The red color also popped on television more than a lighter hue of yellow and blue would, grabbing the attention of viewers better. This was just the beginning of the revolution in food marketing.
In the 1970s, branding became everything. Characters like Mr. Peanut, the Kool-Aid Man and colorful cereal mascots dominated packaging. Microwaves and canned goods ruled the kitchen. This decade felt like food entered its first real marketing boom. Bright labels, mascots with catchphrases and the promise of "instant everything" defined the experience.
We started with an old-school Coke bottle that only cost five cents in its day, but I paid $200 for it. It fizzed just a little, like a soda trying to remember what it used to be.
We tried maple syrup next, only to learn it wasn't maple at all — just sugar syrup with a fancy label. Still, it tasted perfect, which kind of annoyed me.
By the 1980s, indulgence was the trend. People wanted sweet, deep-fried and convenient treats. Fast food continued to boom, and microwave snacks became essential. This decade had some hits — and major misses.
The funnel cake mix worked like magic. All you needed to do was add water to the packaging, shake it up and pour it into hot oil. It fried up normally as if it were a freshly made batter.
The olive oil from this era, on the other hand, looked and smelled like it belonged in a car engine. Whatever chemicals and ingredients in the olive oil bottle separated at one point, leaving a solid white settlement on the bottom and a nearly clear oil on top.
Star Wars was a giant franchise at this time, at its peak of popularity. The Star Wars-branded fruit snacks were once colorful, distinctive shapes. But now, they were all just black blobs, except the green ones. It seems like the packaging color dyed the gummies darker.
Count Chocula cereal still smelled like chocolate, but like someone left it in a dusty attic. Still looks super similar to how it's made today, which is pretty cool. I think I'll stick to the fresh boxes now, but I love seeing how some food staples have remained iconic for decades like this.
One thing I noticed throughout this exploration is that a lot of items don't have safety seals. In a world where nearly everything has one now, it was wild to open things up and just have them be unsealed. While it would be easier if things didn't have a seal nowadays, it's certainly safer to have them.
The 1990s were the snack generation. Every brand had a mascot, a color and a jingle. Lunchables, Go-Gurt and Gushers turned every kid into a mini foodie. I was born in this decade, and that foodie culture clearly never left me. And yes, we didn't dare open the Michael Jordan Wheaties box. It is too sacred.
The Lifesaver gummies have always been a hit in my book. In the '90s, they were booming in popularity. The tropical flavor is my favorite, so I was excited to see what they looked like in the '90s.
Let's just say, my disappointment was obvious. How these turned black, I will truly never know or understand.
We also opened Skittles from 1995 — they fused into one massive rainbow block. The lemon chiffon cake, originally from this decade, rose into a dense, springy volleyball. It smelled like eggs, and probably wasn't safe — but the cake mix still worked.
Orbitz was a lava lamp in a bottle. I remember it tasting a lot better as a kid, but honestly, that could be because it's almost 30 years old.
The 2000s were when the internet started influencing food. Viral recipes, snack fads and early YouTube food content were all beginning to take shape.
We entered the 2000s with Lipton Cup-a-Soup and Chef Boyardee. I tried the Chef Boyardee, and it was clearly expired — one bite was enough. The soup, on the other hand looked radioactive. I hesitated, but curiosity almost got the better of me. Almost. I stayed strong and didn't taste it, thanks to Parsa who knocked some sense into me.
Then there was the petrified Twinkie. It cut like a rock, and I handled it with gloves. It looked like a fossil. It was sold to me as "petrified," which is the same word they use for dinosaur bones. Honestly, I'm no archeologist, but it seemed pretty close to a dinosaur bone. Dry, hard and somehow dusty.
The 2010s were peak snack culture. Nutella became a food group. Coconut water exploded. Brands started marketing snacks as meals — and we all bought in.
Nutella ruled this decade. Nutella even gave me a jar with my name on it, and it's my most prized possession... besides family, of course. Chips like Takis and Doritos also blew up online. Parsa pointed out the Lay's chip bags held less than the bags we saw in earlier decades.
So far, the 2020s have offered hyper-engineered snacks. From high-protein cookies to seaweed snacks, modern food is optimized for taste, marketing and endless snacking.
Modern snacks are also engineered to be addictive, now more than ever in my opinion. Flavor-blasted Goldfish hit harder than anything from the '90s. Chicken chips, moon cheese, seaweed snacks, low-sugar candies, protein cookies… these aren't just snacks — they're edible tech. Present-day food is all about modifications for health, while still enjoying the flavor of it all.
This experiment was honestly a battle of the packaging styles – some foods survived perfectly. Others turned to black goo or fossilized bricks. But across 100 years, the 1990s felt like magic. Lunchables, Gushers, Go-Gurt — it wasn't healthy, but it was unforgettable. It's probably because that decade is the most nostalgic for me. Someone who grew up in the 1940s might feel totally different from how I did about the almond paste or Imperial Granum. That's the beauty of food: everyone has a personal connection to something, and no matter how stale or petrified it gets, it will still give you that heartwarming, nostalgic feeling, edible or not.
And if I had to eat from one decade forever? I'd take the present day, although I'll always miss the one with powdered candy tattoos, fake cheese and way too much neon.
Want to see me taste these in action? Check out my video below:

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Buzz Feed
11 hours ago
- Buzz Feed
26 Bizarre Kitchen Habits People Have Witnessed
We probably all develop our own quirks and habits in the kitchen over time, ranging from innocently leaving cabinet doors open to not so innocently refusing to toss expired foods. And because I love some good ol' kitchen drama, when redditor u/beetlebloop asked the r/AskReddit community to share the weirdest habit they've seen in a friend's kitchen, I dug right in. Here are some of the horrifying, confusing, and just plain weird things people have witnessed. "Knew a guy who kept his chef's knives stabbed into the wall." "I opened a friend's fridge and it contained 30–40 cans of whipped cream and NOTHING ELSE. Family of three." "The dad of a guy I went out with in high school had, I swear to god, an entire wall stacked with Coca-Cola 12-packs. Must have been 8 by 8 feet. No one was allowed to drink any of the cans except for him. If we wanted Coke, we had to drink from the stale 2-liter bottle in the fridge." "My ex-father-in-law thought traditional spaghetti with meat sauce was too 'spicy,' so he would make noodles and top them with ground beef and ketchup." "I worked with someone who told me that if she ever cooks and bakes for other people, she will strip down to her underwear to avoid cross-contamination of dog hair or other linty bits from her clothes." "Their dishcloth was used only once: They did the dishes; wiped down the stove top, counters, and cupboard fronts; then threw it in the bin and got a new one. Must cost a lot." "After college, I had a roommate who said the best way to boil water was a 'slow boil.' He insisted on using low heat." "She cut up raw meat using her bare hands, then opened drawers, cabinets, and the fridge before washing her hands. When she asked if I wanted to do weekly meal prep with her, I politely declined." "My childhood dog would poop inside, and if it solid, my dad would use a spoon to clean it up. Not a designated spoon that was the dog-shit spoon, just a regular spoon from the cutlery drawer. I did not discover this until he had been doing this for years. I was HORRIFIED and furious. When I told him it was disgusting, he got so defensive and said, 'Well, how would you like me to clean it up?' I then listed many different ways to clean dog shit. My mom also didn't seem too concerned with it." "A friend of mine when I was growing up had me over for family dinner. We were served spaghetti. When everyone (five or six of us) was done, the mom scraped all of the uneaten spaghetti on everyone's plate back into the big pot." "My old roommate would take a coffee cup from the night before with old coffee and milk in it and make a new one in the morning without dumping the old coffee out first." "My uncle left raw chicken out on the counter for who knows how long, and it was covered in ants. I let him know. He rinsed the ants off and put the chicken back in the fridge." "I was friends with a family who had six kids. The parents made everyone drink a full glass of milk with every meal, including guests. They would set out a gallon of milk on the table at each meal, and it would just sit there until it was all gone, even if it took longer than one meal. I've always hated drinking milk, but those experiences really finished it off for me." "My husband's old roommate used to take a new dish every time he ate something and then leave it behind in his room instead of putting it in the dishwasher. One day, it occurred to my husband that there were like five dishes left in the kitchen, and the rest were nowhere to be found until he looked in said roommate's room and found his moldy hoard." "Growing up, I used to go to this one friend's house almost every day after school. This was a middle-class family who made a decent amount of money. Her parents let us have however much soda we wanted, but it was always the off-brand cola ONLY that was stored in the garage. I live in the desert, so imagine walking home in 110 degrees in the summer and cracking a 90-degree cola. YUCK." "I know someone who throws away almost nothing. This wouldn't be a terrible habit if it didn't mean offering you the moldy lemon that has been sitting on the counter for god only knows how long because god forbid she just cuts a new lemon. Also tomatoes, peppers — anything. I try not to eat there. She is very well off but has this hoarder mindset, especially around food. Also, she refuses to use chef's knives and cooks exclusively with steak knives." "Taking raw chicken and putting it directly in her flour canister to cover with flour to fry. I am still horrified years later." "I watched my coworker wash his potatoes with dish soap. He squirted the soap straight onto the potato, rubbed it all over with his bare hands, rinsed it, and started chopping it. Then he threw the chopped, unpeeled, and soapy potatoes into a pot. He boiled them, mashed them without adding anything to them, then, for some reason, picked the skin out of the pot of mashed potatoes with his bare hands. No milk, cream, butter, salt, or anything. Tasted like a sad, soapy pile of compost." "I had an acquaintance whose place I went to a couple of times for parties. On both occasions, they brought out a blender to blend wine. I think one time I just saw them blend a single bottle, but another time they blended two bottles together. I think they fundamentally misunderstood what it meant to 'blend wines' and thought that it involved the appliance. I was absolutely gobsmacked but didn't know them well enough to feel comfortable asking them why they did it." "I have this friend — a grown adult male — who doesn't wash his dishes with soap. I realized this after I had already eaten at his house several times. We were talking in his kitchen one day, and I watched him start washing a pan. He rinsed the food off with water and just put it up to dry?? Then, later on, he was at my house and yelled at me for washing a pan he had given me with soap. He was apparently scared I was going to take off the finish or something." "I knew a guy who thought you were meant to throw out wooden spoons after each use. He'd spend so much money on them. When we told him you could reuse them, his mind was blown." "I had a roommate I didn't know well. We kind of ignored each other, and I didn't want to ask too many questions. She kept six peach yogurt cups in a drawer in the kitchen (not in the fridge). I never saw her use any of them. One day, her boyfriend came over and found them. He asked why she had yogurt in a drawer, and she got kind of upset and told him to just put them back and leave them alone. After that, I was even more curious but even more afraid to ask." "My husband has a habit of just putting used utensils in the freezer. Not washed, just licked clean (sometimes). He says the freezer 'kills' the bacteria and he can reuse them as many times as he wants." "I knew a family who had two full kitchens, yet they used the dishwasher to store bakeware. Everyone had to wash dishes by hand instead. I get it if you're short on storage or don't have a dishwasher, but space was not an issue here." "My mother-in-law insists on keeping cabinet doors above the microwave open. Why, you ask? So the heat doesn't build up in the cabinet and start a fire." "My neighbors had to finish their plates completely, and I mean licked clean, because the dessert yogurt would be poured onto the used plates. It was so gross having yogurt with a bite of potato. It is still a running gag with my family." Are there any bizarre kitchen habits you've witnessed from friends or family? Let us know in the comments or fill out this anonymous form!
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Yahoo
Tasting 100-year-old food: The good, the bad and the dusty
I gathered some of the most iconic unopened food items on the planet — some over a hundred years old. From a 1940s Coke to a 1990s petrified Twinkie, I spent over $16,000 collecting forgotten snacks and canned chaos from every decade of the past century. My friend Parsa joined me for the taste test, though there were moments he probably regretted that decision. Based on our experience, definitely don't try this at home. We kicked things off with food from the 1920s — an era when canned goods and preserved items were everywhere, mainly because fresh produce was limited. Cars were still new, and shelf-stable food was revolutionary. The almond paste required a small battle to open, and chunks of it shot out like a sticky grenade. It smelled like molasses, not almonds. The can was practically disintegrated, so it was clear that it had not been fully sealed shut in years. Too unsafe to eat, but it smelled nice and the packaging was eye-catching. The honey, on the other hand, looked well-aged and tasted incredible — until it numbed my mouth. That freaked Parsa out. He started panicking about flushing it out with water, which made me more nervous than I wanted to admit. While it tasted great and nothing bad happened to me, I definitely won't be eating this again. If I were in the 1920s, this honey would hate to see me coming. I also purchased cloves, a popular spice during this era. The cloves still smelled like Christmas, and to the bare eye, looked brand new. The wheat-based supplement called Imperial Granum that I also found came with instructions inside of it, with some pretty outdated information. It was wild holding paper that old — and even crazier reading the directions on how to feed it to a baby. In the 1930s, the Great Depression reshaped America's diet. People leaned heavily on affordable, shelf-stable items like crackers, porridge and syrup powders to survive. The penny drink, similar to a modern-day Kool-Aid, turned water into a suspiciously purple hue, while giving it a slight fizz. It tasted like something brewed in a chemistry lab, not a soda shop. There were also chunks of the powder that wouldn't dissolve, no matter how much stirring I did. I'm one of what seems to be the few people who love Grape Nuts. The 1930s version of Grape Nuts smelled like an old attic and looked like mouse food, leaving me thankful to be in the 2020s. Surprisingly, the Quaker Grits and Jiffy Porridge looked totally fine but unleashed a wave of dust when opened. Most of the food here wasn't scary — it was just bland and ancient. The 1940s were defined by World War II and food rationing. People got creative, substituting sweet vegetables like carrots for sugar since it was so hard to find and used powdered eggs for breakfast just to stretch meals a little further and save fresh animal products for important, special occasion meals. I wanted to know if an 80-year-old Coke would still be fizzy. To my disbelief, it was. I lost a bet with Parsa and had to admit defeat. As for the flavor, well, we both immediately spit it out. It tasted nothing like the Coke we have today, but it's probably from sitting in a bottle for 80 years. The vintage Kool-Aid from this era dissolved and came alive with color — until I tasted it. It was seriously sour. I tried to find Kool-Aid from every decade to compare the evolution, and this was the oldest package I could get my hands on. In the 1950s, convenience food exploded. TV dinners, casseroles and neon-colored desserts became staples in post-war America. Jell-O completely ruled this decade. We also saw a rise in fast food chains during this decade, including the start of McDonald's, Burger King, Pizza Hut and more. Confetti popcorn was a popular item, looking like a circus in a jar. Once popped, it was plain white and totally stale. The colored shells were just marketing. Honestly, my expectations for this were low, but I was completely surprised that the kernels popped normally. We tried vintage Jell-O, but it refused to set. Canada Dry had gone flat, but 7-Up still held a crisp fizz. This was the era of TV dinners and bright branding, and you could feel food getting more fun — but also more fake. In the 1960s, people still wanted fast, colorful meals. Instant soups, freeze-dried meals and fun packaging were everywhere. Color TVs were becoming the new normal and food advertisers worked to make their products super colorful for the full effect on television. I found a can of the classic Campbell's cream of celery soup, a popular pick in this decade. It was a horror show, to say the least. It stained my cutting board, smelled like decay and was unrecognizable upon opening. Golden butter candies were a hot commodity back then, and looked like literal chunks of gold. They looked and smelled perfect, as if they were brand new. I loved to see the transition in marketing and packaging for Grape Nuts since we last tried them in the 1930s category. Just in this example, you can see how brands began to use more eye-catching packaging as a way to bring in new consumers. The red color also popped on television more than a lighter hue of yellow and blue would, grabbing the attention of viewers better. This was just the beginning of the revolution in food marketing. In the 1970s, branding became everything. Characters like Mr. Peanut, the Kool-Aid Man and colorful cereal mascots dominated packaging. Microwaves and canned goods ruled the kitchen. This decade felt like food entered its first real marketing boom. Bright labels, mascots with catchphrases and the promise of "instant everything" defined the experience. We started with an old-school Coke bottle that only cost five cents in its day, but I paid $200 for it. It fizzed just a little, like a soda trying to remember what it used to be. We tried maple syrup next, only to learn it wasn't maple at all — just sugar syrup with a fancy label. Still, it tasted perfect, which kind of annoyed me. By the 1980s, indulgence was the trend. People wanted sweet, deep-fried and convenient treats. Fast food continued to boom, and microwave snacks became essential. This decade had some hits — and major misses. The funnel cake mix worked like magic. All you needed to do was add water to the packaging, shake it up and pour it into hot oil. It fried up normally as if it were a freshly made batter. The olive oil from this era, on the other hand, looked and smelled like it belonged in a car engine. Whatever chemicals and ingredients in the olive oil bottle separated at one point, leaving a solid white settlement on the bottom and a nearly clear oil on top. Star Wars was a giant franchise at this time, at its peak of popularity. The Star Wars-branded fruit snacks were once colorful, distinctive shapes. But now, they were all just black blobs, except the green ones. It seems like the packaging color dyed the gummies darker. Count Chocula cereal still smelled like chocolate, but like someone left it in a dusty attic. Still looks super similar to how it's made today, which is pretty cool. I think I'll stick to the fresh boxes now, but I love seeing how some food staples have remained iconic for decades like this. One thing I noticed throughout this exploration is that a lot of items don't have safety seals. In a world where nearly everything has one now, it was wild to open things up and just have them be unsealed. While it would be easier if things didn't have a seal nowadays, it's certainly safer to have them. The 1990s were the snack generation. Every brand had a mascot, a color and a jingle. Lunchables, Go-Gurt and Gushers turned every kid into a mini foodie. I was born in this decade, and that foodie culture clearly never left me. And yes, we didn't dare open the Michael Jordan Wheaties box. It is too sacred. The Lifesaver gummies have always been a hit in my book. In the '90s, they were booming in popularity. The tropical flavor is my favorite, so I was excited to see what they looked like in the '90s. Let's just say, my disappointment was obvious. How these turned black, I will truly never know or understand. We also opened Skittles from 1995 — they fused into one massive rainbow block. The lemon chiffon cake, originally from this decade, rose into a dense, springy volleyball. It smelled like eggs, and probably wasn't safe — but the cake mix still worked. Orbitz was a lava lamp in a bottle. I remember it tasting a lot better as a kid, but honestly, that could be because it's almost 30 years old. The 2000s were when the internet started influencing food. Viral recipes, snack fads and early YouTube food content were all beginning to take shape. We entered the 2000s with Lipton Cup-a-Soup and Chef Boyardee. I tried the Chef Boyardee, and it was clearly expired — one bite was enough. The soup, on the other hand looked radioactive. I hesitated, but curiosity almost got the better of me. Almost. I stayed strong and didn't taste it, thanks to Parsa who knocked some sense into me. Then there was the petrified Twinkie. It cut like a rock, and I handled it with gloves. It looked like a fossil. It was sold to me as "petrified," which is the same word they use for dinosaur bones. Honestly, I'm no archeologist, but it seemed pretty close to a dinosaur bone. Dry, hard and somehow dusty. The 2010s were peak snack culture. Nutella became a food group. Coconut water exploded. Brands started marketing snacks as meals — and we all bought in. Nutella ruled this decade. Nutella even gave me a jar with my name on it, and it's my most prized possession... besides family, of course. Chips like Takis and Doritos also blew up online. Parsa pointed out the Lay's chip bags held less than the bags we saw in earlier decades. So far, the 2020s have offered hyper-engineered snacks. From high-protein cookies to seaweed snacks, modern food is optimized for taste, marketing and endless snacking. Modern snacks are also engineered to be addictive, now more than ever in my opinion. Flavor-blasted Goldfish hit harder than anything from the '90s. Chicken chips, moon cheese, seaweed snacks, low-sugar candies, protein cookies… these aren't just snacks — they're edible tech. Present-day food is all about modifications for health, while still enjoying the flavor of it all. This experiment was honestly a battle of the packaging styles – some foods survived perfectly. Others turned to black goo or fossilized bricks. But across 100 years, the 1990s felt like magic. Lunchables, Gushers, Go-Gurt — it wasn't healthy, but it was unforgettable. It's probably because that decade is the most nostalgic for me. Someone who grew up in the 1940s might feel totally different from how I did about the almond paste or Imperial Granum. That's the beauty of food: everyone has a personal connection to something, and no matter how stale or petrified it gets, it will still give you that heartwarming, nostalgic feeling, edible or not. And if I had to eat from one decade forever? I'd take the present day, although I'll always miss the one with powdered candy tattoos, fake cheese and way too much neon. Want to see me taste these in action? Check out my video below:


USA Today
3 days ago
- USA Today
Best flavored whiskeys for Father's Day, including ... salty watermelon
Best flavored whiskeys for Father's Day, including ... salty watermelon Don't overthink it. Flavored whiskeys are totally fine. Sometimes you need a break from big, barrel-influenced flavors. One of the truest pleasures in life is an occasional coffee mug filled with ice and Fireball. And though Fireball remains the oft-criticized king when it comes to mashed-up whiskey, there are several contenders for its throne. Thus, I'm kicking off our Father's Day week-long whiskey extravaganza with these gateway spirits to the harsher (but rewarding) world of bourbons, ryes and Scotches. Let's give some pre-mixed cocktails and various infused whiskeys a test drive and see what's worthy of drinking (or gifting). These are the flavored whiskeys I drank this year, ranging from forgettable to "not bad." Jack Daniel's & Coca-Cola ready-to-drink cocktails I was concerned about the carbonation in a pre-mixed cocktail. Fortunately, this can roars open with the familiar crack of a typical Coke and pours with the big, quickly dissipating head you'd expect from the unadulterated thing. I'm opting for the vanilla here, because that's always been my personal favorite. The smell off the top is more vanilla extract than vanilla syrup, owing to the seven percent alcohol by volume within. It's still appealing, but you know right away this isn't your typical midday caffeine boost. In fact, there's no caffeine at all -- reasonable, given the Kyle-shaped crater Four Loko left outside frat houses across the nation. (Which Kyle? Judging by the puka shell fragments around the rim, it was Kyle S. Services were held at the Quiksilver in the mall. Not the good one.) The first sip is boozy, but never burns. The whiskey works naturally with the vanilla, heightening the minor flavor you'd get from Jack Daniel's barrel aging. It works in sequences, going Coke-Jack-Coke, leaving you with sugary sweetness and carbonation to finish each sip. That's a bit rich, but it's also possible I'm not used to full-bodied Coca-Cola after spending the last two decades drinking whatever sugar-free version they had (I write about booze for a living, I need to conserve calories where I can). The downside is the lack of flexibility. This is a little too strong to taste primarily like Coke. It's a little too weak to taste like the cola and bourbons I'd make for myself at home. Jack Daniel's is going for a sweet spot with the greatest possible appeal and probably hit it. But there's a benefit to being able to mix your drink your way -- especially with a two-step cocktail like this. Even so, it's better than expected. The soda is full-bodied, the carbonation is crisp and the whiskey is apparent but not overpowering. Ol' Jacky D could have half-assed this one. He didn't. Five Springs Vanilla Maple Infused Bourbon The bottle is mysterious. We don't know what the ingredients are, what the origin of the infused flavors are, if there's been any color added or much else. We do get that it's 70 proof and from Bardstown, Kentucky, which is a nice start (there is a QR code on the neck. I am a lazy man, so I'm just gonna jump in instead). It smells like a fancy, boozy waffle. It tastes... like a boozy waffle. I have no idea what the aging on this is, but it's tremendously smooth and zero burn to speak of. That also means it's not especially complex. It's a scoop of ice cream on top of a warm stack of pancakes, not quite decadent but still very much leaning into its dessert roots. That sweetness is the headliner, but you get some roasted malt and a little oak later in the sip. That reminds you you're dealing with a little booze, though it doesn't feel like it clocks in at 70 proof. There's a little cinnamon lingering underneath but, yeah, the bottle promises vanilla and maple. The spirit delivers vanilla and maple. Heaps and heaps of it. It's lovely to sip over ice. It lacks the spice and snappy finish of a Fireball, but it's still an easy win. Duke & Dame Salted Caramel Whiskey I like a little salt in my whiskey. Granted, that's normally from a bit of sea spray in a coastal Scotch, but hey, I'm open minded. Same with the caramel; it's not too much of a stretch to bring these two whiskey-related flavors to the forefront. But it might be a stretch to lean heavily on them, because a little dab will do when it comes to either. The smell from the top of the pour (over ice) is like a Werther's Original hard candy. It's familiar in a 99 cent mini bottle sort of way. That's not necessarily a bad thing -- some of those cheap lil weirdos are awesome -- but that's where your mind goes. OK, so it smells... artificial. It tastes sweet up front, but the salt clocks in toward the end to help the finish clock in at not quite dry, but not as sloppy as you'd expect. There's a little warmth befitting a 70 proof spirit -- Duke & Dame doesn't hide its booze as well as some of the others on this list -- but there's nothing you'd consider a burn. That gives it utility as a change-of-pace sipper or a chilled shot. There isn't much do it besides caramel up front and a little salt in the back. But that's fine; you're not drinking it for depth and complexity. You're drinking it because it's easy and fun. That's probably not gonna impress your boss or rich friends, but it's still nice. Mash & Mallow S'mores Whiskey Well, we did it. We finally made the South Park Civil War reenactment liquor a reality. Granted, Mash & Mallow *isn't* S'mores Schnapps or 151 proof, but what possibly could be? Regardless, there's potential here -- the oaky, warm base of a bourbon could bring a little snap and balance to the sweet-on-sweet of a s'more. The smell off the top leans into this -- there's a little smoke, a little marshmallow and some graham cracker elements that... sorta come across as stale. I'm sipping this one over ice, which helps space out the big flavors within and thin out a denser spirit. And with some ice, this is actually pretty decent. There's a sweetness that lingers long after it leaves your lips, but you do get a little charred marshmallow and cracker before getting there. Despite what's effectively a blank check to dial up the boozy burn at the end in a flavored whiskey, Mash & Mallow never tastes like a 70 proof spirit. In terms of sting, it's closer to a 30 proof Rumchata than, say, a pull off a cheap Fireball knockoff. Your tolerance will come down to how much sweet you can handle -- and how much hangover you're willing to risk the next day, since I have to think this will take a ghastly toll. Mash & Mallow is a dumb idea executed smartly. It's nice to sit and sip with. It's a remarkably easy shooter. It's an easy win to bring to a tailgate. Despite all the ways this could have gone wrong, Mash & Mallow found a way to do it right. Old Smoky Whiskeys Old Smoky is best known for its moonshine, but the Tennessee-based distiller is honing in on that Fireball market for chilled shots that don't really taste like whiskey. I gave three of their new-ish offshoots a try, to varying effect. Salty Watermelon: The mint chocolate chip cream was the first Ole Smoky I drank -- passed around as a chilled shot during March Madness. But salty watermelon got the call to be the first one I reviewed because, well, salty watermelon. That's a hook right there. A whiskey that tastes like a summer cookout? Alright, I'm in. I'm drinking this (and all of these) over ice. With all respect to Ole Smoky, I feel like this lovely bottle does not clamor for the strict adherence of drinking it neat. Even with the ice, it smells absolutely potent with watermelon candy odors and a nice little ring of brine. It's incredibly appealing. And, yep, this is like drinking candy. The watermelon washes out any of the oak or mash. Which is fine, because the label assures me the lovely mahogany of the bottle is the result of caramel coloring. So that artificial flavor is doing a lot of work, but it's not like you didn't know what you were getting into. You're drinking salted watermelon whiskey from a moonshine company. There's a little harshness underneath, but that slips away under the distinct impression you're drinking a thin, boozy Jolly Rancher. That is a compliment. It is not good, but it is great. Salty Caramel Well, this one smells half like melted Snickers and half like... well, some off-brand flavored booze mini bottle I crushed in college or far too long after college to proudly admit. It's aggressively chemical and sweet. There's a bit of a maple syrup/antifreeze vibe that wafts through the room. It's a lot. Even with ice, it's a bit syrupy. With the caramel in tow there's a certain melted ice cream vibe in play. Which would probably go great in a big, boozy shake. On the rocks, it's overpowered and much less enjoyable than the salty watermelon. You start off with some low key sugar (substitute). Then, wham, that's a lot of caramel flavoring all at once. It's like pouring the crumbs from a box of Fiddle Faddle into your mouth, except with a little boozy aftertaste. It's probably fine as a shot, but might be a tough mixer in anything but a dessert drink. Mint Chocolate Chip Cream I love a good, dumb dessert shot. Living in Wisconsin has led me to Travis Hasse's pie liquors (which originated at the Missouri Tavern, one of the best bars in the state). This one, pouring thick out of the freezer and in need of refrigeration after opening, lends all the promise of melted ice cream. It smells like a two scoop cone dropped on the sidewalk on a hot summer day. Before the ants arrive, naturally. The first sip is, yep, melted ice cream. There's a little bit of spice toward the end, but nothing that would really tip you off to the booze inside until you get to a slightly warm aftertaste. It's minimal -- this is a 35 proof spirit, after all -- but it's there. The drink is dense and sweet and, honestly, a lot. That's a plus if you're looking for a quick dessert shot or adding it to a shake. In a cocktail it's a tougher sell. That aftertaste coats your tongue with sugary sweetness and artificial flavor, weighing you down afterward. If you've got a sweet tooth? It's probably not a problem. But it's a lot to handle as a sipper.