Tag Archives: marketing

BAI ANTIOXIDANT INFUSION: KULA WATERMELON

BaiKula

Nobody knows what ‘Bai Antioxidant Infusion’ means; least of all its makers.

Unfortunately, this hasn’t stopped them.

This drink is absolutely disgusting. Working off the strange mouth-drying sensation that Oasis fruit beverages do so well despite their liquid form, Bai Antioxidant Infusion takes the reigns and rides that horse off a cliff.

Watermelons are nice. Most teas are nice. This is nice hung, drawn and bottled, and all for well over £2. I can’t begin to work out how they could’ve fucked up a theoretically simple beverage so absolutely.

Naturally, I can only write about my experiences with the kula (again, meaning unknown) watermelon model. The other fruit flavours in the range may well be delicious. But just because the possibility of a thing exists, doesn’t make it in any way likely.

To make matters considerably worse, the label features a completely nonsensical story about Robin Hood in the most afterthought piece of narrative branding the world has ever had inflicted upon it – see below.

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That’s right, the marketing team behind Bai Antioxidant are advocating for its product to be made illegal. Edgy. Banter. Both. Or Something.

Given that is a company that is shifting enough units to justify a Super Bowl commercial starring Justin Timberlake and Christopher Walken, I can safely say I understand the world less than ever.

If this is what antioxidants are all about, then I’m throwing my hat in with the oxidants.

TASTE/ EXPERIENCE: 1/10

TASTE/ EXPERIENCE + MARKETING: -5/10

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FERRERO ROCHER

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Reader, I know full well what you want me to write in this blog.

You want me to go straight in on The Ambassador, don’t you.

You want me to put down on this niche blog what you’ve always wanted to express, namely this: fuck you, The Ambassador. Fuck your impeccable taste in mediocre sweetmeats, your mediocre moneyed guests with shit accents and over-enthusiasm for your mediocre sweetmeats.

Fuck everything you stand for, The Ambassador, you utter besuited prick. Fuck the diplomatic codes of politeness, clandestine soft intelligence gathering, sweetmeats arranged like ancient tombs.

But I can’t express any of that with honesty, no matter how much you might want it. Average Food Blog cannot be the crowd-pleaser you so eagerly crave.

Because Ferrero Rocher, if you look beyond all the abject wankery of Ferrero’s marketing department, are pretty decent.

Sure, it’s hardly the world’s best chocolate or premium nuts involved in the mix, but the combination of flavours and textures is somewhat compelling, especially within the context of finding yourself lolling in the sort of advanced state of passivity that only major Christian festivals can bring.

They are not the best of their food genre but nonetheless are indelibly linked to serial eating, much in the same way that Pringles are not a leading crisp but have the same effect.

Of course, there is some possibility that mind-altering chemicals have been injected into each and every bobbly, spherical melting pot of doom to make me feel this way. That ultimately I’m being duped, that the powers that be have got their claws into AFB in a way that strongly suggests the direct or at very least implied involvement of yes, you’ve guessed it, The Ambassador.

OK OK, fuck The Ambassador. You happy now?

Season’s Greetings to all on the internet.

FERRERO ROCHER: 7/10

GAZPACHO SOUP

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mmmmm! cold soup!

For those of you who don’t know – and I address such culturally benighted people purely out of the goodness of my heart, you understand – gazpacho is a kind of Spanish tomato soup. Gazpacho’s USP is that it is served cold. That’s right, hombres: cold. Cold soup! Eeeh, the world is going to hell in a handcart.

In the very likely event that you have given little thought to gazpacho soup over the course of your life, the intended purpose of this blog post is to enlighten you on a few topics.

The first thing to note is that, whilst the quality of commercially-available gazpacho is somewhat variable, it is generally very tasty. Gazpacho is at its best when it is fairly coarse – somewhere between a salsa and a traditional soup, I would say. The likes of Covent Garden Soup Co, on which my partner* Gary has very ably pontificated, are guilty of producing overly-liquidy gazpacho. Be this as it may, there is something about mashed up, slightly acidic vegetables that is hugely refreshing of a summer’s day.

The second thing to note is that “commercially available” is something of a misnomer nowadays, for you can’t get gazpacho soup in mainstream supermarkets for love nor money. It used to be the case, up until last year, that during the summer – and I use this word in the loosest possible sense to cover the time from June to September – you could find pots of gazpacho soup in the soup aisle of any leading supermarket. No longer. Nowadays you’ll have to go as far afield as shops such as Whole Foods to get your cold, Spanish, tomato-based fix. The likes of Waitrose and Morrisons have, it seems, quietly withdrawn gazpacho from its shelves. It no longer exists. It is a ghost-soup.

I have no idea why this should be. Perhaps the soup-consuming populace have wised-up to the fact that, instead of shelling out a hefty sum for some fancy-schmancy Spanish soup, they can simply purchase the same product, marketed under the less salubrious name of ‘tomato soup’, for less coinage. Which brings me onto my third point. Gazpacho soup and tomato soup (with the aforementioned caveat about coarseness aside) are to all intents and purposes the same product. The difference in name betokens merely a difference in marketing tactics, and a difference in intended temperature. Why is it, then, that the thought of chowing down on cold tomato soup is deeply unappealing, whilst the thought of consuming gazpacho at this temperature is (to me at least) not at all unpleasant? The rational part of my mind tells me that, for heaven’s sake man, it’s the same product, but the emotional part of my mind tells me that, no – thou shalt honour the words on thy pot: gazpacho = cold; tomato soup = hot.

(a similar point can be made with regards to ‘soup’ and ‘juice’: Gazpacho soup and tomato juice are in many instances extremely qualitatively similar, yet the thought of eating (or drinking) something called ‘juice’ out of a bowl is wrong wrong wrong. (Although some weirdos do consume soup out of a cup, it has to be said.)

There is a deep lesson to be learned here, I think, about the power of marketing on the way we perceive products. I would do some research into it, but since I am not getting paid to write any of this, I can’t be arsed to do so.

*professional, not romantic