While not exactly in the scope of this blog, I had to post about the hilarious little games Coke has on the web for the holiday season. There are 4 mini-games using christmas elves in various ways. Easy to play with funny special effects (and sounds).

Just a quick shoutout to my good friends The Cohens to congratulate them on the public announcement of their first child (in progress)! I had a little advance notice, but it’s public news now. Let’s hope the good luck continues for them! And for Speck!

Wonders never cease. Pepsi Cappuccino is the latest hype in the barrage of Western junk hitting southeastern Europe. I first encountered it about 3 weeks ago at the local Carrefour (think: Costco) while browsing the soda pop aisle for 2 litre of Bitter Lemon. I was mesmerized by the sheer cojones it took to make such a coffee-cola drink, so I picked one up for a trial.

I told a few friends about it and the common response was something like, “Exactly how bad does it taste?” I’m not sure how to articulate the low depths of flavor without using inverse derivatives, principles of quantum physics, and fire-and-brimstone rhetorical lunacy. Let’s agree that it tastes very much like coffee/cappuccino and not much like Pepsi. However, it is both cold and carbonated, unlike cappuccino. On the first evening home from the store, my taste sample registered Immediate Repugnancy on the palatability-o-meter. Nevertheless, I theorized that Pepsi Cappuccino might taste good in the morning, somehow as a psychological subsitute for a morning coffee routine.

Some folks may remember a few years back in the US when Pepsi Kona was introduced. It was a mix of Pepsi and Kona Blend coffee. Personally, I think it was extremely cheap for Pepsi to mimic many other companies in trying to gain taste-credibility using the term Kona Blend. You see, in the coffee world, Kona is internationally known as one of the best flavors of coffee worldwide, if not the premier flavor. However, unscrupulous marketers routinely promote “Kona Blend” instead which is made of 10% or less actual Kona coffee mixed with low grade, inexpensive crud from a host of other coffee regions.

(Technically, there are legal measures in place to “guarantee” that any product claiming to be Kona Blend is at least 10% actual Kona. But with 90% junk beans, it doesn’t matter much. And, to top it all off, some companies ruthlessly abandon this minimal threshhold altogether. Buyer beware! Insist on 100% Real Kona. Your tastebuds will thank you and you’ll never make the mistake again.)

So, there was Pepsi — trying like so many others to cash in on the good name of Kona by mixing a impure blend with their cola. The result? Aside from a few demented souls, the product introduction failed miserably and Pepsi Kona was cancelled.

Lately, I’ve seen this “new” Pepsi Cappuccino on posters and in stores throughout Romania as well as during a recent trip to Bulgaria. I was just reading on Slashdot recently about Coke’s new coffee-based drink, Coca-Cola Blāk. It would seem, then, that Pepsi isn’t the only company listening to a faint signal eminating from somewhere of an obscure marketing researcher who believes a coffee-cola mix still has life left in the concept.

How did it taste in the morning? I tried to convince myself that it was a viable coffee alternative, but that was only automanipulation to induce a second sip. After that, I realized the verdict was definitely unanimous: it tastes like what you’d squeeze out of an old pair of dirty socks you had worn for two weeks and left setting a few days in public gas station bathroom sink in downtown Los Angeles. As a safety precaution, the entire 2 litre was poured down the drain to avoid accidental further drinking.

Learn from my naivety. Avoid Pepsi Cappuccino at all costs. Don’t even smell it.

A quick post to let y’all know that a friend of mine recently launched a forum for expats to discuss issues surrounding immigration around the globe. It doesn’t matter where you are from or where you live now… if you live in X and come from Y, then the forum is aimed at you.

Topics include cultural misunderstanding, visa procedures, racism and others. If you are an expat, drop by the forum and participate in the information exchange.

Dinner tonight at a local restaurant around the corner prompted me to discuss paper napkins. I’ve thought about this issue a number of times while dining in Romania, because the American norm is typically quite different.

When you pop into your local Whataburger or Carl’s Jr in the States, you expect a fistful of paper napkins to go with your fast food meal. (Except we all know McDonald’s is notoriously tight-fisted about paper napkins, ketchup packets, etc. Not that it’s worth eating there anyway.) And if you get short changed on paper napkins, most folks feel a little miffed but you know you can always demand more.

Well, in Romania, you can nab some quick italian grub at Happy Food or a huge kebap from Simpatico, but the one or two paper napkins you get with the meal are very likely to be the only ones you can get. Asking for more may get you nowhere as the employees are well-known far and wide for not caring about the customer. At all.

Now, instead, let’s imagine you’re back in the western hemisphere enjoying a dining experience at one of the higher-end cookie cutters like Ruth’s Chris or a Brinker’s joint. You pretty much expect to graduate above paper napkins and utilize a nice cloth napkin. It’s simply part of the carefully orchestrated eating environment which makes you feel justified in spending $12 on a scoop of pasta or $25 on a slab of cow prepared by someone who may or may not have taken a culinary class at the community college.

Certainly, you expect a serious cloth napkin when eating at a real fine dining establishment.

Not in Romania. Bless them for trying to adopt modern/western high-end eatery styles, but even high-end places like Bella Musica and Intermezzo all seem to fail in the napkin department. That’s right, you will be served that multi-course meal and dessert right along with your paper napkin. Really, a paper napkin. Roughly the size of a square of toilet paper with two semi-transparent plys. It’s hard to determine which is more uncouth: leaving your paper napkin next to the plate or trying to put it across your lap. The primary difference at this point is that the staff at expensive restaurants will happily bring you another translucent sheet at your request. You may even find a small supply already on the table, for your convenience.

But it’s still a paper napkin. And talk of cloth napkins gets you a blank stare in return. It’s just not something most folks are aware of here, at this time. I suppose one might possibly find such a luxury at the one or two posh places in Bucureşti which cater to politicians and celebrities, but I’ve not found it yet. It’s also possible that this situation will change in the next two or three years as the competitive landscape continues to rapidly adapt.

In the meantime, prepare yourself for paper napkins everywhere.