...where distraction is the main attraction.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Unimaginable Pleasure


A thorough dig through the 99 cent mini liquor bottle bin at a strip mall in Palm Springs is bound to result in a discovery of historical interest.  Sure, one can find a cotton candy flavored Finnish vodka or a forgotten bottle of Early Times.  But dig deeper through that plastic barrel and you may find


Yes, Xanté.  I found a bottle of Xanté.  What Xanté was, I had no idea.  It sounded Mayan, was bottled in Sweden, and had no other description on the label.  I couldn't resist.  Should I have?

Upon my return to our Palm Springs hotel room, I immediately looked Xanté up online.  My search brought me to the official site.

The site greets its visitors with pictures of supposed supermodels and a font reminiscent of Vegas strip club signs.  And its slogan?

Unimaginable Pleasure.

What the hell does that even mean?  What are they selling?  Heroin and vibrators?  

Hi, Blue Text.  You want to take it from here?

"Unimaginable" is a word used in the promotion of horror films.  Unimaginable Terror!  It's a meaningless word with a foreboding connotation.  It sounds like there was a copywriter who didn't know anything about the about the product and had to send something in at the deadline.

Agreed.  More information was required.  The menu at the top of the site offered options such as "The Product", "News Archive", "Contact", and......

Feel The Brand?  Is that for folks with sensory disorders?  You know, the people who can smell purple and taste the number 5?

Other more intelligible page titles would be "Our History", "Our Legacy", or "The Brand".  We CAN'T FEEL THE BRAND unless someone burned their initials into your ass and you want us to finger the scars.

So I clicked Feel The Brand.

May I present you with the actual Feel The Brand copy, along with some structured analysis:

The late 19th century was a time of political turbulence in Europe.
Wooooooooo, a story!
As a consequence of the Franco-Prussian War, the district of Alsace came under German rule but many of the locals disagreed with the new order.
Um, is this leading to Xanté or to Hitler?
Among them was future liqueur manufacturer Jean Heinrich, member of an Alsatian family of ancient lineage. He conducted a bold escape to Namur, Belgium, where he was granted shelter at a Benedictine Monastery.
Like Bruce Wayne?
The monks confided Heinrich with a collection of ancient, all-natural liqueur recipes that would become the foundation of the legendary Maison Heinrich Liquoristerie Artisanale.
Wait, why would they do that?  “Hi, we just met you. Here are all of our delicious ancient monk-y secrets!”  Or......did he steal the recipes and raze the monastery?  Heinrich, you bastard!
Heinrich successfully commenced production, but decided to keep the single most superior recipe a family secret.
What kind of crap is that?  Did the monks not teach you anything about sharing?!  Or did you cock-up the recipe and need to hide the fact?   You, sir, are no Bruce Wayne.
It was solemnly passed on from generation to generation and perfected through accumulated knowledge, tradition and refined production techniques.
“Refined”?  “Perfected”?  You did screw it up.

And “accumulated knowledge”?  I thought Herr Heinrich had the original recipe.  Might want to get the lie straight before you start telling it.
And today – after four generations of blending excellence, the world is finally deemed ready for the Unimaginable Pleasures of Xanté.
The world is “finally deemed ready”?  Isn't that what the Bond villain says before he releases the supervirus?
Allow us to introduce Xanté – the intimate result of a ménage à trois
between the finest French cognacs, the affection
Where is this going?
of French Limousine Oak with its touch of vanilla, the perfect penetration of pear,
and the slow tender mating process which seals the great conception
Holy sh*t.
delivering a flavour and taste beyond all known experience. It is like a giant step forward, a transformational boost to the Golden Age of Women.
You lost me.
Like succes
Success has two Ss.
and prosperity.
What’s like succesS and prosperity?  I’m assuming you mean the “transformational boost to the Golden Age of Women”.  Are you just putting words next to each other and assuming they form a sentence?
Like men that women want them to be: gentle, soft, caring, romantic, smart, well built and willing to please.
I believe this is a tangent.
We call it pure oral pleasure
Holy sh*t.
from the country of Europe–
Europe is a continent.
From the country of Europe, clearly.
Unimaginable Pleasure.
From the perfect penetration of pear, I presume?


I don't know about you, but between the pear-fisting and oral service from Benedictine monks, I'm sold.  Why don't you give it a sip there, boss.

Will do.  There's no way it couldn't live up to that copy.

I served up the 50mL neatly into my Glencairn whisky glass to make sure I would receive the full brunt of unimaginable pleasure.  I put on some erotic avante garde cinema, then laid back and gave it taste.




The color is a dark sensual gold, highlighted with flames of Cheetos orange.

The nose.  Whump!  That sexy sound is the warm plastic bottle peach schnapps and five-dollar triple sec punching your gag reflex.  Intimately, of course.  Nectarine and melon canoodle with fake nectarine and fake melon.  Tropical Fruit Skittles melted and dripped over cheap perfume.

The palate matches the nose.  All peach schnapps and triple sec.  And something else.  Maybe overripe juicy plums?  Or per my wife's observation: industrial chemicals and paint fumes.

The finish is so sweet that you'll beg for those paint fumes to kill the brain cells holding the memory of the drinking experience.

I dumped half of it down the sink and apologized to my whisky glass.

Should we be surprised that a company named Xante makes printer toner cartridges?

Dear god, then what did I drink?

It's unimaginable.

And what would you possibly mix with this?

You'd wind up ruining a perfectly sh*tty bottle of Riunite.

The country of Europe deserves better.