Last week, Oklahoma City’s 7-Eleven stores officially switched their brand of frozen drinks from the locally long-time Icy Drink to the nationally-known Slurpee banner, with little to no fanfare. While the switch mostly entailed different signage, they did introduce some new flavors names to give the drinks a must-try appeal, at least for me. I’m a sucker like that.
The beloved convenience store that I walk to for various sundries at least once a day is the 7-Eleven at NW 23rd and Penn, perhaps the Ogle’s favorite outlet, if only for all the dangerous scrapes to be had there from the clientele. Over the past week, I sampled their six flavors on tap, dutifully providing the unneeded service of letting the public know which Slurpee is most edible in these upcoming hot days.
Despite the wholly cyberpunk name given to this neuromanced flavor, it’s still the same old cherry taste that most of us grew up with at various stages of our frozen drink development. Syrupy sweet with a mildly tart aftertaste, it really is the bomb that, via a computer, takes you to a working website where an anthropomorphic cherry asks you to make a slurping sound—I don’t think it’s a porno, but I’ve been wrong before.
This American favorite has always been a prideful frozen drink standby, one that should be enjoyed with baseball, apple pie and a bunker full of guns. But before you load that AR-15, know that this flavor is the epitome of “too much of a good thing,” much like this country. Sure, the first few gulps give a tangy bite that you’d wish would continue, but as the quickly melting mixture of ice chunks and unfrozen syrup swim in the bottom of your cup, a constitutionalized headache in your near future.
While I may not like getting caught in the rain, I do love the taste of chilled piña coladas, with this variation being Slurpee’s strongest flavor yet. Like a momentary escape with a temperately sweet mocktail, it never wears out its welcome, giving everyone an approximately close taste of our island neighbors. Even better, I saw a dude in his car pour rum from a miniature bottle into his serving before driving away, paying moderate attention to the surrounding loiterers.
Sour Patch Kids Orange
Some things just don’t translate well to a liquid state and this tribute to the lip-puckering orphans of the candy world is one of them. A taste that brings me to the verge of dysmorphic dry-heaving, there’s not a Sour Patch Kids flavor, per se, to be found here; instead, there is a flavoring that is reminiscence of the expensive citrus-based cleaners that you usually find at a Whole Foods aisle of cleaning supplies. Like those, this doesn’t get the job done, for drinking or cleaning.
The grating name alone is worthy of both chilled regurgitation and the questioning of God and his love of this world, however, this blueberry-flavored Slurpee is, surprising, an absolutely solid one. With more of a tart tang than any of the so-called fruity offerings, even the syrup-suctioned leftover ice at the bottom of the cup is worthy of the business end of the typically-useless spoon straw, delivering on its main goal of refreshing. But saying the name should be punishable by, at the very least, someone swiftly opening their car-door into yours in the parking lot.
While I’m sure this is a lot of people’s favorite Slurpee flavor—or, I suppose, Icy flavor—in Oklahoma and the surrounding states, every time I go to this particular 7-Eleven, the dispenser carrying this particular flavor is always in the middle of particularly defrosting. Am I just an unlucky schlub when it comes to this famous frozen taste?
The day I went in to sample this, it was once again defrosting, forcing me to fill the cup with highly-chilled syrup. I took it home to allow it to freeze in my icebox for a short while, which led to a solid chunk of Dr. Pepper syrup. Even then, it was alright I suppose, but one day—just one day—I’d like a Dr. Pepper Slurpee like the rich kids get at their 7-Elevens.