Minute Maid Frozen Orange Juice Is Gone: A Bittersweet End to Childhood Nostalgia
As a child of the 1980s, I have mixed emotions about the discontinuation of Minute Maid's frozen orange juice. While it may be seen as a nostalgic loss by some, for this writer, there is no love lost. Growing up, my mom stocked our freezer with cans of frozen "OJ" as if it was a means to an end β a way to keep us hydrated during uncertain times.
The sound of my mom's familiar command from the top of the stairs still echoes in my mind: "Go make the OJ!" It was a ritual that required patience, as I had to defrost the can under hot tap and mix it with cold water. The resulting drink was often a slushy concoction that tasted vaguely like 7-Eleven Slurpees. On other occasions, we'd sneak into the kitchen after dinner to shave off spoonfuls of the orange juice, eating it like poor man's sorbet.
But as much as I have fond memories of Minute Maid's frozen orange juice, its demise is a welcome change for me. The experience of having this drink forced upon us during childhood was traumatic enough, but when my cousin got car sick on a family road trip and the vomit pitcher from that day somehow ended up in our bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios, it soured my taste for frozen orange juice forever.
Now, I can finally say goodbye to the struggle of mixing up Minute Maid's frozen concentrate without having to confront its sticky, gloopy texture. While some may mourn its loss, I'm just grateful that this part of my childhood is behind me.
As a child of the 1980s, I have mixed emotions about the discontinuation of Minute Maid's frozen orange juice. While it may be seen as a nostalgic loss by some, for this writer, there is no love lost. Growing up, my mom stocked our freezer with cans of frozen "OJ" as if it was a means to an end β a way to keep us hydrated during uncertain times.
The sound of my mom's familiar command from the top of the stairs still echoes in my mind: "Go make the OJ!" It was a ritual that required patience, as I had to defrost the can under hot tap and mix it with cold water. The resulting drink was often a slushy concoction that tasted vaguely like 7-Eleven Slurpees. On other occasions, we'd sneak into the kitchen after dinner to shave off spoonfuls of the orange juice, eating it like poor man's sorbet.
But as much as I have fond memories of Minute Maid's frozen orange juice, its demise is a welcome change for me. The experience of having this drink forced upon us during childhood was traumatic enough, but when my cousin got car sick on a family road trip and the vomit pitcher from that day somehow ended up in our bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios, it soured my taste for frozen orange juice forever.
Now, I can finally say goodbye to the struggle of mixing up Minute Maid's frozen concentrate without having to confront its sticky, gloopy texture. While some may mourn its loss, I'm just grateful that this part of my childhood is behind me.