Bye-Bye Miss American Pie
by SEYTA SELTER
243-2122

Ever experienced the satisfaction of tasting an exact replica? In Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Willy Wonka teased us with the ultimate synthetic experience. You remember that magic chewing gum, don't you? Ah, the thought of a three-course meal hosted in a little gray stick--one delicious course after another, followed by a splendid dessert. That mythical gum unfortunately left a cavernous hole in reality.

Thankfully, loads of Wonka-weaned kids are now grown up and have successfully infiltrated the food and drink industry to fill that hole. Just look at jelly beans. Some might argue that nothing ís better than the real thing, but the experience of a Juicy Pear Jelly Belly proves them wrong: The chewy-yet-pearlike nutritionally vacant candy is far more exciting than any ordinary pear.

It's with this in mind that I investigated the new Dutch revelation in perfect syntheticism: KeKe Beach. The marketing executives at KeKe Beach have some tricks up their sleeves. KeKe Beach is a self-contained test and reward. If you're brave enough to ignore its uncool Jimmy Buffett-esque name, unoriginal marketing ("Everybody is heading to the beach. KeKe Beach.") and physical resemblance to Pepto Bismol bile, you are rewarded.

This stuff tastes EXACTLY like key lime pie. You, of course, must decide whether that's an appealing notion. Once the creamy goodness of the tart-sweet custard steeped in alcohol (well, OK, 15 percent) passed my quivering lips, I decided that I'd never go back to the real thing.

On ice or straight up, it's delectable--you can even taste the graham-cracker crust. If you feel like a sissy, make it into a martini (called a "KeKe V"), equal parts vodka and KeKe. "It's like a crazy, alcoholic lime creamsicle," gushed a cocktail connoisseur friend. Or, try it with dark cola for some pretense of non-fluffiness.

Not sure if you want to splurge on a whole bottle of the stuff? The kind bartenders at the Gypsy--conduits of the synthetic taste revolution--are willing to help you out. They serve KeKe straight up or on the rocks for $4.25, or a KeKe V for $7.

But really, you don't need a guide. Pick some up at the liquor store for $20, stick it in the fridge and drink it right out of the bottle. After your crappy frozen pizza has left you tainted and depressed with its low-quality cheese and questionable meat product, KeKe Beach will take you, not to the beach, but to the perfect fake world of pastel candyman meadows and spiked liquid pie.