Canada Dry
“Dry” is one of those basic English words that have been around long enough to acquire all sorts of meanings only tangentially related to its primary definition, which in the case of “dry” pretty much amounts to “not wet.”
In figurative senses, however, “dry” can mean, among other thing, insensitive or unemotional, caustically witty (”dry humor”), barren or unfruitful, miserly, plain, unattractive, dull, stiff or overly formal, or, of course, very thirsty. “Dry” is even an American slang term applied to those locales that forbid the consumption or sale of alcohol.
A more pleasant sense of “dry,” dating back to at least 1700, is used among wine connoisseurs to mean “free from sweetness or fruity flavor,” which in many wines is a desirable attribute.
Now fast-forward to Canada in 1904, where Toronto pharmacist and entrepreneur John J. McLaughlin was searching for a winning soft-drink formula to add to his line of bottled soda water. Most ginger ales of the day were syrupy concoctions, dark in color and extremely sweet. McLaughlin was looking for something brighter and lighter, and after many experiments he finally perfected his dream beverage. In 1919 he began exporting it to New York City as “Canada Dry Pale Ginger Ale,” and within a few years established his first American factory in Manhattan. While most carbonated beverages at that time were sold through corner drugstores, McLaughlin pioneered distribution at ball games, beaches, and anywhere people gathered.
By the 1920s, Canada Dry had been acquired by P.D. Saylor and Company and was on the verge of becoming a nationwide brand in the U.S. Ironically, it was one of the other meanings of the word “dry” — prohibiting the sale of alcohol — that gave Canada Dry its biggest boost.
Canada Dry Ginger Ale turned out to be just right for disguising the often raw taste of home-brew alcohol and became the mixer of choice during Prohibition in the US. By the 1930s, Canada Dry had added several other varieties to its line and was on its way to global success.
Cracker Jack
Manufacturers have an eerie fondness for hypothetically laying their products end-to-end and reporting the results. So we feel obliged to play along and tell you that if all the Cracker Jack snacks ever sold were thus deployed, the trail of peanuts and popcorn would stretch around the Earth more than 69 times. And presumably make a lot of squirrels very happy.
According to corporate lore, an early form of Cracker Jack was introduced in 1893 at the World’s Columbian Exposition, Chicago’s first World’s Fair, by the candy making firm of F.W. Rueckheim and Brother. Popcorn, Cracker Jack’s primary ingredient, had been invented by American Indians long ago, and some New England tribes had been known to coat their popcorn with maple syrup to preserve it. But coating the corn with molasses, as Frederick William Rueckheim had done, had produced only sticky globs until his brother Louis developed a secret method (still a company secret, by the way) of keeping the popcorn from sticking together. The inspired addition of peanuts made the Rueckheims’ confection a crowd pleaser. Just what they called their mixture at first is unrecorded, but in 1896 Louis gave a sample to a salesman who exclaimed “That’s crackerjack!” F.W. chimed in with “So it is,” and promptly ran out and trademarked “Cracker Jack” as well as the slogan “The more you eat, the more you want.”
At the time, “crackerjack” was a current popular slang adjective meaning “excellent, exceptionally fine or splendid,” and as a noun meant “a skillful or expert person.” The root of “crackerjack” is an antiquated sense of the verb “to crack” meaning “to boast or act boldly,” coupled with “jack,” the proper name used as a generic synonym for “thing or person” (the same sense underlying the automobile “jack”). This “boast” sense of “crack” is still heard in the sort of short, sharp comment known as a “crack,” as well as in the derogatory term “cracker” applied to poor Southern whites, which originally derided white residents of Georgia as boastful and foolishly bold.
Chef Boyardee
Gimme a break, you say. Chef Boyardee? What kind of name is that? And look at the dude on the label — straight from Central Casting, a cheerful old guy wearing a huge chef’s hat. But what kind of self-respecting chef would put his name and picture on something called “Beefaroni”? In a can, no less. Must be an ad agency creation, phony as Betty Crocker or Charlie the Tuna.
But there really was a Chef Boyardee, and, Beefaroni notwithstanding, he really was an excellent Italian chef. His name, however, was actually Hector Boiardi, and he was born in northern Italy in 1898. Hector’s family emigrated to the US when he was just 17, and he soon got a job alongside his older brother in the kitchen of New York’s prestigious Plaza Hotel.
Hector, who had begun working in restaurant kitchens in Italy at the age of eleven, quickly honed his cooking skills and was a hit at the Plaza and other restaurants, eventually, in 1929, opening his own Italian eatery, Il Giardino d’Italia, in Cleveland. There his signature spaghetti sauce became the talk of the town, with patrons asking for extra portions to take home with them. Hector began selling his spaghetti sauce, packaged with pasta and cheese for home use, and before long what had begun as a sideline became his primary occupation. To make Boiardi easier to spell for his customers, he adopted the phonetic spelling “Boyardee,” and eventually sold his business to American Home Products (now International Home Foods, Inc.).
And that really is a picture of Hector on the label.