Tikkabik

Tang is one of those memories of childhood that I never thought I'd inflict upon my own children but have -- and the ironic thing is that it's been through the same infection vector.

In case you've been living in a cave for the past 47 years and have no idea what I'm talking about, Tang is that powder that reconstitutes to a sweet, tangy orange drink that's supposed to be a rich source of vitamin C. The astronauts drank it back in the day when we still had a space program that didn't rely on robotic golf carts, or at least that's what we were told.

Growing up in my grandmother's house, it was a staple of my young diet. I'm not quite sure how Grandma got hooked on it, but she drinks it to this day and offers it to my kids when we go over to her house for meals, which is fine by me -- it's moderately healthier than belting back soda, and my kids have an aversion to real orange juice. Grandma gets it from my aunt and uncle, who buy it in 50 gallon drums from the local warehouse store -- or at least that's what the giant canisters look like at first glance.

In typical fashion, my grandmother rations it out scientifically. She stores the big gallon-sized containers in the entrance to the basement off of her kitchen, along with other dry goods that don't need to take up precious cabinet space. She's salvaged an old instant coffee container and worked the label off in the sink, and that container is used to store a moderate amount of Tang in the kitchen, so she doesn't have to go back and forth to the big can each time she uses up her supply in the fridge.

Tang at Grandma's house is served in a curious glass quart-sized container with a white plastic screw-top lid that I'm quite positive is older than I am. It's the same container that was used to serve my Tang to me as a youth. Looking back on it at 34, I feel this sense of veneration when I see it, almost as if it's a family tradition for children to be served Tang in this container. I'll miss it when it's gone.

Tang was served at Easter dinner -- and it apparently goes well with ham and lamb because it was quickly consumed by my brood. So my kids begged me for Tang when I went to the grocery store last week, and I obliged. Things have changed since I was a kid: Instead of a big can, Tang is now sold in small plastic containers with screw-top lids that have one- and two-quart measuring marks on their inner lips. You get six quarts of beverage out of a single container now. Not very much when three thirsty children can easily polish off two quarts in a day.

Maybe the next time we take a run to the warehouse store I'll get one of the fifty-gallon drums of Tang. I'll just have to remember to save a Folger's jar so I can keep the Tang in the cabinet next to the fridge.