KEYSTONE — When your given handle as a water taste-testing judge is “Trash Panda,” crowd expectations are low.
That was my strategy as I faced 12 gleaming glasses of city water from around Colorado at the Rocky Mountain Water Conference this week — admit up front that my palate is hopelessly scorched from decades of mouth-shredding Froot Loops and scalding coffee. And acknowledge that even on a good day, my family claims I couldn’t smell the ocean from a boat.
They gave me a badge and a score sheet anyway, because the bar for what passes as late-day entertainment for 300 water engineers is equally low. These experts in sewage lift pumps and ionizing water filters were indeed diverted by me and my fellow handful of judges, perhaps because they could sense our fear.
Fear of having no idea how to distinguish Denver Water from Thornton. Fear of retyping “essence of isopropyl methoxyprazine” when we really meant to say “earthy-moldy.”
Fear of the 100 yards distance between our 12 glasses of testing water and the nearest bathroom.
But it was bottoms up at Amateur Hour, and we did our best, even as the MC heckled us for scattering palate-cleansing saltine crumbs all over the stage.
We’d been assured that no EPA sanctions or public health warnings rested on our answers. We could give all 12 towns a happy 7-out-of-10 if we felt like it. The tasting was blind, of course — our lineup of glasses rested on coasters simply marked A through L.
Thankfully, “A” was resonant of chlorine right out of the gates. So I had something to compare things to. “B” was smooth and sweet. “E” was clean and crisp like a nice lager if you took out all the actual lager flavor. “G” was my go-to, worthy of a second and third sip after a respite with some saltines.
“H” was a shocker. No hints of watermelon or rose petals. A distinct chemical taste somewhere between hydrogen peroxide and motor oil. Not that I’ve ever sipped Valvoline, but you know what I mean.
Did I cheat? Did I glance over the other far more educated judges’ shoulders and see what they were scribbling about “A” and “H”? Is water wet? Absolutely. I concurred with the brilliant water engineer from Castle Rock on my right that a few towns might be jacking up the local populace on Mountain Dew and chlorine.
But I also took a moment to marvel at 12 pristine glasses in front of me. How incredible is it that Americans can take their drinking water for granted and skip right past our ancestors’ question of “Will this kill me?” and go straight to “I’m getting a bouquet that’s distinctly charcoal.”
I gave out a lot of 8s, and only a couple of 5s and 6s. Any town marked with a 5 or 6 from me can either talk to my lawyers or dismiss the grade as ramblings from a palate that sees four-day-old pizza as a five-star meal and washes it down with a blessed Diet Coke.
The one glass that tasted too much like a plastic bottle left out in the sun? Seems mean to say the town, but it’s in southwestern Colorado and rhymes with “mango,” even if it doesn’t taste like it.
Third place city water belonged to Arvada. Second place was a three way tie among Castle Rock, Longmont and Thornton.
When the smarter judges’ scores were added in, Broomfield came out the winner, and we came to find out from the riotous crowd — OK, actually three nerds hugging each other — that it was their second city water win in a row.
As for the other seven towns? Better luck next year. And don’t take it too hard. Remember that my palate is a federal crime. Your safety and cleanliness is federally guaranteed.