A bit of pop culture

Summer is the perfect time for barbeques. I, myself, have enjoyed the workings of the mini George Foreman, which transforms dull steamed poultry into charcoaled chicken magic. In my experience at the social barbeque, I have found there to be two types of people: Those who reach for the liter of Coke, and those who wave their paper plates and ask where they can find the affectionately dubbed "diet."

Certainly for as long as I can remember, there has been a delineated separation between the two groups. Those who drank regular Coke gagged at the thought of consuming an aspartame-infested chemical bomb labeled diet. They tilted their heads back with pride and poured in their mouth the original sucrose substance that combined the genius of a candy bar and a cup of coffee into one can.

Meanwhile, diet loyalists have sworn by the merits of a zero-calorie beverage since its birth in the '80s. The sound of carbonation released from Diet Coke's aluminum lid is just as sweet as the regular stuff, after all.

Well, friends of the soda-pop culture, there is a revolution ready to challenge the all-or-nothing choices of the Coca-Cola industry. It's a compromise called "C2" -- a hybrid, half-breed of real Coca-Cola and its cousin Diet Coke.

Maybe this is no big deal to you. Maybe you're like my friend who scoffed at C2 and claimed to have been concocting a self-brew C2 for years -- filling half of her fountain soda cup with Diet Coke, half with regular.

However, it's a novel species in the soda market. C2, the low-carb, low-sugar beverage, compromises half the calories of regular Coke and cuts the NutraSweet nausea of Diet Coke.

I handed a C2 to an individual who has been noted as saying, "I live off Coke like air," and would never adulterate the faithfulness by drinking a diet soda.

Me: So, how does it taste?

Coke addict: Disgusting.

Me: It's half the calories, though.

Coke addict: That's stupid. Just drink half of a Coke.

Good point.

Yet, carb-haters will still claim that the C2 idea is brilliant. For only 90 calories, you can drink an entire 24-ounce C2, a former Atkins dieter pointed out to me. And these are the people that the Coke company appeals to -- hoping to boost withering sales with the C2 brainchild.

Over the last three years, Coke investors are finding their once-bubbling shares are going a bit flat. Coke Classic shares have been struggling on Wall Street, according to a business report by CNN. C2 is expected to boost sales for a bit, banking on the sucker nature of low-carb junkies.

But I want to say, forget sales. I want to say, forget making money. I want to hold my C2 in the air and propose a toast to Coca-Cola.

Coke Classic, through C2, does something very special. It is bridging two cultures, that of regulars and that of dieters. It finds a piece of compromise and brings a little bit of everyone into one fizzy drink. Think of the unity at barbeques, when we can stand around with burnt meat and mustard and not argue about who is drinking the best kind of soda pop.

I said that to the cashier at Safeway, and he stared back at me blankly.

"They have a lime kind, too," he said.

I grabbed my six-pack of C2. Clearly my moment of Coke kumbaya was lost on him.

"You forgot your bagels," he reminded me.

And there I was, reaching for carbohydrate-filled bricks of bread, with a case of low-carb soda swinging from the other.

"So, you're a big pop fan?" he asked.

"Nah," I said. "I just wanted to try it."

Damn, these gimmicky Coca-Cola people are good.