Fitz's Please

I have always been a sucker for nostalgia, and Fitz's Root Beer taps into that part of me with uncanny precision. There's something about that smooth vanilla finish that feels like a taste of childhood bottled up and carbonated for posterity. I can't remember the first time I had Fitz's, but I distinctly recall that warm St. Louis summer when I discovered their vintage soda fountain. The kind of place that seems like it should be staffed by paper-hatted teenagers spinning milkshakes and clinking glass bottles in wooden crates. Fitz’s Root Beer feels like the past kept alive, poured over ice in a frosty mug.

Root beer is a curious drink — too sweet for some, too herbal for others — but Fitz’s finds the perfect middle ground. There’s no cloying syrup aftertaste like you get with some brands, and the vanilla doesn’t come off as artificial or overpowering. Instead, it lingers on the tongue, smooth and satisfying. Each sip feels like a callback to something simpler — porch swings, fireflies, and the distant crackle of a radio playing baseball commentary on a lazy afternoon.

Fitz’s is no ordinary root beer. The fizz is balanced, lively without being aggressive. It carries a fullness that makes it feel less like a soft drink and more like a decadent dessert. I suspect that’s why I find myself drinking it slower than most sodas, savoring each sip instead of gulping it down.

Fitz’s Root Beer reminds me that some things deserve to be savored. Not everything needs to be rushed or reduced to efficiency. Like the careful pour of the mug, the foam rising just to the rim without spilling over — there’s an art to it. And maybe that’s what I appreciate most about Fitz’s — it’s a drink that demands you slow down, breathe deep, and enjoy the moment.