It was 2003. The world was different. People were actually buying ringtones, and for some reason, the marketing team at a Seattle-based beverage company decided we all needed to drink our dinner. Specifically, they decided we needed to drink turkey. That was the year Jones Soda Thanksgiving flavors—headlined by the infamous Turkey and Gravy Soda—crashed the holiday party and changed weird food marketing forever.
If you weren't there, it's hard to describe the absolute chaos this caused.
Jones Soda wasn't just a drink; it was a vibe. They had the black-and-white photos on the labels. They had the weird caps with fortunes. But when they dropped a limited-edition pack featuring flavors like Mashed Potato and Butter, Green Bean Casserole, and Cranberry, they moved from "cool indie soda" to "national news phenomenon." It sold out in hours. Literally hours. People were eBaying bottles for hundreds of dollars just to say they had tasted the liquid equivalent of a poultry farm.
Honestly, it shouldn't have worked. It sounded disgusting. Most people who tried it confirmed it was disgusting. Yet, here we are, decades later, and the legend of the Jones Soda Thanksgiving pack still dominates the conversation every November.
The Year the Turkey Talked Back
The original 2003 release was a tactical nuke in the world of beverage marketing. Before this, "seasonal flavors" meant pumpkin spice or maybe a nice peppermint. Jones Soda looked at a plate of stuffing and said, "Hold my carbonation."
Peter van Stolk, the founder of Jones at the time, was a bit of a mad scientist regarding brand awareness. He knew that for a small player to compete with giants like Coke or Pepsi, they couldn't just taste better—they had to be louder. The Turkey and Gravy soda was loud. It was screaming.
The initial run was tiny, only about 6,000 packs. They were gone before the gravy on most people's actual dinner had even cooled. The following year, 2004, they went bigger. They expanded the "Holiday Pack" to include things like Fruitcake soda (which was actually drinkable) and Sweet Potato soda. They even partnered with Target. That's when things got really weird because the "full meal" experience became a legitimate collector's item.
You have to remember the context. This was pre-Instagram. We didn't have "clout chasing" in the way we do now, but we had "gross-out culture." Think Fear Factor or Jackass. Drinking a bottle of Turkey and Gravy soda was a rite of passage for teenagers with too much time and five dollars in their pocket. It tasted salty. It tasted like a bouillon cube had an existential crisis in a vat of seltzer. It was greasy. How do you make a soda feel greasy? Jones found a way.
Why We Can't Stop Thinking About Turkey and Gravy Soda
Why does this specific product stick in our brains?
👉 See also: Finding the University of Arizona Address: It Is Not as Simple as You Think
It’s about the sensory violation. We have very specific expectations for what "soda" should be. Sweet. Bubbles. Refreshing. When you hit the back of your throat with the flavor of roasted bird and salt, your brain short-circuits. It’s a "glitch in the matrix" moment.
But there’s a business lesson here, too. Jones Soda Thanksgiving packs weren't about beverage sales. Not really. They were about "earned media." If you’re a small company and you get a five-minute segment on The Today Show or Good Morning America because your product makes a news anchor gag on live television, you’ve won. You’ve won the Super Bowl of marketing for the cost of some weird food extracts and a few thousand glass bottles.
The Flavor Profile: A Deeply Unsettling Breakdown
Let's get clinical for a second. What did these actually taste like? I've talked to people who still have unopened bottles from 2005 (please, for the love of everything, do not open them now).
- Turkey and Gravy: This was the heavy hitter. It wasn't just "savory." It had a weird, artificial browning-sauce smell. The taste was remarkably close to a cheap gravy packet, but with a terrifying sweetness that lingered. It was carbonated. That was the worst part. The bubbles made the "fat" flavor feel like it was attacking your tongue.
- Mashed Potato and Butter: Surprisingly, this was the "creamiest" of the bunch. It had a heavy dose of diacetyl—the stuff they put on movie theater popcorn. It wasn't "bad" in the way the turkey was, but it felt wrong to swallow it cold.
- Green Bean Casserole: This one was widely considered the true villain. Imagine the liquid at the bottom of a can of French-style green beans, then add sugar and CO2. It had a weirdly metallic aftertaste.
- Cranberry: This was the "safe" bottle. It was basically just a tart soda. Everyone fought over the Cranberry bottle because it was the only one that didn't feel like a dare.
It’s worth noting that they didn't stop at dinner. They eventually released a "Dessert Pack" too. Pumpkin Pie, Apple Pie, and something called "Brussels Sprout" (which I’m pretty sure was just a prank on the entire human race).
The Legacy of the "Stunt" Beverage
Jones Soda paved the way for the "weird flavor" economy we live in now. When you see Mountain Dew releasing "Fruit Cake" flavor or Pringles doing a "Thanksgiving Dinner" set of chips, you’re looking at the children of the Jones Soda Thanksgiving legacy.
They proved that "gross" sells if it's "limited."
However, there’s a nuance here. Jones did it with a wink and a nod. They knew it was a joke. They even included a "puke bag" in some of the later kits. It was interactive theater disguised as a consumer product. Modern brands often try to do this but forget the "fun" part, making it feel like a boardroom-approved "viral moment" that lacks the soul of the original Seattle punk-rock energy Jones had in the early 2000s.
Regional Variations and the Charity Angle
One thing that often gets lost in the "ew, gross" headlines is that Jones Soda actually used these releases for good. A significant portion of the proceeds from the holiday packs went to charities like Toys for Tots and St. Jude’s.
✨ Don't miss: The Recipe With Boiled Eggs That Actually Makes Breakfast Interesting Again
It made the experience feel a little less like a corporate stunt and more like a community event. They even did regional versions. There were versions sold only in Canada (shoutout to the Poutine soda attempt later on, which was arguably more polarizing than the turkey).
In 2021, they brought the Turkey and Gravy flavor back for a limited run to celebrate their 25th anniversary. It sold out instantly again. People didn't even care that they hated the taste. They wanted the bottle. They wanted the memory. It’s nostalgia for a time when the biggest thing we had to worry about was whether our soda tasted like poultry.
The Science of Savory Soda: Why It Usually Fails
If you look at the chemistry, making a savory soda is a nightmare. Most "delicious" savory flavors—like the ones in a Thanksgiving dinner—rely on fats and proteins. When you try to replicate those using water-soluble esters and flavorings, you lose the "mouthfeel" that makes the real food good.
Without the fat, "turkey" flavor just tastes like salt and sage. Without the starch, "mashed potato" is just chemical butter. This is why these drinks will never be more than a novelty. Our brains are hardwired to seek out savory things that provide calories and satiety. Tricking the brain with a zero-calorie (or high-sugar) liquid version of a roast bird causes a "sensory-specific satiety" crash. Basically, your body gets confused and sends a "STOP" signal to your stomach.
That's why most people can only take one sip. One sip is funny. Two sips is a challenge. Three sips is a medical concern.
How to Handle a Vintage Bottle (If You Find One)
Believe it or not, there is a secondary market for these. Collectors look for the 2003 original and the 2004 Target holiday packs.
If you happen to find one in your aunt's basement or at a garage sale, here is the expert advice: Do not drink it. Glass bottles are great, but the seals on soda caps aren't designed to last twenty years. The carbonation is likely gone. The "flavors"—which were already questionable—have likely broken down into something even more sinister. At this point, you aren't looking at a drink; you're looking at a pressurized vessel of liquid regret.
Keep it for the label. The labels are where the heart of Jones Soda lived. Each one featured a photo submitted by a customer. It was the first "social media" on a product. That’s the real value.
🔗 Read more: Finding the Right Words: Quotes About Sons That Actually Mean Something
The Future of the Jones Holiday Lineup
Jones has shifted gears recently. They are leaning more into their "crossover" hits and even venturing into the cannabis space in certain markets (with "Mary Jones"). But the Thanksgiving DNA is still there.
They’ve realized that they don't necessarily need to make the soda taste like meat to get attention, though the Turkey and Gravy flavor remains their "break glass in case of emergency" marketing tool. It’s the ultimate "legacy" product.
For the 2026 season, rumors are always swirling about what’s next. Will they do a "Digital Thanksgiving" pack? Will we get a "Tofurky" flavor for the plant-based crowd? (Actually, they did do a Tofurky soda back in the day—it was part of a vegetarian-themed pack).
The reality is that Jones Soda Thanksgiving isn't about the soda. It’s about the fact that for one month a year, we all agree to be a little bit weird together. It’s a reminder that food—and drink—is supposed to be an experience, even if that experience involves a slightly metallic, carbonated gravy aftertaste.
Practical Takeaways for Collectors and Fans
If you're looking to dive into the world of novelty beverages or just want to celebrate the history of this specific brand, here’s how to do it right.
- Check the Year: The 2003 bottles are the "Holy Grail." If the label is intact and the fluid level is high (not leaked), it’s a collector's item.
- Storage Matters: If you have a bottle, keep it out of direct sunlight. The UV rays will bleach the black-and-white photos on the label and turn the "turkey" liquid into a weird, clear sludge.
- Experience the "Safe" Ones: If you find a newer "Holiday Pack," try the Ginger Ale or the Candy Cane flavors. They are actually genuinely good.
- Don't Pay More than $50: Unless it's a signed or extremely rare first-edition 2003 bottle, don't get scammed on eBay. These were mass-produced enough that they pop up frequently.
- Host a "Tasting" (At Your Own Risk): If you find a relatively recent Turkey and Gravy bottle, it makes for a hilarious "White Elephant" gift or a Thanksgiving "dare" for the cousins. Just have a trash can nearby.
The Jones Soda Thanksgiving phenomenon remains a masterclass in how to build a brand that people love—not because the product is "perfect," but because the product has a personality. Even if that personality is a little bit salty and smells like a kitchen on a Thursday afternoon in late November.
Next Steps for the Curious:
If you're hunting for a bottle, your best bet is searching local "antique malls" or specialty candy shops that stock "vintage" sodas. Many of these shops kept back-stock of the weirdest flavors precisely because they knew people would ask about them years later. If you want to see the original marketing materials, the Jones Soda official website often keeps an "archive" or "history" section where you can see the original labels that made the 2003-2005 era so iconic.
Finally, if you're feeling adventurous, you can actually try to "DIY" your own savory soda using a home carbonation machine and food-grade extracts, though I strongly advise starting with something safer, like "Stuffing" (which is mostly just sage and onion) before you go full-turkey. Some things are better left to the professionals—or the mad scientists—at Jones.