When I was little, my parents used to have seltzer delivered to our house. Early in the morning the seltzer man would pull up curbside and he'd pick up the empty bottles we had left on our stoop and drop off a bunch of fresh blue and green ones. A few of our neighbors used the service, too.
Seltzer was my father's beverage of choice, and I hated it. One summer, when my sister and I were still quite young, our car broke down about a mile from our house. My father hadn't brought his wallet, and we had to walk home in the high heat. My father managed to find a pizza parlor where he thought he might find us some water, but wouldn't you know, all they could offer was seltzer. I was miserable. Hot and tired with a long walk ahead of us, I refused to drink the seltzer.
My dislike for seltzer dragged on for years, until my grandmother taught us how to make chocolate egg creams, which I only really half-liked. Now, I'm crazy for seltzer and I order by its many names--"sparkling water," "club soda," "soda water"--and in many languages--aqua con gas and eau gazeuse. The funny thing is that now I often find myself shopping at Whole Foods, picking out a box of sparkling water, and having it delivered.
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