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No. 1
Amazon
No. 2
Amazon (22 ounces; 12-pack)
No. 3
Amazon (16 ounces, 12-pack)
No. 4
Amazon
The internet loves to wax poetic about the eternal virtue of Costcoâs $1.50 hot-dog-and-soft drink special, but whereâs the love for AriZonaâs 99-cent tallboys? Aside from a brief gag in a 2016 episode of Atlanta, very little fanfare is given to this under-costed dynamo of flavor and refreshment. Thirsty folks from all socioeconomic strata instantly recognize the colorful 23.5-ounce cans in their local bodega, and most flavors can still be found for 99 cents (plus applicable taxes and deposit fees). Itâs one of the last safe bets in these shaky economic times, but thereâs still plenty of runway for the current administration to figure out a way to make this classic American beverage expensive and shitty too.
We recommend acting fast if you want to enjoy the bevy of flavors AriZona offers at a bargain-basement price, though there are quite a few obscure options in the portfolio that are worth skipping altogether if you donât have the time to try them all. We did the heavy lifting ⊠er, sipping ⊠so you don't have to. Behold, our definitive ranking of the 24 flavors of AriZona that are sold in the familiar and iconic tallboy cans.
Check out our related guides, like the Best Energy Drinks, Best Coffee Subscriptions, and Best Mushroom Coffee.
AriZona
Amazon
AriZona (20 ounce, 12-pack)
Mainstream sodas like Coke, Pepsi, and Mountain Dew have spent the past three decades desperately trying to hitch their wagon to youth culture, and with the exception of Dew being the unofficial soft drink of incels, the efforts of Big Beverage have been in vain. Meanwhile, AriZona has quietly and reliably produced one of the greatest soft drinks of all time at a criminally low price in a can thatâs so loaded with swagger that it became a fashion phenomenon out of nowhere.
It takes a special product to inspire random weirdos on the internet to print up matching sweatsuits with your branding on their own volition, and that is exactly what AriZona Green Tea is. This impossibly smooth blend of honey, ginseng, green tea, and just a light smack of citrus quenches the thirst of normies and weirdos all over the socioeconomic spectrum, making it one of the last great beverages of our era that is truly for everyone. Thereâs not a single social setting in which this vibey teal can is an unacceptable accessory, save for maybe the Met Gala or a soiree at Buckingham Palace. Actually, scratch thatâAOC showing up to the Met Gala dressed like a can of Green Tea while drinking a can of Green Tea would be incredibly based and very exciting to the proletariat.
Score: 9.9
AriZona
Amazon (22 ounces; 12-pack)
AriZona (22 ounces; 12-pack)
This is a bold move on AriZonaâs behalf. Only a few elite beverages like Cheerwine and Big Red can pull off cherry soda without running afoul with bizarre off-notes that taste like Dimetapp, and the idea of adding carbonation to a catalog thatâs been flat all these years feels iffy. The risk pays off handsomely with Cherry Lime Rickey, which comes in strong with a wallop of cherry at the top thatâs swooped away by a crackle of bubbles and a slight hint of lime on the finish.
The strength of this relative newcomer lies in its ability to come in strong and sweet yet not overstay its welcome, with a distinct and sticky cherry flavor thatâs hard to compare to anything else in the genre. The gentle carbonation adds dimension and depth to the sip, but itâs still crushable and quenching at every turn. I plowed through the entire can and immediately wanted more, which is not something I can say about any other entry on this list so far.
Score: 9.3
AriZona
Amazon (16 ounces, 12-pack)
AriZona (16.9 ounces, 20-pack)
Target
Itâs smooth. Itâs sweet. Itâs refreshing. Itâs cheap. Itâs everywhere. While Arnold Palmer is not the singular most iconic beverage in the AriZona portfolio, it sure is close, and thereâs not a single doubt that it deserves admission to the Mount Rushmore of soft drinks. It wasnât until a few years after I lived off cans of these from the Shell station next to my college apartment that I realized mixing lemonade and iced tea was a very cool and normal thing society found acceptable: I just figured everyone would rather be drinking a can of AriZonaâs Arnold Palmer.
On its own, this drink has everything you need, and we can stop right there with the descriptors and superlatives. But let me tell you, you have not lived until you sipped a third of the liquid off the top, filled the empty space with vodka, and ran around town on a hot summer night with a big-ass can of liquid bliss in your hands. If it werenât for the incredibly subtle âdietâ flavor on the aftertaste (the can says âLITEâ and is not emblazoned with the âNo artificial flavorsâ stamp), this would be a perfect 10, no questions asked.
Score: 9.1
AriZona
Amazon
AriZona (16.9 ounces, 20-pack)
Walmart (11.5 ounces, 12-pack)
As a Northerner, thereâs a whole slew of things from the South that will always feel overrated to me. Sweet tea lands on this list right between Nascar and Bojangles, though I wouldnât shy away from either if I had a rack of Busch Light in me. Itâs absolutely everywhere south of the Mason-Dixon line, and the disparity between brews at fast-food joints, diners, and gas stations is truly staggering. Itâs arguable that Chick-fil-A offers the platonic ideal of sweet tea, but the drive-thru line at your average CFA in Georgia is prohibitive when all you want is a frosty cool glass of the sweet brown stuff.
AriZonaâs spin on the drink is a close second, and I was shocked to realize how much I liked it in spite of it basically being Arnold Palmer with one flavor instead of two. The absence of lemon lets the earthy notes of the tea punch through the mix, and the sugary finish is just a click below being the syrupy, saccharine mess youâll find at lesser Southern fast food chains like Zaxbyâs or Cookout. I pray the robot mower Iâm testing out for this publication makes my real lawnmower obsolete, but if it doesnât, you can find me shirtless all summer long with a pair of UGA Croakies on my head and a can of this in my non-mowing hand.
Score: 8.7
AriZona
Amazon
Walmart (23 ounces, 2-pack)
To quote the great painter Salvador DalĂ: âThe difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: It is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant.â I remember nothing about the sociopolitical climate of the summer of 1997, but I remember exactly what I consumed on a daily basis in vivid detail. Between bouts of skateboarding, pick-up baseball, and hours-long multiplayer games of Magic: the Gathering, I quenched my soul with the music of Third Eye Blind, and I quenched my thirst with Lipton Brisk Raspberry Iced Tea. I probably drank 2 liters of the stuff every day. Inspired by a recent trip down memory lane when âJumperâ played on my local âmodernâ rock station, I sought out a can and was immediately appalled by how sugary and fake it tasted, which had me wondering which other memories from that summer were false.
Third Eye Blind is still a no-skips masterpiece, and Iâm happy to report that AriZonaâs offering is a supremely crushable, future-proof replacement that hits just like my memory of Liptonâs. The raspberry flavor is gentle, and it commingles perfectly with the black tea base. If a time machine could take me back to that hot Walgreens parking lot where I loitered so often in those halcyon days of the late â90s, I would hand my 12-year-old self a can of this, along with a recommendation to buy that Black Lotus heâd been eyeing at the card shop before its price shot up to the moon.
Score: 7.8
AriZona
AriZona (20 ounces, 12-pack)
Though itâs not taken quite as seriously by very online people, preference for lemon iced tea can feel a bit like that of New York pizza. Everyone has a very strong opinion about it, and with a few small exceptions, no one is more right or wrong than the next person.
If you prefer a sweeter, stickier iteration of the most common adjunct-infused black iced tea, then Lipton Brisk is probably what you want, but AriZonaâs entry in this genre is still outstanding, albeit a tad less sweet. The tart lemon flavor really pops here, and although it does use high-fructose corn syrup, it would be easy to mistake this for a classier cane sugar beverage one would find in pretty much any country outside of the USA.
Score: 7.5
AriZona
Amazon (22 ounces, 12-pack)
AriZona (22 ounces, 6-pack)
Target (22 ounces, 12-pack)
AriZona recently collaborated with Bethesda Studios on a series of Fallout-inspired energy drinks, presumably because more relevant IPs like Minecraft and Roblox were out of budget. The trio of flavors starts with a green tea base rather than the cocktail of artificial sweeteners and chemicals used by competing products, resulting in a smooth, not-so-sweet alternative to energy drinks that hits like a lightly carbonated can of yerba mate.
Apple is usually a repugnant adjunct in carbonated drinks, but it only shows up at the top of the sip with a small hit of brightness before the bubbles pop and the green tea flavor takes over. These are damn near impossible to find in the wild, but the mixed cases offered directly by AriZona are worth the time and money if you want a chill energy drink that doesnât taste like artificial sweeteners first and a mad scientists concept of fruit flavors second.
Score: 7.2
AriZona
AriZona (22 ounces, 12-pack)
Itâs heartening to know AriZona actually can pull off a decent watermelon beverage, and this one has a little smack of caffeine in it to boot. The acidic notes I sorely missed in Watermelon Fruit Juice Cocktail are a touch more present in this offshoot of the original RX Energy blend, resulting in a crushable treat thatâs not too sour and not too sweet.
Score: 6.8
AriZona
Amazon (20 ounces, 12-pack)
AriZona (20 ounces, 12-pack)
This is a respectable, straightforward beverage. The sum of its parts is less sweet than AriZonaâs regular sweet tea, with just a brief nudge of peach at the top of the sip. Any more peach flavor would teeter dangerously into artificial fruit flavor purgatory, so the lack of overwhelming peachiness is something I can get down with on a hot day when all I really want is a cold, smooth liquid thatâs not loaded with weird off-notes and aftertastes.
Score: 6.4
AriZona
Amazon (23.5 ounces, 24-pack)
AriZona (22 ounces, 12-pack)
Walmart (23 ounces, 24-pack)
While the can alleges this chichi upgrade on the classic contains honey and ginseng, both flavors are muted and indistinguishable from the herbal tea flavor that buoys this brew. I chugged half a can wondering what it actually tasted like, and spent the second half taking slow slips, pondering the very nature of flavor itself. If the La Croix craze of the mid-2010s taught us anything, it was that flavor can take a backseat to vibes, and those are incredibly strong with this somewhat rare entry in AriZonaâs expansive catalog.
Black & White Tea is the Khruangbin of their catalog. It is sophisticated, restrained, and mysterious, like that cute regular at your local coffee shop who wears the same thing every day and youâre very into it even though you have no clue if itâs because theyâre lazy and broke or because theyâre too intelligent and self-assured to bother with fashion.
Score: 6.3
AriZona
Amazon (22 ounces, 12-pack)
AriZona (22 ounces, 6-pack)
Peach Iced Tea taught us that Arizona can play it cool when it comes to adding peach to a classic thatâs already good on its own, but I wanted a bit more peachy panache with this one. The base flavor of their entry in the energy drink space proves that light carbonation on a green tea canvas could accept a variety of complementary flavors that may suck on their own, but the lack of juicy tang that steals the show in its iced tea cousin makes this one feel like somewhat of a missed opportunity. Itâs a good drink, but I know in my heart it could be a great drink if they ratcheted up the peach flavor.
Score: 6.1
AriZona
AriZona (22 ounces, 12-pack)
Adding strawberry flavor to a beverage is a slippery slope. In cocktails it runs the risk of tasting like stomach acid or a hangover in a cup, though it has a bit more latitude in soft drinks where it can hide under several layers of sweetness and only poke its head out when needed. If OG Arnold Palmer never existed this would be a no-brainer on a hot, sticky day, but the dull strawberry flavor is no competition for the lemony tang that makes the original flavor the GOAT.
Score: 5.9
AriZona
Amazon (22 ounces, 12-pack)
Shop at
AriZona (22 ounces, 12-pack)
Walmart (23 ounces, 24-pack)
Anyone whoâs loitered in the lobby of a resort in Las Vegas knows that cucumber-infused âspa waterâ is unbeatable on a hot day in the desert. I had high hopes for this hybrid between bougie hotel water and one of the greatest soft drinks ever made, and I was let down by this underwhelming and directionless riff on green tea. The tangy honey flavor is eschewed for what can only be described as a vague gesture toward the cool and calming flavor of cucumber one would expect in this drink. Itâs still a totally fine beverage at the end of the day, but not AriZonaâs best work. Iâm not mad at them, just disappointed.
Score: 5.8
AriZona
Amazon (23 ounces, 24-pack)
AriZona (20 ounces, 12-pack)
Well before the energy drink boom of the early aughts, AriZona staked claim to its own tiny corner of the beverage industry with RX Energy. This tangy blend of ginseng, green tea, and âcitrusâ flavor never got anyone jacked for day-long Diablo 2 or Warhammer sessions, but it went down smooth, and the discontinued glass bottle was a much cooler object to schlep around a gaming tournament than, say, a 2-liter of Mountain Dew or a jumbo canister of Jolt Cola.
Time has since passed this flavor by, and the explosion of crunchy health elixirs and proper caffeine bombs leaves this relic of the Clinton era in the dust. Nothing about the mellow orange and lemon flavors that punctuate RX Energy is offensive; theyâre just hard to find impressive or memorable in any way.
Score: 5.7
AriZona
Amazon (16.9 ounce, 12-pack)
AriZona (16.9 ounce, 20-pack)
Walmart (23 ounces, 12-pack)
Mango is one of the few drink flavors out there that can get by without tasting even remotely like the actual fruit itâs based on. If youâve ever had a smoothie containing mangoes that are a day or two before their prime, youâll know exactly what I mean. Just open your mouth the next time you crack a pine-scented Little Tree and youâre pretty close. This bizarre phenomenon works in the favor of AriZonaâs Mucho Mango, which utilizes a rough idea of mango flavor in one of the most drinkable entries in their underwhelming âfruit juice cocktailâ series. Itâs refreshing, fruity, lightly sweetened, and would taste even better with a mini bottle of coconut rum that the bodega youâre buying this from probably has on sale at the counter.
Score: 3.1
AriZona
Walmart (23 ounces, 2-pack)
AriZona (16.9 ounces, 20-pack)
Watermelon is a divisive flavor in the junk food world. Jolly Rancher devoted entire bags to it after fans bemoaned having to fight for the good stuff when itâs presented alongside total clunkers in their mixed bags, and real heads know Watermelon Sour Patch Kids are the best flavor. AriZona could do worse with this one, but the watermelon notes get buried in a syrupy slurry of hot-pink goop that slithers across your palate in a very strange way. The Jolly Rancher family probably considers this flavor an unkempt cousin whoâs always late and one missed shower away from looking presentable at the function.
Score: 3.0
AriZona
Amazon (128 ounces, 2-pack)
AriZona (20 ounces, 12-pack)
As the saying goes, if you remember all the Kiwi-Strawberry Snapple you drank in the â90s, you probably werenât there. It feels like just yesterday when Clinton was in office and everything was low-fat and chock-full of sugar, and Snappleâs insanely popular bottled beverage sent shockwaves through the snack and beverage industry. No upper-middle-class familyâs pantry was safe. Society has since moved on to yassified probiotic soda and chemically fortified energy drinks, but the fuzzy memories of the â90s live on within communities that were gutted by NAFTA, oblong Ford Tauruses that refuse to die, and whatever the hell this offering from AriZona is supposed to be. The kiwi strawberry flavor is discernible if you focus hard enough, but itâs quickly engulfed by the underwhelming pineapple flavor that clouds the taste of most entrants in the Fruit Juice Cocktail series. Grunge and West Coast gangsta rap will always be cool, but it turns out everything else from the â90s actually sucked.
Score: 2.8
AriZona
Amazon (23 ounces, 12-pack)
AriZona (22 ounces, 12-pack)
If the first sip of this noxious purple liquid doesnât smack you in the face with memories of your childhood, then you had a shitty childhood and your parents didnât love you. When I say âyour parents didnât love you,â what I mean is that they actually loved you so much they wouldnât let you run around the neighborhood jacked on corn syrup with the neighborhood kid with the divorced parents whose mom called whatever the hell this is âjuice,â leaving a trail of sticky slime and whiffs of syrup in your wake. Sadly, the novelty wears off after two swigs, and youâre left with an unremarkable middle ground between Welchâs concord grape juice (the cheap kind that comes in cans from the freezer aisle) and âpurple drinkâ as we all know it.
Score: 2.6
AriZona
Amazon (34 ounces, 12-pack)
AriZona (20 ounces, 12-pack)
True story: Back in high school (Akron, Ohio, circa 2001), I knew this dude who would show up to beer-soaked suburban house parties rocking fake hillbilly teeth, a mullet, orthopedic shoes, and a satin windbreaker. To complete this ironic look, he always had a case of Tahitian Treat under one arm and usually a very hot private school girl under the other. When âThe Treatâ ran dry one evening, he dispatched some toady to fetch him more from the Citgo down the road, and the poor kid returned with four cans of AriZona Fruit Punch. He was promptly removed from the party, and Iâm pretty sure he went to prom alone because of this. I canât remember what this disappointing take on fruit punch tastes like while itâs in my mouth, but I will never forget this anecdote.
Score: 2.5
AriZona
AriZona (22 ounces, 12-pack)
Itâs hard to mess up lemonade. Add lemons and sugar to water, and voilĂ ! Instant summer classic. AriZonaâs riff on the essential summertime sipper is watery and has plenty of sugarâ63 grams per canâbut that acidic, lemony punch you crave on a hot summer day is nonexistent. On my first sip my brain immediately remembered a recent jam session with some friends at which I accidentally rolled down the tone knob on my guitar, then spent the majority of the evening wondering why every note I played sounded limp and boring. This is that, but in beverage form.
Score: 2.3
AriZona
Amazon (23.5 ounces, 24-pack)
AriZona (22 ounces, 12-pack)
Thereâs a short arc in Succession where Tom is convinced heâs going to prison. He primes his taste buds for a lifetime of underwhelming prison food during a rendezvous at a diner in which he orders pancakes with no syrup and dry toast. I have it on good authority that the orange liquid they served him during this scene was actually AriZona Orangeade rather than reconstituted orange juice that comes from a giant plastic bag. If youâre considering a can of this while browsing the wares at a convenience store you're better off getting actual orange juice, like Simply Orange or Tropicana, or a bottle of Sunny D if youâre feeling trashy, hungover, or both.
Score: 2.2
AriZona
Target (128 ounce jug)
AriZona (20 ounces, 12-pack)
The can of the OG Arnold Palmer flavorânotably billed as âLite,â clocking in at 140 calories per canâfeatures a photo of the American golf legend in the latter half of his career, looking quizzical and esteemed. The âDietâ version portrays Palmer as a young trad-hunk; the kind of suburban twerp who listens to stoicism podcasts and eats bananas the âstraightâ way while en route to the country club in his massive SUV. The kind of guy whose wife hoovered up anything that alleged to be âdietâ in the â90sâchemicals and sweeteners be damnedâand is now involved in a yoga pants pyramid scheme. I get that people count calories, but the marginal advantage of shaving 125 calories off your daily allowance is very much not worth the abrasive sucralose slurp one must suffer through after cracking one of these. The occasional Diet Coke is acceptable and zeitgeist-y for most these days; Diet Arnold Palmer is not.
Score: 2.1
AriZona
Amazon (22 ounces, 12-pack)
AriZona (22 ounces, 12-pack)
According to Reddit and 100-level marketing and logistics classes, Dum Dumsâ âmystery flavorâ is the product of the final drops of one flavor batch bleeding into the next as the wheel that injects the flavor is rotated. It always ends up tasting like pineapple, and that seems to be the trend with AriZonaâs âfruit juice cocktailâ lineup as well.
There are many clunkers to be found here, and Tropical Chillzicle is at the bottom of the barrel due to how forgettable it is. Itâs like the classmate you notice in your yearbook decades later who youâre not convinced isâor ever wasâa real guy. I forgot what this tasted like halfway through my first sip, and I regret gulping down half a can to figure out what to write here.
Score: 1.8
AriZona
Amazon (22 ounces, 12-pack)
AriZona (22 ounces, 12-pack)
This tastes like the watered-down remnants of a âreal fruitâ popsicle youâd buy at a smelly health foods co-op that takes checks but not NFC payments. The can art features Bomb Pops prominently, yet the flavor is a limp and watery rendering of an all-American summer treat thatâs very hard to fuck up this bad. Do not buy this.
Score: 0.8
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