Scout always tastes like cherry cola. Like purple popsicles. Like Crazy Cow cereal first thing in the morning or a wad of pink bubblegum after dinner that he'll spit out on the ground before tackling Mick and kissing him like it's going out of style.
The kid's hardly a kid, but there's nothing like a secondhand hit of artificial fruit flavour to make a bloke feel like a dirty old man. Or to leave him certain (as he hurriedly looks around for any sign of Spy before dragging Scout into the camper) that this will eventually cost him his teeth.