Rajbhog Sweet Rose Lassi

Rajbhog Sweet Rose Lassi

Travel back in time, back to the romantic era. The year is 1785 and you, a lonely soap maker meet a woman you love. You spend day in and day out producing sweet smelling soaps so that others may clean their bodies. Everyone loves your soaps and you do fairly well. People know you for who you are and respect what you do.

So along comes this woman who you begin courting in hopes that one day she will become your wife. She, of course, gets complimentary soap whenever she desires. She never grows tired of the scent and the way that it makes her skin feel. The soothing scents of lavender, roses, and other native flowers fill the air as she bathes herself once a month (not a scumbag thing. They took fewer showers since it was a chore to get hot water and they typically used "dry" shampoo to wash their hair. Leave them alone. They're all dead. I don't know why I mentioned it. Ignore that part. It's in type. I cannot be erased. It is too late.) She, if anything desires more scent. "More!" she beckons from the small one bedroom house as you trot off to work.

One day you go into work, and amongst all the animal fat and flowers and powders, and such, you think that you might try something new. You take the soap and melt it down and pour it into a glass. You frighteningly take a sip and it's pretty terrible, but you don't give up. No. You are not a quitter. You put some sugar in it and use less powder and more milk from the local dairy. After a couple secretive weeks of experimentation you've got it the perfect mix of creamy, sweet, floral drink that you desired.

The next day at the market, you fill some small bottles with this creamy mixture and have people try it. They do not like it. They say to you, "Good sir, we love your soaps for our bodies, but, alas, we do not love your soap for our gullets. I'm sorry." As you bow your head down in shame, your wife walks up to you with a smile on her face. She is so happy to see you. After all, you've spent so much time at the shop experimenting that your wife has nearly gone unnoticed. In hopes that she can cheer you up, as she always does, you give her a taste of your newest creation. She takes a dainty sip and a look comes across her face like no other you've seen before. She gives you a solid, definitive look of disappointment and then walks away. You don't talk to her for weeks until you finally agree that you will no longer produce the drink. You continue to bow your head in shame as yet another venture has gone up in smoke.

Basically, this drink tastes like old people soap.

United States
Smoothie, Yogurt
Reviewed By
Mike Literman on December 1st, 2010