"If you drink lots of buttermilk your stomach gets full. So in the olden days this is how people used to eat."Sudesha, old Indian farmer
This ain't olden days no more, Grandpa.
It goes under the incredibly misleading name of buttermilk because it doesn't taste anything like milk or butter. Wait, that's an understatement - it doesn't even taste remotely like something meant for human consumption! They should warn unsuspecting Chinese Malaysian wayfarers against ordering it, maybe a sticker like on cigarette boxes that says "Quaffing of this beverage may make you not want to live anymore".
It's as sour as my socks after I jogged in them for three whole hours everyday, eleven days a week, and then marinated in unripe lime juice for a month. Beneath the tartness, there was a strong hint of some sort of spice - and when I belched, the overpowering aftertaste of murukku or chakli flooded my mouth.
The most unpleasant bit was those green bits you can see sticking on the inner sides of the glass. I've no idea what they used to be but they taste just like shredded grass. Not pot, but real grass! The type that fat four-legged animals that have horns and fart a lot like to eat! In fact, they taste so vile that the sourness was reduced to just a vague afterthought. Chlorophyll-flavoured fermented dairy byproduct is sooo not my thing. If it's true that things that are good for our health taste shitty, I bet I'm all strapped and set to live right up to the ripe age of 150 now.
After the first sip, I screwed up my face in such intense agony you'd think a horse with spiked shoes kicked me in the nads. Of course, being the stubborn jerk I usually am, I refused to be beaten by this... this... concoction of instantaneous murder. Second sip - hand gripping the edge of the table till the knuckles were white. I gave Phoebe the honour of having the third sip and an expression of unbelievable disgust immediately surfaced on her face ("How can any place serve something like this?!" she cried). And I proceeded in like torturous fashion till only a half of the glass of buttermilk was left. Damn, I wanna see the bottom of the glass! I bet that there was a piece of paper hidden at the bottom that read "You're some masochist, dude". With my determination and fervor stoked to boiling, I finished the drink till only a quarter was left.
And I gave up.
I... just... couldn't... go... on. I blinked stupidly and my eyes went out of focus. I was breathless and pale, and there were small beads of perspiration over my forehead and nose. I have lost. For the first time in my life, something tasted bad enough for me to not finish it.
If you never had it before - don't. Don't do it even if it's a dare. Not even to impress chicks. Because your face contorting as if a feather duster is slowly and forcefully pushed up your anus is frankly not a very impressive sight at all.
P.S. It might just be me. The natives probably like it a lot. I mean, they invented it, didn't they?
k0k s3n w4i