The Devil's Candy

 I learned about Turkish Delight from C.S. Lewis; I'm sure most kids in the States who are not of eastern Mediterranean origin had their "gateway" to Turkish Delight via Edmund Pevensie's addiction to the stuff.  Now, why I would be so fascinated by a candy explicitly connected with the purposes of eeeevil is my own problem, but unlike many a child who tried a sticky lump of pink flower-tasting goo, I liked Turkish Delight from the get-go.  OK, I didn't like the primary-colored fruity T.D. offered by my beloved local candy store, but once I tried a slab of chocolate-coated T.D. of respectable British origin, I was hooked.  It helped that, unlike many in the States, I really, truly like floral flavors.  Rose, violet, lavender, and jasmine are all yummy in my book.

It was even better once I scored a box of "Greek Delight" at annual festival of the local Orthodox Church; the irregular lumps flavored with mint, rose, lemon, and pure mastic gum were probably the best lokum/locoum/Turkish Delight I have ever had.  Since then, I've tried all sorts-- the kinds with nuts and the kinds without, ones coated in chocolate and ones rolled in powdered sugar, delicious Pacific Northwest variants from Liberty Orchards and truly elaborate concoctions out of Harrods' candy counter.  

I have no reason to share this other than today I, as a penance, forced myself to eat an old bar of Fry's Turkish Delight that had been stored improperly (by me).  The chocolate coating was 80% bloom, the locoum filling was terribly chewy, and along the way it had acquired flavors of spearmint and licorice on top of the rose flavor.  The only way that Turkish Delight could be any worse is if eating it corrupted my soul.