Turkish Delight

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If there ever was a country's dessert that could be classified as "comatose" for the level of sweetness, Turkish would be number one. (Indian a narrow second). The fleshy cubes of rose-pink sugar-frolic, Turkish delight, is possibly the best known export.

I speak from experience; I remember in my childhood years, hyper-speed afternoons spent in the yellowing sun, bouncing off branches and trees, in the throes of a sugary orgy. Perhaps it's the body's own self preservation mechanism -- to burn the energy off before type two diabetes s

Turkish Delight

ets it. Back then, to have coffee with it would have been instant-death.

Now it's mid-afternoon salvation. (Though the module has slightly changed, and I can assure you there are no more orgiastic exertions.)

Baklava is what the grown-ups have. With a coffee (my preference for long black) and a quarter-plate of sweetmeats, it's something to ward off winter by delicately layering down belly fat.

But it doesn't stop there. There are various incarnations of Baklava. Formed into filo rolls there are Ladies Fingers. Fashioned into a circle and filled with pistachio it's a Bird's Nest. Or was the Bird's nest the one with the pokey tips? The man spoke loudly but mumbled. I didn't quite get the last one.

These are some of the best Turkish Sweets you can find North side of the River (albeit in the ghetto). He sells it by the kilo ($16 last time I was there) and they are baked in an endless procession, as people winnow away his store. To be honest, I don't even think the shop has a name. You can find him inside Farmer Jack's (review coming soon) in Girrawheen. It's further away than I would normally drive for food, but it's well worth it.


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