#40 - Fry's Turkish Delight

A long time ago (before Netflix and Hulu and whatnot), people could not just pick and choose what to watch whenever they wanted. No, their only choice was to watch whatever the available television stations decided to air, and if said people did not have a cable provider, they were limited to a painfully limited selection indeed. Granted, it did have its benefits, namely that one would be introduced to programs one might never have chosen to watch otherwise.

For instance, many, many (I can't stress enough how many) moons ago I was flipping through the channels (I might not have even had a remote) and settled on my local PBS station, which happened to be showing an episode of the BBC's The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Now, I was in no way familiar with the series, and my younger self (I like to think I've matured some) was none too sharp when it came to grasping plots or understanding even simple elements in television shows or movies (and missing the first part of the series did nothing to improve matters), so it all seemed quite random and bizarre to me. I mean, I remember wondering whether Mr. and Mrs. Beaver were actually supposed to be beavers or just eccentric individuals who dressed in beaver costumes (in my defense, the late 1980s did not exactly represent the pinnacle of animal costumery).

In other words, I was pretty clueless.

But I was still a sweets fiend, and so it was only natural that what resonated with me most was Edmund's love for Turkish Delight. For some reason (being clueless might have had something to do with it), I found it hilarious how quickly he was willing to betray his siblings for the stuff. I had no idea what Turkish Delight was, but couldn't help wondering: how good could it really be? Would I, like Edmund, be willing to forsake my family in exchange for the mysterious candy?

For years I've wrestled with the question fruitlessly, but today that all changes, for I have before me Fry's Turkish Delight!

Goodbye, family; hello, Turkish Delight!

Though Fry's was swallowed up by Cadbury (which was subsequently swallowed up by Mondelēz International) nearly a century ago, the name remains in the branding. The packaging is rather simple, which is of no help to those of us who do not know what Turkish delight is (granted, that may be a very small number of its target demographic, but even so); it's the Walnut Whip all over again (and this isn't even a Nestlé product), from the shiny metallic material to the graphical dotting of the "i." The pink color is a bit garish, though certainly eye-catching, and the disproportionate size of the word "Turkish" is an interesting choice; personally, I'd think the delightful component was just as important. I suppose they do not want people mistaking this product for a Fry's Luxembourgish Delight or Fry's Papua New Guinean Delight or something like that. Rest assured, it's perfectly clear what sort of ethnic delight one is in for here!

So, while not exactly terrible, the front of the package is, like Edmund's loyalty, a tad underwhelming. Maybe I'd feel differently if I had a clue what Turkish Delight was. But I still don't.

Thanks for nothing, Fry's/Cadbury/Mondelēz International.

Fortunately, the back of the package is much more informative (unless one wants to know what Turkish delight actually is), with a nutritional "cheat sheet" of sorts, the "best before" date, and the ingredients list all together (with some minor but forgivable wrap-around issues):

Everything you've always wanted to know about Turkish Delight (except what it is).

Now, this review has been delayed due to unforeseen circumstances (which were only mostly my fault), so do not let the "best before" date worry you; I had eaten my Turkish delight with plenty of time to spare! I had also (per the suggestion) stored it in a cool, dry place. So I did my part.

Anyhow, the ingredients list is fairly typical and provides no definitive indication of the taste (so I'm still as clueless as I was all those years ago). But Cadbury has always been good to me, so I felt I had every reason to be optimistic in my ignorance.

While this section of the wrapper contained a brief summary of nutritional information, it also suggested lifting the flap for the complete rundown; being the health-conscious consumer I am (I can pretend to be whoever I want on the internet), I did just that.

This one's for all the table lovers out there.

Quite honestly, I think the summarized information would suffice for most people's needs. What really struck me, though, was the 196 Calories per bar: Fry's Turkish Delight is by no means a large candy, so the Calorie count seemed rather high. However, the bar is 51g; judged by mass rather than volume (neither is a recommended metric for judging people, by the way), it's actually at the lower end of candy bars, Calorie-wise.

So Fry's Turkish Delight is just deceptively massive (or big-boned, if I'm being polite). Nothing wrong with that, really, as long as one keeps it in mind so as not to be fooled (like Edmund) into eating more than one should.

At this point, I was feeling stoked with all my newfound Turkish Delight knowledge. Only one tiny piece of the puzzle eluded me: WHAT IS TURKISH DELIGHT? Even the product's commercials seem designed to confuse more than inform (what exactly is "eastern promise," anyway?). If I were ever going to remove the veil of mystery surrounding the mystifying treat, I would need to start by removing the wrapper.

It was thus that I at last came face to face with the legendary candy:

No, I am not a giant; this is just what 196 Calories of Fry's Turkish Delight looks like.

My particular sample showed signs of having endured a rough life. It is sadly not uncommon for candies to be subjected to harsh treatment on their voyages to my home. My Fry's Turkish Delight is just one more pitiable example. Still, I've seen worse (much, much worse, even), and such blemishes should not impact the flavor in the least.

Aside from the large crack (which was even more heartbreaking from the back), it is a fine-looking product, with tantalizing waves of chocolate across the top. It gave off a pleasant aroma, as well. Nicely done, Cadbury!

A closer inspection revealed a small bit of the chocolate coating had broken off, revealing a gelatinous substance within; could this be the Turkish Delight?

Yes, yes it could!

Having been burned by gelatinous treats in the past, I was admittedly a wee bit skeptical. However, my trust in Cadbury overcame my fear of gelatin, and I took a healthy bite...

Much like my first introduction to the Chronicles of Narnia, my first taste left me uncertain; there was an unexpected but welcome freshness to the bar, but the flavor (internet searches explain it's rose-flavored) managed the odd combination of being brief but memorable (to my palate, anyhow); I had a vivid recollection of the taste, yet at the same time questioned whether I had imagined it. And the consistency, though spot on for all intents and purposes, was foreign enough (in a candy bar) to me to add to my uncertainty. I can think of no better way to explain it than to say it was the taste equivalent of my Mr. and Mrs. Beaver dilemma.

In the end, it was pretty good, and I could foresee it as being a candy one could develop a fondness for (though not a family-forsaking obsession, I'm sorry to say; what's wrong with you, Edmund?), but I'm not there yet.

Therefore, I feel I must rate Fry's Turkish Delight a 2. I would definitely eat another, but would I pay for one? Not at this time. I'd recommend giving one a try yourself, though; there's always the chance I'm just my usual clueless self and not getting it.

Just don't accept one from a stranger. We all know how that turns out.

Full of eastern promise,
The Sweets Fiend

Case closed.