BY CARA STRICKLANDIf you aren’t familiar with Turkish Delight, you might imagine all manner of delicious morsels. This rose-flavored substance halfway between jello and mochi isn't all that familiar to the American palate, but in England, Turkish Delight is a popular Christmas treat.
If you’re like me, you probably know about Turkish delight from The Lion, the Witch, and The Wardrobe, when Edmund Pevensie sells out his three siblings to the evil White Witch to get his hands on rooms full of it.
Turkish delight doesn’t give away much in the name. If you aren’t familiar with this confection, you might imagine all manner of delicious morsels. If you’re an American child (or adult), you might be surprised that Edmund would be willing to sacrifice family loyalty for a rose-flavored substance halfway between jello and mochi, coated with powdered sugar.
But in England, Turkish delight was a popular Christmas treat. It was something imported and expensive enough to be saved for a special occasion. Children like Edmund probably grew up with parents who bought a box around the holidays and might share the odd piece, much like many American kids remember a small allotment of fudge or a favorite Christmas cookie.
At the time C. S. Lewis was writing, with the war in the recent past, confections were still rationed. For someone in my generation, rationing is hard to fathom. I understand the concept, but the closest I’ve come to true scarcity has been during this pandemic, as we all deal with the supply chain issues that make everything arrive more slowly than we’d like.
The Shared Experience
I still remember the first time I had really good Turkish delight. It was very fresh, original rose flavored, and so delicate that it almost dissolved on my tongue. I’ve been chasing that taste, that texture, ever since, but I’ve rarely found it. I always seem to get a batch that’s a little stale, or the flavor is wrong, or it’s gummy and hard.
Edmund is no one’s favorite character in the Chronicles of Narnia.
He’s the villain of the piece, a selfish boy who puts his stomach before his family. It changed everything for me when I made the connection between Christmas and Turkish delight and between the war and rationing and a boy who had been sent away from his parents to escape the bombing in London. Suddenly I was wondering what memories of Turkish delight were locked in his mind.
What was he trying to recapture in a world where it was always winter but never Christmas? I can only imagine that that’s how so many people felt in that wartime and postwar period.
Without those memories, Turkish delight is just a confection, and not everyone loves the taste of rose. But there’s probably something for you, a scent, a taste, a texture that fills you with longing for a moment in time, for a feeling, for a person you love. Maybe the food and the feeling are so intertwined that you’re not sure if it’s the food you love, or what it represents. Maybe if you were feeling bereft, and the White Witch offered you a room full of it, you’d find yourself nodding your head.
Our Local Traditions
In my family, we eat artichokes. We cook them whole and then dip the leaves—some of us into mayonnaise or aioli (which I find incomprehensible), and some of us into butter. When I taste the creamy end of an artichoke leaf, knowing I’m getting closer and closer to the sweet, buttery heart, I can close my eyes and be back at so many celebration tables with people who are no longer living. The White Witch might get me with artichokes.
The holiday season hits differently this year, the second of a pandemic. Many of us have lost so much. I think that few of us can help wishing for the way things used to be. We are in a kind of rationing, and it is taking its toll on us.
Perhaps it’s a good time to tap into our inner Edmunds. We don’t have to sell out our families. There is no White Witch in our woods. But maybe we can attend to a few of our longings and try to decipher their meanings.
Holidays Past, Present, and Future
Are there foods and drinks that remind you of a holiday gone by? Have you lost a loved one or you’re far from them for the moment? What do they love to eat? With a little luck, you might be able to make yourself nearer to them one bite or sip at a time.
I’d like to think that Edmund eventually was reunited with his parents and had all the Turkish delight he liked. I’d like to think that there were more Christmases filled with joy, out from the shadow of what had gone on before. I have hope that we will one day have true post-pandemic holidays, too, and that some of the longings we have now will be fulfilled.
Until then, I’m learning to follow my own cravings, to hold them up to the light to see what secrets they might hold. I’m picking up the phone more often when someone comes to mind. I’m stirring up the hot cocoa and putting the baked macaroni and cheese in the oven. I’m searching everywhere I can for little glimpses of delight.
