You Can't Always Get What You Want

One of the great things about living in another country is the vast opportunity for adventures. Instances of famous adventures from the past are the Wright Brothers' fixed-gear tour of the United States and Tiffany's 1987 Mall Tour, not to mention those of Pete and Pete. What do two out of the three of these aforementioned things have in common? The color orange. Enter jelebi.

I believe that my first introduction to jelebi was at LuLu, and I have to admit being caught off-guard. I imagine that you are thinking "Brian, you clodpate, of course you find jelebi at LuLu. In fact, I only purchase LuLu jelebi." Nevertheless, I had never heard of jelebi until we were introduced on aisle five. Jelebi's first iteration was in box form (also known as the larval stage). I chuckled a couple of times, put the box back, and then continued perusing the grocery store. Toward the end of our shopping excursion, I was suprised by a different kind of jelebi. It looked beautiful, glistening in its shrink-wrapped package, so orange and sanitary. How could I pass up jelebi a second time? Especially since this wasn't the shelf-staled, mass produced impostor jelebi. No, this was jelebi that had been painstakingly crafted of the finest flour, sugar, and rose water by loving, latex gloved hands in the LuLu bakery. It was truly a marriage of old world quality and new world convenience. Needless to say, my new friend jelebi rode home next to me (actually in the trunk) all the way back from LuLu.

It pains me to say that things quickly deteriorated when we got back to the flat. I suppose that buyer's remorse set in the moment I tore open the shiny cellophane wrapper. I was hoping to be greeted by the exotic scents of orange and bergamot mixed with Indian spices, but jelebi smelled nothing of the sort. In fact, it didn't really have any sort of a smell until I had my nose immediately next to it. That was the first warning sign. As a side note, other non-odiferous items that immediately come to mind are rocks, concrete, and kashi -- things generally found in the pavement portion of the food pyramid. This was only confirmed when I picked up jelebi. It was surprisingly heavy and much more rigid than I expected. Jelebi's coat was somewhat oily and sticky, kind of like tarmac. My best guess was that this was to slow the oxidation process. I decided that there had been enough stalling. It was time to try jelebi.

Now, everybody knows that adventures are best enjoyed when a test-subject comes along, so I enlisted my friend Brady. Thankfully it wasn't really a hard sell, since Brady is almost always ready for an adventure. I mention Brady's willingness to participate in order to avoid any legal ramifications from unforeseen future medical issues henceforth labeled "the jelebi effect" or "jelebitis." This picture was taken while Brady and jelebi were struggling to assert dominance (Brady was also mentally reviewing his insurance coverage).

As you can see from this photo, Brady made the initial move, maintaining a tactical advantage over jelebi, and then counted to make sure that he still had all of his teeth (jelebi is known to simultaneously attack the cuspids and taste buds).

This was after bite number two, when jelebi had properly aerated. It often takes on a more robust, mature flavor when at least twenty minutes are given between bites.

As it turned out, jelebi was colored orange to warn potential predators, much like a poison dart frog. The adamantine exoskeleton concealed a disturbing oozing liquid "matter" that even Mr. Thoreau would have avoided. Overall, I was a bit disappointed with jelebi (which may come as a shock to you). I don't know if it was the tooth-chipping hardness of the outside, or the strange goop in the middle that tasted like a mix of Karo syrup and cheese balls. Nevertheless, look for fun jelebi serving ideas and recipes in our holiday issue.