Turkish Tamer

There are moments in life when you realise you’ve accidentally stumbled upon a breakthrough. Penicillin. Velcro. The Post-it Note. And now – Turkish delight as moustache wax.

It all began with noble intent: to recreate that wobbly, perfumed delicacy beloved of sultans and Edmund from Narnia, using nothing but supermarket staples, misplaced optimism, and a saucepan of questionable lineage. Recipes warned me of the long haul – stir constantly for 40 to 60 minutes, they said. Until amber and glossy, they said. I braced myself for a slow alchemy, the kitchen equivalent of hand-laying mosaic tiles or waiting for the Tories to admit Brexit’s a mistake.

But no. Five minutes in, mine practically flung itself out of the pan like a clingy toddler in a supermarket aisle. It reached amber so fast I wondered if I’d invented a new shade: Resigned Citrus. The mixture slid from my non-stick pan with such enthusiasm, I suspect it was attempting escape. Either that, or non-stick pans are the devil’s shortcut in a world that still pretends effort equals virtue.

Then came the spoon incident. A rogue lick. A moment’s inattention. And suddenly, I had fused orange-flavoured gelatine to my moustache. The effect? Astounding. Better than any Bay Rum. It held firm through cups of tea, painting the GT6 fuel tank, and a mild existential crisis brought on by LBC Radio. It smelt of a Seville summer and had the tactile resilience of Victorian morals.

So let it be known – if your Turkish delight sets too fast, smells of fruit, and adheres to facial hair like a lobbyist to a Tory – rejoice. You’ve not failed. You’ve diversified. One moment a soft-centred treat, the next a citrus-infused grooming aid. L’Oréal can jog on.

And while mine may not have had the wobble of Ottoman splendour, it did lend my upper lip a sense of purpose. Edmund may have betrayed his siblings for a box of Turkish delight – but I’d go to war for the hold this stuff has on my handlebars.

In conclusion: next time, I’ll use rosewater. But the orange one? That’s going in a tin, with a warning label: For external use only – unless you’re emotionally prepared for the consequences.