The Making of Turkish (not-such-a) Delight OR How to make edible rubber cement

When I was a little girl, I eagerly awaited the weekly arrival of our subscription to the TV Guide. Which also gives you some sad keen insight to what I was like as a little girl. No...I wasn't in a rush to complete the crossword (It was too hard). No...I was not busy highlighting the times of my favorite shows (We only had three channels). No...what I was so looking forward to was peeling the address sticker off of the cover of that pint-sized periodical. 

The talcum powder of its day, rubber cement fell out of fashion when the public discovered that it might be killing us. Wait...I just re-read that. I don't mean to say that the people of the 70s/80s dusted their babies' bottoms with rubber cement. That's just sick. I am, of course, referring to the recent discovery that the raw form of talc contains asbestos which I was cleverly correlating with the devastating news back in my day that rubber cement also could possibly cause health problems.  

Now that that's cleared up...I think you...fellow children of the 70s and 80s, know where I'm going. You remember the surgical precision of peeling that rectangular adhesion off of the face of an easily recognizable television icon, say...The Fonz, Vinny Barbarino, Jeannie, Gilligan and the Skipper. And then, using the pad of your thumb to slowly roll the rubber cement into little balls. I'm a-twitter just thinking about it! And those little balls would remain a-fixed to your fingers forever. A finger-to-finger transfer was possible but it would take minutes, sometimes lasting into hours, to successfully launch a finger-to-trash can landing. Which is why the sofas and armchairs of that era were upholstered in such gaudy fabric. Our's was a Revolutionary marvel of Liberty Bells, Old North Church spires and Betsy Ross spinning wheels. And beneath said furniture, thousands of small rubber cement balls clung to the tacked fabric underlining.  

Yesterday, I was transported back to that idyllic time when I decided to make my 4th graders Turkish Delight as part of the culmination of our reading of C.S. Lewis's The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Naturally, I first tried taking the easy way out and simply buying it but the sticker shock sent me scrambling down the gelatin aisle of my supermarket. Twenty dollars a pound for an exotic taste of the Middle East and Narnia? Or six dollars worth of Jell-O? Hmmmm....which way should I go?

I was a little concerned with ratios as I stirred my one cup of boiling water into my 6 three ounce packages of lime Jell-O. "These are going to be some really non-jiggly Jigglers," I thought to myself. I tossed the the mixture into the fridge and slept the sleep of an educator devoted to the enrichment of her students while still staying in range of her tight budget. 

But it was a rough awakening when I realized that I'd created my own version of edible rubber cement.

I first poked the pan with a careful finger. I was right...no jiggling. I prodded the gelatinous green block with a butter knife. Nothing. Every incision I made immediately self-healed. Even my frantic stabbing with an upgraded steak knife. I wish I had researched this a bit better. In writing about "How to Make the Perfect Turkish Delight," Felicity Cloake warned me that, "It is hard to slice wobbly jelly without also cutting off a fingertip." A little late there, Felicity. 

It was time to pull out the big guns. "I'm going to be late for work," Brad grumbled, sawing away at my snack. Turns out...it DOES take two. He'd start a cut line, I'd grab the end, brace my legs against the cupboards and pull...pull...pull that long green strip out of the pan. "Now what are you going to do," Brad asked, as we paused to take a breath from our strenuous labor, taking in the six ruler-sized strips. "I'll use scissors," I shouted excitedly. But I needed help again as each strip would adhere to my fingers so that I couldn't hold it steady to cut. It evaded my scissors, swaying like a pectin pendulum. "I have another idea," I announced, reaching into the cupboard. "I'm late," Brad said in disgust as he held a plastic bag beneath my fingers to catch green rubber cement cubes that were now coated in powdered sugar. Brad and I were also now covered in powdered sugar. 

"We did it," I cried happily as the last piece dropped into the bag. Brad stood up and dusted himself off before heading to the door. "I'm glad that's over," he said in relief. "Well...until next year..." I paused at the incredulous look on my husband's face as he spun back at me..."but now we know what to do," I reassured him. "Yeah," my formally budget-conscious guy growled before slamming the door behind him, "buy it for twenty bucks a pound."