Many aspects and objects in life make very little sense. Things like math, cats, Kulfa Koya, and British political parties continue to baffle and cause me distress.
What’s that, you say? You are confused by my list? Ah. It must be the cats. See, I’ve never liked cats, and they continue to harass me, to the point where I once dubbed a cat Cujo (yes, I know that is a dog’s name). All in all, their existence confuses me.
Oh…you weren’t confused about the cat being there? You don’t like them either?! We should form a support group. I understand, though, from the intonations in your imaginary voice, that you are still perturbed by something. Of course! The Briti–No, you say to me, you are bothered by the Kulfa Koya. You are not familiar with it, I suppose. Well, allow me to explain. Kulfa Koya is a type of Pakistani dessert item that, as far as I can tell, is supposed to be served as a sort of bread pudding popsicle. However, Kulfa is Urdu for Purslane, a succulent plant often served as an herb. There is no Purslane in Kulfa Koya, however. Purslane does make an appearance, though, in multiple other dishes from the Indian subcontinent, all beginning with Kulfa. So, I dug out my detective kit from my days with the FBFCR, and went digging. As far as I could tell, whatever Kulfa Koya is, it isn’t Kulfa, as every other Kulfa dish is either a) not a dessert, or b) containing actual Kulfa. Well, several minutes and 27 dead militant Communist Mangoustanis later, I got my answer.
What I was about to make and subsequently consume was not in fact Kulfa, as the label suggested, but instead Kulfi, which is essentially a Central Asian ice cream popsicle thing. I discovered that it is often flavored pistachio, almond, cardamom, or even rose. I checked the ingredients of the box. Apparently, what I had in my hands was basically the Everything bagel of Kulfis. I was enthralled, especially since the box guaranteed purity, quality, and taste (although it didn’t guarantee good taste)! So, I began to make it, which essentially involved boiling milk until it reduced to custard, putting the ingredients of the Kulfa/i packet and pieces of bread (according to the instructions, 3 pieces of small bread, or two pieces of big bread) into the pot, putting it in a blender, and then freezing it.
Soon, it was time to eat! I took it out of the freezer and into the car to the designated meeting place of Armenian Fungus Cake. My colleague was there, prepared to eat. I looked at the muffin pan I was using to contain the Kulfa/i, and quickly discovered that it had melted into a sort of custard.
Despite this, I still thought that it was worth eating. Unfortunately, the taste did not meet my expectations. What I ended up with was a sickly sweet chilled pudding with hunks of bread in it, and the conflicting tastes of what seemed like every nut ever, cardamom, rose petals, and sweetened boiled milk. The final result was chaotic, thick, sticky, and a little menthol-y. Could it have been worse? Yes. Would it have been better right out of the freezer? Yes. Is it a Communist Mangoustani plot to glue our mouths shut with sticky-ness so we can never slander them again? Probably. Regardless, it isn’t the worst thing in the world, especially if you can handle rich food, but it isn’t something I entirely recommend.