Did, or does, the stuff somehow appeal to British taste buds more than to American ones? Since 1914, an offshoot of Cadbury has been churning out a mass-market “Fry’s Turkish Delight” bar, which tastes kind of like taffy. It’s also possible there’s a cultural difference. “Each piece was sweet and light to the very center and Edmund had never tasted anything more delicious,” Lewis wrote. I thought it would be crumbly and buttery and warm, like shortbread with walnuts, just out of the oven, with a rich, molten filling inside. But I loved to think about what it must taste like. Lewis had invented it, knowing how much more vivid an imagined pleasure can be than a real one. (Nor did I think that “wardrobes” existed anymore-surely, I reasoned, British people had closets by now.) I thought C.S. As a child in Indiana, I hadn’t realized that the confection actually existed. The evil White Witch, Jadis, had magicked it up to win his fealty. In The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Edmund Pevensie gobbled up several pounds of this treat in one sitting and clamored for more. The fragrant mystery of the East bulged within, in 20 plump little squares. It was a box of Turkish Delight-rose-flavored candy dusted with powdered sugar, nestled in a blush-pink package that glinted with the gilded minarets of Topkapi. At Christmas nearly a decade ago, an aged Englishman gave me a choice gift, one that I’d fantasized about since the age of 7 after reading C.S.