Tales from Falooda: A story from across continents

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Once in a bygone era, a curious 7-year-old girl embarked on a journey to Chattogram to visit her uncle. Fueled by romantic notions of pirates and grand sea adventures associated with the bustling port city, the reality of Chattogram fell short of her expectations. However, an unexpected twist awaited her, weaving a tale of enchantment.
One day, her uncle posed a peculiar question, "Would you like to try falooda?"
Baffled yet intrigued, she listened intently to his vivid description of this mysterious dessert – a chilled symphony of milk, tapioca, ice cream, and jello. The mere thought conjured images of condensation on a frosty glass, igniting her anticipation for the impending evening when she would savor this delight.
Alas, a tragic turn of events unfolded.
Her mother, upon learning of her uncle's plans, promptly quashed them. "A freezing falooda in December? Impossible. That's a sure way to catch a cold," she declared.
And so, the curtain fell on my initial encounter with the enigmatic falooda.
Fortunately, the story takes a positive turn.
Destiny eventually led me to a serendipitous encounter with falooda at a party. Initially mistaking it for shemaai, a milky vermicelli dish common at family gatherings, I was halfway through the bowl when I realized it was the legendary falooda.
Everything I had envisioned and more, yet one question lingered – why a bowl when my uncle painted such vivid images of a glass?
Over the years, I've learned that falooda is a versatile treat, served in glasses, bowls, or even 20-liter buckets. I've embraced its diverse forms, from Star Kabab's watery yogurt version to Bar-B-Q Tonite's indulgent ice-cream-laden creation and my personal favorite, the homemade jello-packed edition.
The exploration of falooda transcended borders.
In vibrant Bangkok, I stumbled upon 7-11's dessert treasure trove, housing sealed cups filled with colorful variations of falooda. These, I discovered later, were Thai desserts made with coconut milk. Sampling each hue – pink, green, and purple – I found myself drawn to Lod Chong and Cendol. Lod Chong, with its pandan starch jelly noodles, melted in my mouth, while Cendol brought a satisfying snap with rice flour jelly mixed with pandan essence, both drenched in coconut milk sweetened with palm sugar syrup – a blissful respite in the scorching Thai summer.
Then, the Filipino favorite, halo-halo, emerged as a worthy rival to the Falooda crown. Meaning 'mixed' in Tagalog, it is a carnival of textures and flavors – cornflakes, red rubies, red bean, coconut strips, and preserved fruit slices, plunging into a glass of ice-cold evaporated milk. While lacking snappy noodles, it compensated with the luxurious addition of leche flan, akin to 'pudding' in Bangladesh. Mamason's Dirty Ice-cream in London elevated the experience with a generous scoop of ice cream made from ube, a Filipino purple yam, reminiscent of a smooth paste of wafer biscuits.
Though Halo-Halo may not claim the top spot on my list of milky delights, a wave of nostalgia accompanies each encounter. After all, it is served in a glass, just like the falooda my uncle once promised in Chattogram.
The initial disappointment may have faded, but the chronicle of my fascination with falooda extends into the future, promising twists, turns, and the joy of unearthing a fresh dessert treasure.