Let me introduce you to künefe.
A sweet, buttery fragrance wafts towards you, followed by the waiter, whose hands carry a small metallic plate as he weaves his way to your table. The unassuming dish is gently set down in front of you, and you are warned of its heat. A reflective pool of syrup slowly sinks into the browned pastry. Your fork is met with a light crunch, then a softness, followed by another crunch. As you raise its tines to your mouth, a subtle scent of roses steams up to your nose, and an elastic string of cheese tethers your bite to the piece on your plate. You pick up your knife, and with great sensitivity and politesse, you wrap the string around the morsel until it breaks away from its anchor. At first, your mouth is filled with warmth, then the delicate flavour of the cheese. The sweet, barely rosy syrup floods you, and your teeth crunch on the crisp, buttery pastry. Sweet and salty, hard and soft— textural heaven. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cut it with a sip of thyme tea.