Mysurpak (no english translation)

The pan sizzled under Amama's (grandma's) familiar hand.
Mysurpak, the sweet of indian sweets, cannot be cooked in english,
she said.
So we loaded piles of kissmuss (raisins) and Kayess (cashews)
into a pan, with Hali (flour). Roasted them into a sandy brown desert.
Globules of yellow butter, turned the sand to thick, sweet paste,
cooled and cut to golden bricks. It was the best Mysurpak ever.

We showed it the gods, then munched the crumbly relic of India,
the had sprung sizzling, from the pan to melt warm and crunchy in our mouths.
It was too good to last long. Just before she left cold wet England,
she cooked us a new batch and left us the recipe. I knew it
Off by heart anyway.