On the last stop of our whirlwind temple tour, Daveena and I landed in Madurai and decided we were tired of picking up the first random guide who approached our rental SUV. Instead, we asked our hotel to find us a guide for Sri Meenakshi, and braced for the cost. We lucked out: The assistant manager moonlights as a guide, speaks blissfully fluent English and is a Brahmin pandit (for a family shrine, I think) who grew up a few streets away. On the way home after our morning tour, he pointed out a little shop on the corner near our hotel that he said made a special kind of halwa. After an afternoon nap, we decided to check it out.

Halwa is an odd term. I haven’t really figured out what it means, other than something sweet. I’ve had it from Russian, Indian and Middle Eastern establishments. I’ve had halwa that was like compressed cotton candy, and moist and tender carrot halwa. Thirunelveli halwa turned out to be something completely different again. The guy at the counter gave us a tasting sample first, and it was warm and soft in my hand. Ghee-glossy and dark amber, it reminded me of the molasses taffy from my “Little House on the Prairie” cookbook, coming on strong with deep, dark sugar notes, and satisfyingly chewy. I absolutely loved it, but it was so rich we couldn’t finish a quarter-pound serving that day, or the next. I kept it in my bag and nibbled on it over the next week, although the texture became a bit grainy, and only threw the rest of it out as I boarded my plane to leave India.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t photograph so well.