Snickers and Doubt

"For all these years you've been with me, I tilt my chin and all I see is only you. Not feet or knees. You grumble and I stumble towards the muenster cheese." -- from The Full Monty

Last week, I met a pair of old friends at Ovelia, a new Astoria eatery that serves top-notch modern Greek cuisine (and offers an absolutely killer brunch special). After eating our way through lamb and fig kebabs, filet of black sole, lemon potatoes, and stewed calimari with orzo, it was surprising that we found room for dessert. After several glasses of sangria, it wasn't surprising that we decided to be adventurous with our dessert order.

First, we ordered loukomades -- lighter-than-air fluffs of dough drenched in honey and cinnamon. Fair enough. Then (and I still can't quite believe we did it), we ordered the dessert special. Said dessert special turned out to be a deep-fried Snickers bar. Yes, you read that correctly. Our chef took a Snickers bar, unwrapped it, dipped it in zeppoli batter, threw it in a vat of boiling oil, sprinkled powdered sugar on it, and served it to us.

And naturally (or perhaps "unnaturally" would be a better word choice here), I expected this confection to be downright disgusting. I could almost feel my arteries constrict as one of my compatriots sawed it into three pieces and plopped one end in front of me. After a moment's hesitation, I speared it on my fork, took a cautious bite... and was pleasantly surprised.

You see, when you deep-fry a Snickers bar, it melts. I thought I was in for a chewy, doughy, oil-and-sugar-drenched mouthful, but I was wrong. The dessert better resembled a churro that happened to be filled with chocolate-y, nougat-y, nutty cream, and I actually enjoyed it.

I can't say I'll ever build up the courage to subject my body to any more deep-fried candy in the near future, but the experience was a lot less scarring than I thought it would be.