I felt it buzz across my tongue: the street. Please, don’t give me that eye. It’s true. Every road has its own taste, its unique mark on the mouth. And this particular one smacked of orange flan.
The rich flavour of two rotund, amicable fruits, the grandmotherly smoke of caramelized sugars and other hidden tastes, the nervous tang of cinnamon — it was all there, along with a discernible whistle-infused custard mouthfeel.
As far as streets go, this was quite edible. The only drawback was a knowing off-flavour — suggesting coriander or strangeness — which took the dish the other way.