“You must get the names of your sambols right!” Our host, Nadeem Rajabdeen, a wiry man in his 30s and partner in Cantaloupe Hotels, sounds almost strict as he draws my attention to the long banana leaf before my eyes. I look for the dish I am being told of — there are three varieties of the same in the humongous communal meal I am about to share with as many fellow diners. I am in the tiny beach town of Ahangama, on the western coast of Sri Lanka. Its growing popularity as a destination for surfers comes with the perks of exploring a medley of culinary flavours. The Unity Platter at Cantaloupe Levels, my hotel at Ahangama, is designed to do just that — to introduce me to Sinhalese, Dutch, Arab and Tamil influences on Lankan food.
Sri Lankan Moors have both Tamil- and Sinhalese-speaking descendants, and there are many theories on where they originally arrived from before settling in the Southern Province. Colombo was once dominated by the Moors who controlled the sea-trade. Things changed after the arrival of the Dutch in the 17th century. However, their culinary influence remains strong in the southern parts of the country. Sri Lankan Malays (also known as Javanese), too, have added their touch to the coastal cuisine. The Moorish food borrows from all the diverse influences on it: Sri Lankan Tamil, Sinhalese and Arabs.
While I settle down at the low table for 12, with floor seating (as is traditional in Sri Lankan homes), I study the banana leaf closely. It is laden with mounds of food. This must be what a Gaulish village meal from the world of
The sambols , easily the best part of every meal I had in Sri Lanka, are in full attendance. While hoppers are arguably the country’s most popular culinary symbol, the variety and versatility of sambols makes me wonder why it hasn’t become a food fad yet (perhaps because it doesn’t Instagram too well, being mostly mush). The pol sambol , often served with a side of dhal (a lighter yet thicker version of the split yellow lentil in India), is a dry chutney made with coconut, lime and chilli. It’s so delicious and yet so simple, that I am left wondering why I hadn’t thought of this myself. It’s versatile too — slather on toast (sorry, traditionalists) or a hopper, add it to any salad or spice up a bland dal. The seeni sambol , a cross between a chilli chutney and cinnamon-y caramelised onions, is just the relish you need in life. The third sambol for the night is made with Maldive fish (cured tuna), which is ground and made into a red-hot concoction with chillies, onions and lime. The same fish adorns the heavily-spiced biriyani in the platter.
A street food item in many countries — including some parts of India — the kothu roti has a special fan following in Sri Lanka’s Jaffna province. Like many popular dishes across the world, the kothu roti was created to use up leftovers — bits of egg, scraps of meat and vegetables, along with with shredded godamba roti (a Sri Lankan paratha). There are, however, several versions of it, including one in which string hoppers replace the roti.
The setting for this rich-with-history meal is equally beguiling. We sit cross-legged at a low table, on comfy cushions, and a star-studded sky watches over us as the ocean roars away in the distance. We conclude the gluttonous affair with kiribath (rice cooked in sweetened coconut milk, made on ceremonial occasions) and buffalo-milk curd with treacle.
The next day, we make our way to the picturesque town of Galle, rich with the influence of the Dutch. Our lunch is a traditional post-prayer Friday meal, prepared by the mother of our local guide, Faraz.
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A procession of clay pots emerges from the kitchen — with — eggplant and banana curry, slow-cooked beef, a savoury jackfruit preparation, rice, chicken curry and popadum.
We end this meal with dollops of contemporary fare: Gelatos from a homegrown brand called the Isle of Gelato. Passion fruit and lime sorbet, anyone?