THE LAST LAUGH
Curfew fare!
The COVID-19 curfews of last year gave my Dearly Beloved (DB) a whole new perspective of the world. No, it didn’t cause him to suddenly turn introspective and begin reading articles such as ‘Life After Death’ or ‘A Buddhist’s View of Karma’ and suchlike philosophical treaties as many were doing. His interest lay in the daily menus.
Life was getting interesting for the women of Colombo due to food entrepreneurs suddenly springing into action and home delivering exciting dishes of international cuisine.
Alas, DB doesn’t enjoy gourmet exotica. Simple Chinese food is as far as he goes and in the springtime of our youth, fried rice with basic accompaniments was all that Chinese restaurants featured and Indian biryani likewise.
Predictably, his favourite menus feature string hoppers, which he is perfectly content to eat three times a day if need be.
This makes life difficult for those of us who like experimenting. Good Market is a popular destination in these times of change, and enjoying new drink mixes, vegan foods, cheeses and so on is on the schedule of those with adventurous tastebuds.
DB isn’t one of them. He has never visited Good Market. He doesn’t trust such places.
“They turn a perfectly good tomato into something I don’t recognise,” he complains: “Can we have something normal for dinner?” “Like?”
“Pittu?”
“Fattening.”
“So eat less of it, will you.”
“Shall we try Mexican?”
DB looks alarmed: “What’s that like…?” “Dishes from Mexico, obviously.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you like variety?”
“Not served at dinner.”
We ignore his bleats, and order tacos and refried beans.
“I can’t see the difference between a taco and a folded chapatti,” he grumbles: “And what is this nonsense about refrying anything? What’s wrong with the first fry, may I ask?”
Upon hearing that Mexicans are known to eat chocolate with chicken, his only comment was: “No wonder they are such a messed up nation!”
His first sampling of a dim sum lunch came many years ago when a friend who had returned from Hong Kong introduced it to him. He watched two waiters scurrying round the table many times with assorted dumplings that were served one at a time.
“Why make life problematic?” he asked our hostess, in honest bewilderment: “Just put all the dumplings on one tray and hold them round.”
“Shut up,” I hissed: “Really, I can’t take you anywhere.”
But the real showdown came when a close friend, who is known far and wide as a truly inspired dinner host, invited him saying: “It will be a laksa meal.” Having had marvellous experiences with her catering, he expected the same high standard.
On the anticipated night of delight, DB tucked his serviette into his shirt and was ready to be fed. Malaysian laksa is a gourmet delight. Huge prawns, noodles, thick coconut milk and lemon grass make it a distinctive experience. Two or three helpings were the norm that night. It was an epicurean meal and everyone was truly stuffed.
DB was rather quiet on the way home…
“If soup can be a main course for dinner, people can entertain without any difficulty,” he told me, adding seriously: “Easy for cooks and servers, no?”
“Are you crazy? Not if you serve laksa.” “What is so different to other soups?” I looked at him sharply. DB is not a critical person. He truly didn’t taste or notice the difference between laksa and other soups. Dim sums, tacos and refried beans or any dishes making their appearance in a far more sophisticated Colombo than that of 40 years ago were not to his liking.
The next day, he called a close and much travelled friend.
“What food would you choose if you had to eat only that for the rest of your life?”
Without missing a beat came the answer: “Sri Lankan buth curry.”
“I rest my case,” he said beaming smugly, making sure I overheard him tell the cook to get going on pittu for dinner.
“And who cares if I gain a pound,” he said, taking a sidelong look at me.