Curd and Treacle
On the long drive through the dark back down the Kalpitya peninsula, we started to feel hungry. There was nowhere between here and Palavi where we could stop for food. So we talked about it instead.
“I could do with good Italian pasta.” S said. “With a salad on the side: vine tomatoes, extra virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar!”
“A big fat juicy steak” John salivated: “Large side-order of chips!”
“Fresh, crusty bread and butter.” I sighed. “Good Italian salami. A glass of ice-cold, sweet whole milk.”
“A crispy pizza.” A chipped in “Steaming garlic bread on the side. And a bottle of Chianti!”.
“Curd and treacle!” Maria exclaimed.
We looked at her questioningly.
“I’ve still got to buy some!”
“Maria has got curd on her brain!” S quibbed but we did manage to find a stall just past Talawila which, miraculously, was still open and even more miraculously, sold curd and treacle. It was right next to a toddy tavern, which was of course closed. It struck me that I had never seen as many toddy taverns as on this Poya day. Maria bought a large clay-pot of curd and a small arrack-bottle full of red-golden treacle.
When we reached the the main-road at Palavi, it was almost nine. We were lucky to find a ‘hotel’ that was still open. The proprietors were glad to see us and laid on a feast of biththara (egg) rotti, vades, roled beef pancakes, grilled chicken, onion salad and curried tripe (yes, it was good). Thoughts about western foods were soon forgotten.
Back at the house, Maria bade us goodnight. It was high time for Guaratna to get home. We thanked them for a truly memorable day.
So it was that, next morning, I finally tried the famous curd and treacle. Underneath a layer of skin, dotted with suspicious growths, was the white creamy curd. I carefully dug it out. It was cool and rich, only very slightly acidic, like a good ricotta cheese. The treacle complemented it with a gentle sweetness and a mild, lingering flavour all its own without the harshness of sugar-based syrups. It was the best thing I had eaten in Sri Lanka.
Trying out new foodstuffs is one of the things I love about travelling. On the road to Kandy we had passed stalls which, among peanuts, olives and cashews, displayed several unknown delicacies. I picked up one of them: a bag of small brown berries covered in a thin, velvety shell. A had shrugged, she did not seem to remember them, so I bought a bag. They turned out to be stone tamarinds, a bit of an acquired taste but very refreshing and, ultimately, addictive.
During one hot afternoon in Negombo, feeling thirsty and finding no thimbili on sale in the neighbourhood, I had bought a bottle of Peyawa which the guidebook described as ‘ginger beer with added kick’. It contained pipul extract, ginger extract, pepper extract, coriander extract, lemon extract and permitted preservatives and colour which rendered it kerosene-pink. If you take care not to breathe in the fumes when raising the glass to your lips, it is quite refreshing.
Most of the variety has to be found among the fruit. Here, even the grapefruits are the size of watermelons. They are called jambola and taste similar to red grapefruit. One of them feeds about six.
After my curd and treacle breakfast, I went to the stalls on the corner of our street to see what else was on offer that morning and picked up a fruit which looked like a large pomegranate but was uniformly round and smooth. I took it home and smashed open the hard shell with a brick we kept as a doorstep. A strong perfumed scent exuded, a heady mix of mango and passionfruit. The orange-yellow flesh was waxy and spongy, a gluey sap oozing from the frazzled segments. The texture was sticky and almost dry. I showed the thing to A. She laughed:
“That is for washing your hair with!”
I gulped.
“It is boring to eat, don’t you find?”
So at least it wasn’t poisonous! A suggested I’d try the gray, mottled woodapples which had also been on display but looked much less appealing. The pulp, when pressed through a sieve and mixed with jaggery, then chilled for a few hours, would make a delicious desert. I went back and bought some, smashed the things open with the brick and worked the brown sticky flesh through a sieve to remove the dozens of hard little stones. The result was sweet and sour, slightly reminiscent of tamarind but with a distinct flavour I could not quite match to anything. I used the rest of the shampoo-fruit to wash my hair with. It didn’t lather, but it left a nice shine.
Denni