‘you’ll love their new stuff man, i’m telling you,’ i say to shaari as we meander through keneree magu towards scoop on his girlie turquoise scoopy.

‘girlie?’ he asks.

‘just believe me when i say this menu will knock that smirk right off your face.’

shaari chuckles. one thing i like about him is that he knows how to drive. he’s never in a rush. never one to race through narrow passages between a moving vehicle and parked bikes. the man has common sense. at least where our driving etiquette is concerned. and isn’t that a rarity in these parts?

we pass by a bangladesh hotaa.

‘have you ever eaten at one?’ i ask my soon to be lunch companion.

‘maybe hedhikaa,’ says shaari.

‘hedhikaa? there? come on man.’

‘why not? how can any hotaa in male survive without serving hedhikaa, you tell me.’

hmm. maybe the man has a point.

soon, we’re in the cool, sparsely peopled interior of scoop. i take a menu from the counter and hand it to shaari who thumbs through it quietly.

‘you’re right, there’s a bunch of new items.’

‘haha.’

‘what?’

‘nothing.’

cos ‘items’ is a samfa word, i say under my breath.

‘oh really,’ says shaari. he stops at a page, raises his eyebrows and says: i’ll have the chicken risotto.

not bad.

‘i’ll have the java spice fried rice,’ i tell the man at the counter. ‘and an iced coffee.’

shaari and i spend some time figuring out where to sit until we finally park ourselves at the far end of the green booth, close to the counter.

‘what’s been happening?’ i ask shaari. ‘it’s been months since we caught up.’

‘not much, just the war,’ he says wryly.

‘yeah, are you feeling it yet?’

‘not personally. but i hear tourism is down something like fifty percent.’

i have a sip of the watery iced coffee, it’s rank stuff but it hits home. there is an aftertaste though, bold, bitter and sugary. well, you get what you pay for.

‘the corner shop near my place is running out of things man. they don’t have snickers or twix, no chrisps, while the prices have jumped up a couple of rufiyaa.

‘meanwhile, city gelato still gets crowds of ice cream bros,’ says shaari.

‘haha. no, i guess they haven’t felt the pinch yet.’

‘pinch?’

‘the effects of the war i mean.’

shaari’s main arrives.

‘funny, why aren’t they delivering everything together?’ he says, looking at me amused.

‘it’s alright, you can eat if you’re hungry.’

‘i don’t need your permission,’ shaari laughs and inhales the vapours coming off the dish. ‘it smells very good.’

he takes a couple of small bites.

‘it’s a bit hard,’ he says, swallowing. ‘like a proper risotto.’

‘i think they call it al dente.’

‘and you need dente,’ says shaari.

‘what’s that supposed to mean?’

my dish is brought in just then, diffusing the tension. i put what looks like a bit of mango salsa into my rice and take a bite. it’s good at first but then there’s an undercurrent of something, a kind of fishiness. i tell this to shaari.

‘hmm, could be the shrimp paste.’ he says. ‘maybe your palate isn’t ready for far eastern flavours.’

i nod irritably and try again to appreciate the funky paste.

‘this risotto is actually very good,’ says shaari. ‘and the chicken is nice and soft. perhaps a little heavy on the cream but still.’

‘samfa said the same, maybe they need spice or something tangy to cut through the creaminess.’

‘did samfa say that?’

i let the question hang and have some of the fried chicken. it’s tender, flavourful, but the rice keeps throwing me off.

downing the last of my iced coffee, I try drowning out the fishiness. meanwhile, shaari wants a sparkling water.

‘aren’t you a fancy fella?’ i say.

‘a cold bottle of perrier with a dash of lemon. better than any soda,’ says shaari leaning into the part.

he gets the bill, it’s about 350MVR for everything. not too bad.

‘that’s because you aren’t paying,’ he says.

‘wonder if we can still eat out in a month,’ i say to shaari who shrugs.

‘no point worrying about what could happen,’ he says with the air of a reasonable man.

he spots his girlie scoopy and eases it out of its snug parking spot.

i climb on behind him and soon we’re lost in the silver gloom of this unexpectedly cloudy april.