sri lankan restaurants are fucking hot right now – the scruffy newcomer machan is fast making a name for itself while the older, more upscale k-café is already much beloved. and here at the harbour, a place catches my eye – golden spoon, a restaurant that serves our small neighbour’s cuisine. though it’s approaching midnight, the cafe has a decent crowd and this must surely be a good sign.

it doesn’t take long for a server to appear with the menu and i choose a black chicken curry and some farata. being maldivian means you’re primed for certain tastes – that is to say our palates are taught from a tender age to be receptive to the food of our island neighbour. so, if you like roshi and mashuni, chances are you will like pol sambol and idiappan.

though the other restaurants are winding down, things seem to heating up here. good. only fools will choose an empty restaurant over one that’s full. but then i think any sense of real risk (or adventure) is offset by the awareness that mine is a safe pick.

anyway, some time ago i spent several months in colombo. it was a couple of years after the war and the country was enjoying the early gifts of its economic boom. it meant a slew of new and often hipster cafes and restaurants were gracing the affluent districts of colombo. yes, it was a good time for our pretty neighbour, a period of optimism and possibility.

yet when my food arrives i notice with great disappointment the stale, stiff faratas. nevertheless, i dig into the black chicken curry, which turns out to be utterly unremarkable (the stringy meat is not even BLACK).

the sri lankan culinary wizardry is manifestly absent and i would have left right then if not for this: it’s the very thing that redeems golden spoon’s lacklustre offering – an unassuming and unmentioned side of brinjal moju – caramelised eggplant, garlic and onion that, even with the stale farata, hits all the right notes.

the bill isn’t much but i won’t return. the moju though, it took me back, way back to the collective relief of post-war lanka, when the country was finally free of its past to choose its future and realising the future can be whatever. it’s something that sticks with me not least because we’re doing the same – at least those of us who feel it’s still meaningful to be engaged in the endless and exhausting project of becoming ourselves.