honest, humble, and down-to-earth critic – bringing you the best and worst of food in the maldives.
‘you REALLY want to eat here?’ asks moosaalhu as we walk up to the woods cafe on rahdhebai magu.
‘oh yes!’ i tell him. ‘what’s wrong with taking a risk? no pain no gain.’
‘yet to feel the gain,’ he says.
it’s a nice enough space, yellow-lit, kind of cosy and smells quite pleasant, perhaps a little floral. maybe because we’re the only people there. most people are rather stinky.
the server is quick to hand us a menu. it’s on a small tablet that we have to share.
‘wow, they have practically everything,’ says moosaalhu.
i nod. it’s true. they have arabian, italian, asian. tagines, pasta, fried rice. this is the kind of menu that makes the back of my neck tingle.
‘i’ll probably play it safe and get a tuna fried rice,’ i tell moosaalhu.
‘whatever happened to taking risks?’
‘shut up.’
moosaalhu smiles and we tell the server our orders.
‘look at those tiles,’ whistles moosaalhu when she leaves. ‘they’re so even, like they were done by some guy with crazy OCD.’
‘hah.’
‘so, how was london?’
‘it’s london.’
‘did you get bored?’
‘of course.’
‘so,’ says moosaalhu. ‘not too different from home then.’
‘it’s just there’re so many ways of killing time,’ i say.
‘that’s all there is to life,’ says moosaalhu.
‘yep.’
the server comes with our food. my tuna fried rice looks really fetching with bits of egg among the grains. it’s accompanied by chili paste, popadums, a fried egg with runny yolk, and some ketchup. no sign of soy sauce. or worcestershire sauce. or oyster sauce for that matter. interesting.
i dig in.
‘dear lord,’ i say.
‘what is it?’ says moosaalhu.
‘it’s fucking delicious,’ i tell him. ‘just…MAN!’
i eat it up quickly, trying to savour the bites, but mostly just stuffing my face. it’s got quite a bit of garlic, and who doesn’t like THAT in their fried rice? the chili paste is sweet and spicy and goes really well with the rest of the dish.
soon i’m done. moosaalhu too has finished his shawarma. i don’t even bother asking him how it was.
as we wait to pay the bill, i ask the server if she could ask the chef the ingredients of my fried rice and (trick question) what sauces they used. she looks at me funny, then disappears into the kitchen.
‘can’t even go to a restaurant without you bothering the chef,’ says moosaalhu.
i ignore him.
meanwhile, the bill sets us back by 228MVR (i had dessert: cheesecake. decent).
then the server returns and says: ‘just oil, garlic, egg, carrots, onion, ginger, cabbage. no sauces’.
excellent, i think and thank her.
outside, moosaalhu asks me: do you wish you’d picked something like the salmon?
‘no,’ i tell him. ‘i had to know if i could trust them with a tuna fried rice first. but we’re coming here again.’
‘are we?’
‘you bet. it’s a must. i gotta. needs doing.’
‘alright,’ says moosaalhu.
‘has to be. gotta be done.’
‘alright!’