there’s hardly anyone at blood orange tonight, it’s just after isha in the second week of roadha. i’m with moosaalhu who wanted to get a drink – but after seeing the menu, i was tempted by a new entry, the hainanese rice congee with chicken. full disclosure, i haven’t properly broken fast because i got into a fight with samfa but that’s another story.

after the order, i notice the woman painted on the wall again.

‘does she have lip fillers?’ i ask moosaalhu.

‘more likely that she ate from here and had a reaction,’ he says.

huh, how ’bout that?

as we wait, i go on my phone, check out the maldives independent, as one does these days, and read the headline:
diminished supreme court weighs MPs’ disqualification.

‘DIMINISHED court?’ says moosaalhu when i show him.

‘maybe they meant belittled court.’

‘hah,’ he says.

the server places his drink on the table.

‘it’s a bit hard to mix with this lemon slice on the rim,’ says moosaalhu and after some attempts moving the straw through the liquid, he finally takes a sip.

‘how is it?’ i ask.

‘pretty good, spicy,’ he says carelessly, as though he hasn’t given it more than a half-second’s thought.

‘did they put chili in it?’

‘no,’ he says. ‘it’s the ginger.’

soon, they bring my congee along with typical hainanese condiments which i spread generously on my dish.

‘aren’t you worried about gas at your age?’ says my friend.

‘like YOU’RE a young man,’ i mutter.

‘you say something?’

i shake my head and eat. and dear god, it is BRILLIANT, a work of singular genius or what passes for that in our tiny town. the congee is a little al dente, which i love, and because of my generosity with the condiments, it has a bit of a garlicky bite. and they are definitely not stingy with the chicken – it gives this dish that soft, meaty flavour. i am absolutely sold.

‘you like it huh? you’ve been quiet for three whole minutes now,’ smiles moosaalhu.

‘it’s amazing,’ i tell him. ‘just fucking phenomenal.’

‘hey, hey, easy with the language,’ he says. ‘it’s roadhamas.’

‘sorry,’ i say and finish up the rest of it. after i’m done, i have a bit of the chili paste on its own, drawing a funny look from moosaalhu.

‘you’ll feel it more going out than in, i think,’ he grins.

‘funny. it’s actually really good. i taste garlic, ginger, sugar, vinegar or maybe lime, chili.’

‘chili in a chili paste, eh?’ he grins. ‘quite the sensitive tongue.’

‘shut up.’

moosaalhu pays the bill by the counter. it’s 99 for my congee plus taxes so i give him 105 in cash. he puts it in his wallet, which has a bunch of 100 rufiyaa notes and 1 dollar bills in it.

‘what the hell are you doing with so much $, man?’

‘none of your business,’ he says and we walk out of the restaurant, fulfilled in our own way.

as we go towards moosaalhu’s bike on fandiyaaru magu, near baag – i mean COLONEL nazim’s house, i see a sign that reads ‘penis’.

‘it’s ‘plus,’ idiot,’ snaps moosaalhu when i point it out to him.

huh, how ’bout that?