male experienced a boom in sri lankan cafes after covid, and now a new one, lanka café, has opened up in hulhumale phase one, near bombay darbar. tonight i’m waiting for my pal @thinvanaloa to come appraise their offering. it’s a brightly lit space, air conditioned, and smells heavily of spices. so best not come here in your friday best.

shaari doesn’t take too long to turn up. he’s dressed in a purple t-shirt with a dad-joke on it. typical.

‘there’s something different about you,’ he says, taking a seat opposite me. ‘i don’t know what, but there’s something.’

i nod.

‘what should we order?’ i ask. ‘the buffet looks good.’

‘i might get the kotthu,’ he says.

i go to the buffet to get some yellow rice, a chicken curry, a dahl curry, a side of tempered potatoes, a rehi salad.

‘looks good,’ says shaari.

‘i’d wait till you get your food but i’m too hungry,’ i say and begin to feast.

‘that’s it!’ shaari exclaims.

‘what?’ i ask, my mouth full.

‘you’ve grown fat,’ he replies. ‘that’s what’s up.’

‘funny,’ i say.

i look around, there are no maldivians here, just sri lankans, mostly ladies, enjoying a taste of their homeland.

‘what do you think?’ asks shaari.

‘they’ve gone overboard with the salt, my god.’

‘it’s a sri lankan thing though isn’t it?’ says shaari. ‘they love their salt.’

‘yeah but there are limits,’ i say. ‘these guys will be having strokes at 25.’

‘how is it otherwise?’

‘it’s good,’ i say. ‘the chicken is nice and i like the rehi salad. the rehi could’ve been a LOT crunchier though.’

‘ah, here comes my kotthu,’ says shaari. he starts eating delicately.

‘what do you think?’

‘salty, for sure, but it has a street food charm that you won’t get at a preppy place like k cafe.’

‘a street food charm, eh?’ i say. Interesting.’

afterwards, we decide to have a sweet pancake that looks like a riha folhi and some watalappan that’s in a little cup in the fridge.
the watalappan is very disappointing, the texture is off, and it’s got far too much coconut.

‘i can’t taste the caramel,’ i say.

‘me neither,’ says shaari. ‘i hope the riha folhi is better.’

and it is but we have no basis for judgement. it tastes a bit like huni hakuru, but with treacle.

the bill is 268, the buffet was 120 bucks, way too steep. i would recommend machan or ayubowan.

‘no man, those places are awful now,’ says shaari as he walks me over to the bus stand. and i spot the bus coming.

‘make a run for it,’ says shaari. ‘you might still make it.’

‘fat chance,’ i say. and shaari laughs.

‘why you laugh?’ i say.

‘cos you said ‘fat chance,’’ he says. ‘wait, that wasn’t intentional?’

and he starts laughing more.

‘you know what?’ i say. ‘you could drop me off at the last bus stop before male. it’s gonna take some time for the bus to get there.’

‘hmm,’ says shaari. ‘you know, even you have the occasional good idea. let’s do it.’

so off we go on shaari’s teal-coloured bike towards the saharaa bus stop. a disappointing night in terms of food, but you can’t expect everything to be perfect if you’re a real explorer, the magellan of maldivian cuisine.

‘what did you say?’ asks shaari.

‘nothing,’ i say. ‘nothing at all.’