we’re at aminadhi’s, the restaurant that’s trying, quite obviously, to give the maldive kitchen a run for its money. though it was established earlier, aminadhi is coughing in the dust of its fleet-footed rival, but this is not to say the ‘fine dining’ outlet is without culinary merit.

and the noon heat is unpleasant – a standing fan by our table does little to dispel it and blows gusts of warm air in our faces.

before i forget, i am with alifulhu with whom i went to the chef mode badhige some weeks back. make that alifulhu and his friend faathaanike, she who has never sampled the offerings at aminadhi’s.

‘this is the former AG’s place, right?’ she re-confirms.

‘the same.’

‘huh, most likely a front for you know…laundry,’ she says looking around. ‘i mean, who even comes here?’

alifulhu grins.

‘the biriyani was good,’ i tell her. today i have ordered thoraa kirugarudhiya with sides of deep fried mushimas, and for some reason it is to be accompanied by barabo mashuni and roshi. what’s going on?

i am much too hungry to converse or to pay sufficient attention to the chat between faathaanike and alifulhu. and i have to tell you, madam certainly takes her time.

when the food arrives, it is stupendously lavish. in addition to the mushimas, there’s pickled bilimagu, a fiyaa satani, and a home-made hot sauce, oh doesn’t everyone like getting on THAT wagon.

my immediate issue is with the kirugarudhiya. they seem to have forgotten the first and major component of this dish.

‘oh that doesn’t look too good,’ faathaanike states the obvious. ‘too watery.’

‘too damn right,’ i say. but i mix the rice and gravy with the rest, taking one of those melancholic mushimas and have a bite.

‘it’s fucking good,’ i declare. ‘i think the rest of this shit makes up for the blunder.’

i especially like the bilimagu asaara, sour but not intense, you need good ripe bilimagu to get this flavour.

and the mushimas may not be worth a second look but they are definitely worth fourth and fifth bites. my god.

at the end of it, a server arrives to ask me my opinion.

‘the curry had too little milk, it’s supposed to be creamy, not watery,’ i say. ‘the rest is good. very good.’

‘it’s because we have a new chef,’ he says apologetically. ‘i will inform madam.’

‘huh,’ remarks alifulhu. ‘i thought madam WAS the chef.’
soon, madam herself turns up.

‘you had a comment about the kirugarudhiya, right?’ she asks, giving me a lawyerly gaze, and alifulhu and faathaanike look on at my discomfort with amusement.

‘i uh, well.’ i stammer.

‘yes?’ her liquid, amphibious eyes stare at me piercingly, and i’m pinned to that gaze like an insect.

‘it just wasn’t…creamy, it’s supposed to have…c-c-cream, kiru. instead it’s w-watery.’ i blurt out.

‘that’s a very good comment,’ she says, nodding. ‘a very good comment. i’ll make note of it.’

and that last sentence sounds vaguely threatning in her enunciation but she’s already departing.

‘you looked like you were going to piss yourself,’ remarks faathaanike.

‘i just had to tell her,’ i say. ‘it was watery and i can’t abide by that. i can with the [alleged] embezzlement but a man’s gotta draw the line somewhere.’

‘a man must,’ says alifulhu. ‘and you did at kiru.’