a fifteen-minute walk along a riverbank and a bus ride from hal’s house near walthamstow takes us to a place called barney’s where we’re to sample the masburi riha of english cuisine – pie, mash, & liquor. and to spice things up, we’re adding jellied eel to our meal.

‘i don’t want any liquor,’ says samfa when we’re by the counter.

‘don’t worry, it’s not alcohol,’ i tell her.

‘what is it, then?’

‘it’s gravy,’ explains hal. ‘only americans call alcohol ‘liquor’.’

hal is my friend from way back when – a man who likes to live life in beast mode. he’s bought a house, had a kid practically during covid, and is supporting his family solo for now.

”ave you ‘ad pie and mash before?’ asks the old man behind the counter. i shake my ead. i mean head.

‘you put lots o’ vinegar and pepper over everything. LOTS, owroi?’

‘roi,’ i say.

meanwhile, hal’s four-year-old kid albus is looking out onto the street with great yearning.

‘daddy, i wanna go out,’ he begs hal when we take our seats by the window.

‘after you eat, little git,’ says hal.

‘but i wanna go now,’ says albus.

‘after you eat, and look, the food is already here.’

the pie and mash look delicious – the mash is a little buttery hill rising from a green river of liquor through which our two pies poke their burnt brown heads. the jellied eel is encased in a yellowish gelatin. the flesh is white and wrapped around in grey skin.

‘try the eel first,’ says samfa.

i look at it in apprehension.

‘go on then,’ says hal, jerking his white english head.

‘daddy, i wanna gooo,’ whines little albus shaking his fine brown fringe. hal ignores him.

i take a bite. samfa and hal look at me as though i am moses with the ten commandments.

‘it’s actually not too bad,’ i say. ‘a little fishy, but i could eat it. have a go samfa. i think i’ve got too much bone.’

‘you’re supposed to get a bit of fish off the bone before you put it in your mouth,’ says samfa and extracts a bit of flesh from her piece, takes a sliver of jelly and has a taste.

she chews with great concentration.

‘what’s it taste like?’ i ask.

‘it’s a bit like garudhiya mas, but saltier. the jelly is nice too.’

she swallows, drinks from her can of coke and says: if maldivians here want garudhiya, they should try THIS with some rice.

i laugh.

‘i can’t believe i’ve never tried this before,’ says hal, eating his piece of jellied eel.

‘i can’t either,’ i say.

‘i have to go to the toilet. albus, you can go out when i get back ok?’

he goes to the toilet, but albus starts having a craving for his dad’s presence. he goes to the door and starts calling: ‘hal, hal!’

‘shut up, shithead,’ screams hal from the bathroom.

‘FUCKHEAD!’ screams his son, startling some customers.

‘look,’ i say to albus. ‘there’s a HUGE bumblebee in the dandelions out there. you wanna see it?’
albus looks at me and nods and we walk out of the pub.

it’s a bright, blue-skied day, and samfa is already basking in the sun with a cigarette.

‘is it really true there’s a bumblebee in the flowers?’ asks albus.

‘i think a crow ate it,’ i tell him. ‘but we can find others. come help me.’

so albus and i look for bees in the bright green lawn with its bristle of dandelions and daisies. the sky is a mystic blue above us, scattered with snowy cumulus. the sun beams down, its power restrained to a gentle warmth by the angle of the earth. god. what a world to be alive in.