hey, i can’t eat tonight, machan, but i’ll have a hot drink,’ says ahamma, my friend from childhood as we ride towards our spot for the night. ahamma is a careful driver, i don’t need to second guess his speed or awareness. he’s level headed on and off vehicles, this gentle, maybe even docile man.

he parks near ‘machan maldives’, a sri lankan restaurant near the galolhu stadium that i’ve been meaning to visit for a while. it’s not too big and we venture up a narrow, spiral staircase to an al fresco deck.

‘i’ll just have some tea,’ says ahamma when the server brings the menu.

‘how about ginger tea?’ i suggest.

and for me? i ask them to bring some pol sambol and idiappan which they recommend having with dahl and some spicy gravy.

‘what are you reading these days?’ asks ahamma propping his elbows up on the table and looking at me with his chin on his hands.

‘nothing,’ i say, embarrassed. ‘i…can’t read.’

‘still?’

‘yeah, i mean if you don’t count the graphic novels, i’ve only read two books this year,’ i say a bit cautiously.

‘oh that’s still better than last year, didn’t you say you read three books the whole of it?’

i nod, a little upset but i try not to show it because ahamma is not a mean person by any means.

‘man, i used to think you were well-read back in the day,’ he goes on, completely oblivious.

‘yeah? well, i always thought you a gluttonous slob,’ i want to say but then the server brings my food.

now, the string hoppers aren’t very fresh, and the pol sambal is a bit too fine for me, i prefer it a little chunky with clumps of huni and chopped onion. the dahl, meanwhile, is lush and thick, plus there’s a bit of a bite to it. the gravy on the side is searing, and helps me down my ten string hoppers in a matter of minutes.

i am wanting more but the kitchen has run out of idiappan.

‘why not get an EGB ginger beer and elephant house ice cream to round it off?’ offers ahamma.

‘great idea,’ i say, dabbing at my mouth with a tissue. ‘hello, machan!’

and it turns out they do serve these fine sri lankan products so i wrap things up with twin strawberry scoops drizzled over with strawberry sauce and of course, lashings of EGB.

and in the end all that food cost about 150MVR!

‘would you come here again?’ asks ahamma as we descend the staircase.

‘yeah, maybe if i can’t find a better sri lankan place. or if i’m down on cash.’

and we motor off into the night, two friends with a love for our island neighbour, especially its food which generations of dhivehin who are fated to misunderstand one another can still connect with.

’…three books?’ mutters ahamma as we approach my home.

‘you say something?’ i ask suspiciously.

‘um, i said: where do they find these cooks?’

‘huh,’ i say, dismounting. ‘well. all right.’

‘goodnight man, let’s do this again.’

and there i stand on the pavement, gently seething, watching my clueless friend ride off into the orange street until his bike becomes a fiery red dot in the distance.