so, i’m trying to see how far i can go, gauging the reach of these little wings buoyed by their 200 odd followers. a couple of days ago, i messaged @island.butcher – i read a piece about them on lonumedhu.com and i just had to see what they were about.

they were eager to collab. no funny stuff, i said. only utter and complete honesty. a guy called barry, who was handling their comms, asked me to come by their butchery to collect the meat the next day, and sent me a recipe for ginger beef. what a start.

so, i told thakuru that i wanted to make ginger beef and asked him if he could cook it for me. but of course! was the enthusiastic response. bless the man.

‘where’s the beef from?’ he asked.

‘uh, sri lanka,’ i told him. ‘but from grass-fed cows.’

‘as opposed to cows that root in the rubbish, eh?’ thakuru said. funny man.

the next afternoon, i have trouble finding the place, which is supposed to be near fathaha mall on maaveyo magu.

as i turn my head about like an anxious owl someone says: ‘you looking for us?’

it’s a well built sri lankan man. he must be barry, i think. because barry = well built.

and into the butcher’s we go. it’s cold. goddamn frigid. two pink carcasses hang on hooks. the fridges hum quietly. it’s like i’ve stepped into that episode of salad fingers.

‘i like it when…the red water comes out,’ i mutter.

‘hmm?’ says barry.

‘oh! i’m husenfulhu by the way,’ i say, offering my hand.

‘i know,’ says barry, his handshake firm. ‘you look like one.’
huh, how about that?

‘here’s the meat,’ says barry after a guy weighs it. it’s almost two kilos of silverside in a bright shade of red. vermillion? ruby? that has to be good, right? i think so anyway. i know my beef.

‘keep it refrigerated,’ says barry, handing it to me in a blue plastic bag.

later, i message thakuru who turns up and takes the meat off my hands (ha).

‘it’ll be ready by lunchtime tomorrow,’ he says and motors off into the dusk.

i trust thakuru. he’s like a slightly nerdier version of alibe. and i do mean slightly. like alibe, thakuru excels at everything whether it’s gutting a fish or folding laundry or coding a website or composing music. one day the world will know thakuru’s music, i think.

and you can tell a lot about a man from his cooking.

so i am drooling by the time thakuru sends me a photo of the beef simmering in a pot. it’s around noon the following day.

‘quick, get me the grub!’ i text.

‘take it easy, i’ll be over in a bit.’

i text my wife’s cousin naseemaaththa and her husband firag, who live in the same building, saying i have something beefy for lunch.

‘ooh, come,’ they say.

soon, the man is here and i snatch his tupperware like a famished thief and hurry back in.

my people are waiting.

‘looks good,’ remarks firag as i pour the contents of the tupperware onto plates.

and my god. it is great! thakuru is a meticulous man, his conscience free of turmoil for he has struck the balance between good and evil. everything is as it must, no flavour tries to subdue the other.

the beef is slightly chewy, which thakuru says is because of the cut, and very flavourful.

‘good meat,’ remarks firag. ‘does it have lemongrass?’

‘ginger,’ i tell him.

‘i can taste it though. maybe your friend used some sort of paste?’ asks firag. and we empty our plates, go for seconds and thirds before calling it quits.
when thakuru messages i tell him my assessment.

‘you know, i DID use a thai sauce, that’s where you’re getting the lemongrass. those tastebuds are spot on.’

and who am i to turn down a compliment?