Cutan, Head Steward at Colombo’s Galle Face Hotel
Day two begins with an 8 a.m. crew call in the main lobby of the British colonial-era Galle Face Hotel, our base of operations, but not before a huge breakfast featuring both Sri Lankan and Western specialties that I must regrettably forgo in order to accommodate the heavy eating schedule ahead. Bypassing the amazing buffet with its selection of fancy pastries, omelet’s made to order, and an assortment of inviting curries, in fact, becomes a necessary strategy for surviving the week. Especially with Tony ailing, I feel I must step up to the plate, obliging me to save my appetite for the cameras. Clearly, this job is not all that it seems.
rigging the trishaw
When Nimal, a local trishaw driver friend, arrives, Jared the segment producer and director Tom consult with cameramen Todd and Jerry about rigging his tiny vehicle for video. Three-wheeled trishaws are the preferred mode of transport around Colombo as they deftly, sometimes dangerously, squeeze through traffic, and I have enlisted Nimal to take us to a couple of choice street food spots. Behind us a photographer snaps away at another December bride who poses next to the hotel’s sprawling veranda. Tony lounges in the equitorial sun taking in the sea breeze.
Once the cameras have been jury-rigged with some gaffer tape and luggage straps, and Tony and I wired for sound, we climb in the back and we’re mobile, greeted by a gust of exhaust fumes from the surrounding traffic. The open sides of the trishaw offer a streets-eye view, too, as we whiz past pedestrians, bullock carts, and AK-47 toting soldiers, whom Tony eyes with the curious awe of a boy not allowed to play with guns. (If you couldn’t already tell from the frequency that firearms have appeared on the show, he likes things that go bang.) I give him some background on our current location “Slave Island,” an area where Malay slaves brought by the Dutch originally lived. The man-made Beira Lake on our right was once stocked with alligators to ensure the slaves wouldn’t escape.
The hopper stand
Outside Lakmal Tea Centre
Nimal (right) and a friend
After a quick ride we turn onto Ramanayaka Mawatha, and pull up beside the Lakmal Tea Shop, one of thousands of small storefronts, sometimes inexplicably called “hotels,” which one can duck into for a quick bite, a cool drink, or hot cup of tea. This one, frequented by Nimal and his driver buddies happens to be right around the corner from my Aunt Dora’s place, so I know it well. We have come here to sample another island favorite, hoppers.
An egg hopper
Hoppers or appa are small sourdough pancakes formed by swirling fermented rice flour batter in a tiny, wok-shaped pan, leaving them crispy around the edges and soft in the center. Popular for breakfast or dinner, they are sometimes prepared with an egg in the middle, and embellished with such spicy condiments as lunu miris(literally “onion chili”), which adds Maldive fish, salt and lime juice to its two main ingredients; pol sambol, the universal Sri Lankan condiment made from freshly shredded coconut laced with chili, salt, and lime; seeni sambol, which adds a little sugar and tamarind to its fried onion base; and a meat or fish curry.
Effusive smiles greet our entry into the closet-sized eatery, which is crammed with four rickety tables and a hole in the wall kitchen in the rear. The locals relish the excitement of something new and different taking place, and eager to please, they bring the food to the table before we even have a chance to look around. As far as “reality” shows go, No Reservations is as unstaged as they get. But the two cameramen, arriving behind us in the production van, need a few minutes to set up, so the table is cleared. When Tony, Nimal, and I walk in again, and sit down to order for the cameras, even the growl in my stomach is real.
pol (coconut) sambol, the Sri Lankan ketchup
As a stack of hoppers, chicken curry and condiments reappears, I let Tony know what’s before him, and then it’s every man for himself. I tear into a hopper using pieces to pick up some sambol or a piece of chicken curry. The flavors and textures meld perfectly—sweet, sour, salty, crunchy, smooth, and spicy. But Tony’s kvetching, saying something about this being a really starchy meal. He douses his hopper with a little bit of chicken gravy and lunu miris and rolls it up like a burrito devouring it whole. While he doesn’t exactly gag on it, meal number two fails to provoke a positive response—or at least the kind I would have expected from a guy who usually appreciates such simple but satisfying fare. A chill creeps over me again. Is it the bug? Or the food?
After the meal, Tony heads back to the hotel to relax while the crew hangs around to shoot the food preparation and some B-roll. I think it’s this incidental footage that makes No Reservations stand out because they capture so much more of a country than just it’s food. Director Tom wants to shoot some busy street scenes, so I suggest we go to the nearby Maradana market, where I also want them to film a spice-grinding mill.
Sri Lanka's bountiful harvest
In this time of heightened security accompanying the escalation of the civil war between the government and the separatist Tamil Tigers, soldiers and police are everywhere. Fortunately, our local fixer Anthony has secured all the required permits making it possible to shoot on the streets. In any case, local vendors and pedestrians are more than happy to indulge the camera lens with their smiling faces. The crows also show off, competing for discarded scraps from the huge sides of beef and mutton that hang out in the open air without refrigeration. The heat and humidity has me ducking and running for any available cover as the crew scrupulously records everything in their line of sight. With a shooting ratio of 60:1, most of this stuff won’t even make the final edit, but the one shot that does will likely be worth all the trouble.
As crew lunch call approaches, I jokingly suggest Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the idea actually grows legs. Minutes later we are off the sizzling streets and relaxing in the air-conditioned comfort of KFC. Thankfully no one ordered the KFC Biriyani or the KFC Kotthu, local twists on the franchise. Still digesting my hoppers, and preparing for the afternoon chow down, I sip on a tall Sprite.
I think a couple hours off is just the tonic for Tony, who we pick-up after lunch. A reddish tinge testifies to time spent lounging in the Jacuzzi on his huge balcony overlooking the Indian Ocean sipping on gin and tonics. Once again, we squeeze in the back of Nimal’s trishaw and head for one of my regular haunts, Malay Foods in Rajagirya, which I discovered on the way home to my mother’s place one day.
devilled prawns
Located just off the Kotte Road, which leads to the Sri Lankan Parliament complex, Malay Foods is an unassuming kade (stand) known for its “devilled” meats. Starting with either mutton (goat), fish, prawns or chicken which is marinated in corn-starch, soy sauce, ketchup, and chili powder, and then sautéed with onions, garlic, ginger, and capsicum peppers, the Malays introduced a Chinese-style stir-fry which has become one of Sri Lanka’s favorite finger foods. Sometimes served with nasi goreng (fried rice) and a vegetable called kankun (Morning Glory), I prefer to eat my devilled meats or seafood without sides.
Once again, we arrive ahead of the cameramen, so I take the opportunity to catch up with my friends the Riyaz brothers who run Malay Foods. I also step over to a nearby wine shop and order two cold cans of Carlsberg beer. By the time we’re ready to shoot, Tony and I have downed a couple each and the street swells with the rush-hour crowd. As if a sudden haze lifted, Tony slips into character—or at least the guy I know from TV. Our exchange is witty and relaxed as we lean up against the back of Nimal’s trishaw and skewer devilled prawns and fish with toothpicks I have brought from the Galle Face.
Tony tries to pokes fun at me for eating the whole shrimp, shell and all.
“What would you do if a hot chick comes up to you at a party and asks you why you’re eating the shells and tails?” he says.
“I would tell her that only real men eat the whole shrimp, Tony.” I reply with a grin.
“Ok. Alright. Good answer,” he says trying one himself.
Success at last.
