Lampreis To Go @ The Dutch Burgher Union

Pure Perfection in a banana leaf packet!

Although I did a much earlier post about the “Battle of Lampreis” in Sri Lanka, I realized today after lunch that there really is no competition: The lampreis at The Dutch Burgher Union is hands down THE BEST and only lampreis worth eating. For all you novices out there, here’s a little refresher course: Lampreis is a complete rice & curry meal wrapped and steamed in a banana leaf. Authentic, traditional lampreis is comprised of the following individual dishes–samba rice cooked in marrow bone stock; tempered brinjal (eggplant) curry; a fish cutlet or frikadel; a mixed meat curry of pork, beef, and mutton; seeni sambol; fried ash plantain curry, and blachan (a tasty condiment paste made of dried prawns, onions, lime, salt and spices).

Though she appeared a little creepy on the No Reservations: Sri Lanka episode, a little Burgher lady by the name of Lorraine Bartholomewsz, is still the one who makes the lampreis sold at DBU, and she certainly gets massive kudos for her cooking. The delicate samba rice was perfectly cooked and amazingly flavorful due to the rich stock it was cooked in, yet not greasy at all. The tempered eggplant was melt-in-your mouth delicious, while the fried ash plantain had body to it and was not mushy in the least. The mixed meat curry featured tiny cubes of pork fat to enhance its taste, and both the seeni sambol and blachan were bursting with flavor. Instead of only one cutlet or frikadel, there were two. The fact that each individual dish would have been amazing on its own explains why this little package of rice and curry was the equivalent of a multiple foodgasm. If the lunch crowd in Manhattan could get a hold of this, FUHGETABOUT IT!

So, thanks, Lorraine, for your skills, and thanks to the DBU for making this available to the general public. I would recommend calling ahead and reserving yours in the morning as the lampreis becomes available at 11 am and is usually sold out by noon. While normal rice packets sell for about 120 rupees, the DBU lampreis is certainly no steal at 390 rupees, but certainly worth every finger-licking mouthful. Enter around the back of the DBU where there is a little counter where you can pick up your order, and they even steam it for you, so it’s ready to eat!

 

Dutch Burgher Union of Ceylon
114, Reid Avenue
Colombo 4
Sri Lanka

Phone +94 11 258 4511 / +94 11 533 1661

Email - info@dutchburgherunion.org

 

back lot of the DBU

Lampreis: Get yours before its all gone!!!

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Adventures in Dining: Cobra in Vietnam

a street market in Saigon

Anyone who knows me knows I love to eat and I love to explore new lands. Food and travel go hand in hand, and for this reason I have coined the term “gastronaut,” to describe myself and my penchant for trying anything edible at least once. I have sampled fried cockroaches in Thailand, pig parts in Brasil, brain curry in Sri Lanka, and durian fruit in Cambodia. I’m not as extreme as Andrew Zimmern from the Bizarre Foods show–no raw worms or live creepy crawlies for me–but I’m open and adventurous. Because you just never know if you’re going to like somehthing or not, right? So my motto is “Go ahead. Try it!”

The Colonel in Saigon

With this is mind, I am sharing a video of my first and only time eating snake in Vietnam. I went to Vietnam In July 2007 to visit a Vietnamese American friend, who had moved back there, and I must say it was an eye-opening adventure in many ways. First of all, to see a country that was practically destroyed by the Americans during the war (which they incidentally call, “The American War”) doing well some 30 years later was a glorious sight. I didn’t know what to expect, to be quite honest, but Vietnam did not appear anything like the impoverished communist state I thought it would be. Sure there is poverty, but they also had everything from Kentucky Fried Chicken to Godiva Chocolates. We even indulged in the most decadent brunch at the Sofitel Hotel in Saigon, which I’m sure would rival Vegas’s Bellagio buffet. But the best food is found all around you on the street and it’s available practically 24 hours a day. Now I know why Bourdain loves Nam so much.

Yes, those are edible grubs--high in protein!

My friend Dinh took us to some of his favorite spots, like the place where they cook the rice in a clay pot and it caramelizes on the bottom, so the waiters must actually toss the pot back and forth before breaking it open to serve the delicious rice inside. Then when I heard about the snake restaurant, I had to go. Having eaten alligator before, I expected snake to have that same flavor–halfway between chicken and fish. But really, snake is snake. Or should I say cobra is cobra. The meat is delightful, but there is a special trick you have to do with your teeth–a sort of simultaneous scraping and sucking–to free it from the many tiny bones. We had snake in a salad, a soup and a dish with rice. We also had to observe the local pre-eating rituals as you will see in the video.

Yum! Yum! Summer rolls!

Let me conclude by saying that Vietnamese food is some of the best food in the world. I knew very little about it before visiting Vietnam, but now I’m a fiend for this cuisine. It’s so fresh, flavorful, and healthy, and the Vietnamese are some of the most resourceful people on the planet. During the war, when food was scarce, people had to eat anything. Even though snake is considered an expensive meal (at $30 for 3 people), the rats, bats, mice, turtles, frogs and insects that the Vietnamese eat to this day are probably a remnant of that era. Who knows? Food might be scarce for you one day. Are you prepared to eat anything? Are you prepared to eat a snake? I did. And it was good!

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NO Reservations: Sri Lanka (the whole show)

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No Reservations: A Footnote

Skiz & Tony at Malay Foods, Rajagirya

Thanks to all who enjoyed No Reservations: Sri Lanka show and left comments. If you read my entire blog about the shoot, you would realize that the show is filmed out of sequence as is standard in TV/film. You will also notice that a lot of stuff that I wrote about didn’t make the final cut. That’s the nature of trying to cram 40 hours of footage from six days on the run into a cohesive 45-minute program. As a filmmaker myself, I’m familiar with the challenges, but none-the-less, I think Tony and crew once again distilled the essence of Sri Lanka’s diverse flavors into another good show.

 That being said, there are, of course, several things I would have done differently. First of all, the Galle Face Hotel as “The Shining?” No way. That hotel, where Arthur C. Clarke penned 2001: A Space Odyssey, is a seriously classy joint, and it was bubbling with activity all day and every night when we returned. They must have been filming after midnight to get those empty shots. Secondly, I would have cut down the Dutch burgher segment–especially the extended interview with the lady who made the lampreis, which strayed into David Lynch territory. Nothing personal against the burghers (or Dave Lynch), but they represent less than 1% of the population, and aside from Lampreis, an incredible contribution, not much of the food. The Muslim community represents with biriyani, but Jaffna cuisine from the north is not represented at all–through no fault of my own.

I had originally arranged a meal at Katpaham, A Jaffna restaurant in Colombo, but since I’m no expert on Tamil food, I tried to get our most famous Sri Lankan cricketer Murali, who is also Tamil, to be in that segment. Due to scheduling conflicts he couldn’t make it, so Jagdesh, our Indian friend, ended up filling in at the last minute. I did sample the dishes, however, and the food was awesome! Especially, the Kool, a spicy seafood soup made with 5 types of seafood—crabs, prawns, fish, squid, and crayfish—and thickened with Palmyra root flour. Tamil food is generally spicier than even regular rice and curry if you can believe that, and I was very disappointed by this segment’s omission.

But that underscores the most important point here: This is Tony’s show. This is not Sri Lanka, but Sri Lanka through the filter of Anthony Bourdain. Tony’s home movie, you might say. He’s never one to gloss anything over, and that’s why we all watch the show. He tells it like it is, and if he’s not feeling physically well he’s not going to pretend he is. Plus it was bloody hot!

I’m certainly no big fan of Colombo, but I think it got a bad rap, too. Put that down to the hole-in-the-wall joints we ate at and the ridiculous traffic. There are some really nice parts of the city that I wish I could have shown Tony, but there’s so much time in a day.

And to all the Sri Lankans, who said, “I would have taken him here or there, and giving him such and such to eat,” believe me, I tried, y’all. I lobbied heavily for Kandy, Galle, Trinco, and even Jaffna, one place on the island I have never even visited myself. I even tried to get him eat at some upscale places like The Lagoon and The Gallery, but you know Tony, folks, he likes it raw. And that was exactly what he got, from Rifka Caterers to Leela’s.  If that’s not, at least, real I don’t know what is. 

Skiz chows down with camermen Jerry and Todd

segment producer Jared

 

Tom & Jerry (r to l)

 

 

 

 

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No Reservations: Sri Lanka Day 6 – Chilaw Crab Curry

After five straight days of eating and running, shooting and more eating, we have finally reached the last day of the shoot. Despite Tony’s shaky start and the nagging head cold I’ve been nursing all week—not to mention the jet-lag and heat we’ve all had to endure—everything has gone pretty smoothly and the crew seems more than happy with what they’ve got in the can.  For my part, it’s been a blast sharing old haunts and a couple of new finds with people who can really appreciate it. I can tell these guys are enjoying the food simply by the sight of their plates piled high with string hoppers, hoppers, sambols and curries every morning at the breakfast buffet. Of course, there are also a lot of dishes they have not tasted, and many great locations where I would have liked to take them. But for a one-hour program shot in six days, I feel like we’ve done Sri Lanka justice. For our grand finalé  feast I have obviously saved the best for last.

            I initiated this blog with a story about Leela, my Aunty Dora’s maid for 32 years, who retired during my last extended stay on the island. Along with my cousin Sam and his family, I accompanied Leela back to her village near Chilaw, and enjoyed an incredible home-cooked meal prepared by her relations there. The vegetables were plucked right off plants on their property; a beautiful patch of land nestled between jungle and river, and cooked in traditional clay pots over an open hearth. I doubt that many Colombo urbanites had experienced a meal quite like this—much less any Westerners. Months ago, when the show first contacted me, one of my initial ideas was to bring Tony here. Chilaw, a 3-hour drive up the coast from Colombo, was especially renowned for its huge lagoon crabs, which Leela would be making into  and incendiary curry for us today.

crabicide

            Being a Sunday, however, the local fishermen’s’ day off, we had to cheat a little and buy the crabs a day earlier. Since a lack of rain in Chilaw also meant less crabs, some friends in Negombo, which was on the way, purchased 15 hulking specimens for us and kept them alive since dead crabs tend to spoil very quickly. We had another issue when we reached Leela’s place. This devout Buddhist lady absolutely refused to kill any live creatures, so we paid a local boy to act as the executioner. I don’t know which is a better way to go—being steamed alive as they do to the famous blue crabs in Baltimore, or being whacked between the eyes with a blunt object and pulled apart while you’re still dazed and trying to crawl away. As a cancer myself, I can’t help but ponder the fate of my fellow crabs, though this hardly impedes my love of a dish like Chilaw crab curry.

         In addition to the crab curry, Leela, her two nieces and a couple of other relatives were preparing chicken curry; rice; dahl (paripoo, the familiar red lentils stewed in coconut milk); ash plantain, the flower of the banana tree; jackfruit; gotu kola sambol, a tangy green herb chopped and cut with shredded coconut, salt and lime; and cashew curry, another typical Sri Lankan dish that I haven’t encountered anywhere else. With so many dishes for so many mouths and not even a stovetop on which to operate, the cooks immediately got to work when we arrived with the crabs at about 9 in the morning. But first, the diminutive Leela, whom I had not seen in over a year, greeted me with flowers. The country air and simple living had been good to her, and even the pronounced limp she used to carry now gave way to a spring in her step.

            For the first time of the shoot, Tony stayed with us all day, but kept away from the backyard kitchen. “Hey, if you came over, I wouldn’t want you in my kitchen,” he joked. Actually, for the trip down south he also hung around, but he and I were dropped off at a nearby hotel bar to relax while the crew shot B-roll and food prep. No booze awaited us at Leela’s, but rather fresh toddy, the sap of the coconut palm, which is distilled into the local liquor of choice, Arrack. I find the slightly sweet taste of Arrack to be somewhere between brandy and Hennessy, but toddy is altogether different. One of the boys scaled a tree on the property and tapped a fresh jugful, which went down sweet, cool, and frothy.

cashew curry cooking in a clay pot

           As three clay pots bubbled on open fires, the women chopped vegetables on bamboo mats on the ground and grinded spices on an old-fashioned grinding stone. My cousin Sam and I took the opportunity to give Tony his first taste of rural Sri Lanka. Behind the small house, all kinds of edibles grew—from gotu kola and jackfruit to plantains, manioc, and cashews. Even a small plot of rice had been planted in a clearing. Behind this luxuriant garden, a river gently snaked by, its sloping banks soggy from a recent shower. As we proceeded down for a closer look, the treacherous footing caused Sam to take a spill. Tony ditched his flip-flops for the surety of bare feet, which were soon covered with mud. Somehow Todd the cameraman, who is prone to mishaps, stayed clean that time as did I. Meanwhile, Jerry the other cameraman had his lens all over the food. I left him in the good hands of Sam’s kids, Shanaka and Shalini, who acted as translators with the cooks.

Sam's kids -- Shalini and Shanaka

Jerry shoots the food preparation

 

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By around 1 in the afternoon, Leela’s crew started bringing out the food. They set up two tables together on the veranda, and soon, it was covered with 8 different clay pots. I took Tony down the buffet line explaining each dish as he served a bit onto his plate. He took a bigger portion of the crab curry, which had certainly been hyped to death. Though the whole crabs had been broken up, their bright orange shells contrasting against the fiery red gravy and green murungu leaves (a special addition for crab curry) made for an impressive and tantalizing sight, which tasted as good as it looked. This time I felt like a proud Jewish mother when Tony returned for seconds.

Leela's Chilaw Crab Curry

 

It was a unique treat to have Chilaw Crab Curry as only Leela can make it. My only criticism would be that she didn’t use enough chili, since Tony and the rest of the crew were able to eat it. Poor guy, he comes to my country sick, and just when he’s got his stomach back, I’m trying to put him back on Immodium. I think it’s because I never got a chance to challenge him to a raw chili eating competition. To thank Leela for an amazing meal and her family’s generous hospitality, I gave her a copy of my book, Rice & Curry: Sri Lankan Home Cooking (blurb.com) in which she contributed two recipes, one of which, of course, was the crab curry.

 

Rice & Curry: Sri Lankan Home Cooking p. 37

 

Leela and I

 

 

 

 

 

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No Reservations: Sri Lanka Day 5 – Biriyani

Mr. Saifudeen (center) of Rifka Caterers, Slave Island, Colombo

Sri Lanka’s proximity to India makes many people assume the food is the same, and one of my reason’s for embarking on this mission with Tony is to prove the opposite—that Sri Lankan cuisine can stand up as something tasty and unique in its own right. That being said, however, there is no question that Indian food has exerted a tremendous influence on the tiny island just off it’s southern tip. Biriyani, for example, one of India’s signature dishes, is just as popular in Sri Lanka, where they put their own spin on it. Truth be told, this simple but complex one-pot dish in which the rice and meat are cooked together, was actually introduced to India by the Moguls, Muslim invaders who once ruled parts of the country. It just goes to show how much food is a reflection of history and the influence of immigrants and conquerors.

            These days ‘biriyani’ is as loose a term as ‘curry,’ and simply implies savory rice cooked with meat. Colombo boasts a wide variety of biriyani joints, but the ones I tend to favor stick to the traditional recipe—known as “Pakistani biriyani–which calls for long-grain basmathi rice, ghee, yogurt, nuts (usually cashews), stock, and of course, saffron, that most expensive of all spices. Lamb or goat (or ‘mutton’ as its referred to in Sri Lanka) constitutes the meat of choice, though chicken is a close second. When you see the local Pizza Hut selling a concoction called the “Birizza,” which is basically a pizza topped with rice and chicken or mutton, you can understand the popularity of biriyani in Sri Lanka.

            Because it’s a Muslim dish, you should really patronize a Muslim establishment to enjoy the real deal. But instead of taking Tony to a “Pakistani biriyani” spot, I want him to sample the local version known as “Bombay biriyani.” Substituting short-grain samba rice for the traditional basmathi, this variety is also made with a lot more spices and is served with different condiments. The place best known for such biriyani is neither a restaurant nor a kade, but Rifka Caterers run by one Mr. Saifudeen, whose Indian father brought the recipe here.  For 34 years they have been specializing in this one dish, and count among their clients the Colombo Hilton, though Muslim weddings and holidays account for the bulk of their business. 

 

a biriyani assembly line

            I lead Tony down a small alley off Church Street in Colombo’s Slave Island, an area that boasts a large Muslim community. We emerge into a small courtyard of sorts bordered by residential houses on the right and a large factory on the left. No signboard identifies Rifka Caterers, but we follow our noses through the open doorway of a pink building ahead of us. At the end of a dark hallway we enter a room with high ceilings and plenty of light streaming through its large open windows. Stacks of industrial strength biriyani pots, maybe four feet in diameter and two feet deep, line the walls and I know for sure we’re in the right place.

            After greeting the proprietor Mr. Saifudeen and his son, we are shown how the biriyani is prepared. First, several huge pots containing chicken parts that have been washed and chopped are laid out in a row on newspaper.  Father and son take turns coating the raw chicken with handfuls of various ground spices—coriander, cumin, chili, garlic, ginger—before mixing everything together by hand. Then parboiled rice, about 30 percent cooked, is added followed by more spices. The last ingredients include cashews, creamy white curd, yellow ghee and a reddish solution of saffron and water. The final stage involves covering each pot with a metal lid and then sealing it shut with dough, which allows just the right amount of steam to escape. Then their assistants heft the filled pots onto special frames to cook over a gas fire. When the dough cooks to resemble a pizza crust, in roughly 30 minutes time, the dish is done. Though I love to make biriyani myself at home, the assembly of this dish on such an industrial scale and without exact measurements makes for an impressive sight. But, ultimately, it is the taste that matters the most, and Mr. Saifudeen invites us outside to try some.

He has graciously set up a table and chairs under a wooden awning beside his building where Tony and I plop down and prepare to chow. One of his employees brings out a huge, steaming platter, known as a savan, of chicken biriyani, Bombay style, as well as some of the typical Sri Lankan accompaniments. Biriyani is traditionally served with raita, a cucumber and yogurt mixture, but in Sri Lanka it comes with either mint sambol, a cooling concoction made of crushed mint and fresh shredded coconut; chili sambol, which is ground chilies with Maldive fish, salt and lime; mixed pickle (acharu), a combination of pickled onions carrots and green chilies; and finally fresh pineapple wedges. He also brings out an additional plate of chicken (not cooked in the rice but rather fried) and a bowl of gravy with which to douse it.

The rice tastes moist and delicious, despite the fact that this recipe uses absolutely no stock. But you can instantly recognize the rich flavor and feel the oily residue of ghee, which helps ease everything down your throat. The chicken also packs a spicy punch and turns out incredibly tender thanks to the pressure steaming method in which it was cooked. Like Arroz con Pollo or Singapore’s staple Chicken and Rice, this very basic preparation exhibits such sublime undertones that it’s got Tony and I “Mmmming” and “Ahhhing”and licking our fingers.  Now I know why it’s called food porn. The hint of saffron, and the special biriyani masala, which contains nutmeg and star anise, among other things, has our taste buds on the brink. The condiments also help to kick the meal up a notch, making this a typically Sri Lankan dining experience.  Dare I say it? Tony’s got a new favorite Sri Lankan dish.

            

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No Reservations:Sri Lanka Day 4 – Lampreis

 

The entrance hall of the Dutch Burgher Union

 

Tony has a local guide for today’s on-camera segments so I’m technically off-duty, but I tag along anyway because I cannot pass up the chance to indulge in another one of my favorite Sri Lankan dishes, Lampreis. The Dutch name–pronounced  “lump rice,” and meaning the same–describes its main component, a generous mound of short-grain samba cooked in a flavorful stock.  On top of the rice nests a special mixed-meat curry of chicken, beef, and pork; brinjal moju, which is deep-fried eggplant sautéed in onions and spices; ash plantain curry, made from the flower of the banana tree; blachan, a type of spicy shrimp paste; a frikadel or meatball made of beef or fish, and a hard-boiled egg to top it off. And that’s not all. The whole meal comes wrapped up in a fresh banana leaf and steamed, allowing all the juices of the contents to infuse the rice with an indescribably rich flavor. Lampreis represents the original bag lunch—island style–though in the Dutch Burgher community of Sri Lanka, it is usually reserved for special occasions.

For me, eating lampreis makes any day a special occasion. Its individual components make it such a labor-intensive and time-consuming dish, however, that it is best left to the experts to prepare. Most of these experts claim the heritage of the Dutch Burghers, a tiny (and dwindling) community of mixed race Sri Lankans, who are fiercely proud of their European stock as we soon discover when we visit Colombo’s Dutch Burgher Union, located on a pleasant tree-lined street in Bambalapitiya.

The crew relaxes between shots (of beer that is!)

A throwback to the colonial era, the clubhouse walls are adorned with framed black and white portraits of former club presidents. Wooden ceiling fans provide the only respite from the heat. Upstairs, members can trace back their lineage in the library or play snooker at the bar. Tony opts for the bar, where he receives a lively briefing on the good old days when these descendents of the Dutch held a favored place in society. Despite their strong connection to Holland many Burghers left for England or Australia in the late 50s when Sinhala was made the official language of Sri Lanka.

One who stayed put is Lorraine Bartholomeusz, a feisty lady who is smoking a cigarette and listening to an album by Sergio Mendes and Brasil 66 when we arrive at her modest but well-kept flat. She is fair-skinned like most Dutch Burghers, and speaks English with only a hint of a Sinhalese accent. Mrs. Bartholomeusz is one of a handful of Burgher ladies in town who still make lampreis according to the traditional recipe, and she has kindly agreed to make some for the show.  The lady I originally suggested, who also makes a superb lampreis, turned out to be camera shy, but Mrs. Bartholomeusz has arranged her kitchen like a cooking show with all the pre-measured ingredients lined up in identical small bowls.

Unfortunately, the set-up gives segment producer Jared a mild panic attack. “We want authenticity, “he confides. He is able to persuade our hostess to move the demonstration to the more rustic outdoor kitchen behind the house by telling her the natural light is better there. But before filming the preparation of the lampreis, they go right for the actual meal, so Tony can eat and run (as this will not be his only feed of the day, and the Jacuzzi apparently aids in digestion). As Mrs. Bartholomeusz explains the finer points of lampreis, which they eat with a fork and spoon, I catch Tony saying, “Wow, this is my favorite Sri Lankan food,” for the second time of the shoot.

When Tony returns to the hotel, and the crew shoots the food prep outside, I sit down to try the lampreis.  Stacked on a platter like delicate green bricks, shiny and wet from their recent steaming, they are smaller than most lampreis I’ve had, but sometimes good things are said to come in small packages. Opening up the banana leaf certainly releases an aromatic cloud of goodness directly into my nasal passages. The patchwork design of rice and curry against the green leaf also looks incredibly inviting. But I try the rice on its own first, savoring the infused flavors and oily texture. I can also clearly taste the earthy influence of the leaf itself. Then I mix in some meat, which is cut in pieces so small as to be unidentifiable. The only Sri Lankan dish I know that combines three different meats together, lampreis also distinguishes itself with the use of blachan, an Indonesian condiment no doubt brought here by Malay slaves. The eggplant has a slighty sweet flavor, due to a pinch of added sugar, and the ash plantain, a popular dish in Sri Lanka, tastes starchy–unlike what you’d expect from a flower. The frikadel, is usually replaced these days with a cutlet (a round, breaded, deep-fried mixture of meat or fish and potato), though Mrs. Bartholomeusz stays true to form. The egg almost seems like an afterthought for such a rich meal. But, all in all, I agree with Tony on this one, and immediately reach for another. 

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