Yesterday was one of the hottest days of the year. So what did J and I do? Walked to the gym (a good 12 minutes) at noon. Serves us right then that after the workout we decided we were going to faint and to prevent that we would need cooling beverages, stat, that had a bit more oomph than our already-warm water bottles.
Of course we found ourselves in that new little ice cream place located cleverly just opposite the gym. It's a purveyor of Italian ices and creams. And what did J find there, actually paying attention while I drooled witlessly at the pictures of mint chip cups and double chocolate scoops? A mango ice, but sprinkled with cayenne pepper powder and squeezed with lime! I pounced. To make matters better, the owner is a kindly old chap who looks indulgent while you slurp, making you feel you are being watched for the day by a grandparent.
Then today was another little inferno. Triple digits if you please. Fahrenheit, not Celsius of course, can you imagine that, ha ha. But today thankfully we didn't walk but drove to the tiny Sri Lankan place we'd tried once eons ago. Again, I pounced. Something just came loose in my brain at the sight of that food and the smells. Of course the proprietress helped too, matronly and talking in that sing-song Sri Lankan English. There was fat unpolished rice with potato stew in coconut milk, tender green beans, a spicy fried rice and an atomic-level fish curry. Plus a choice of really enticing salads and sambols: one with kale and coconut, one with dried coconut and red chillies, and another with little eggplants and onions. (I had all.) Also the dessert, a heavenly sort of flan with palm sugar that goes by the delightful name of wattalappam.
And the regulars kept streaming in, making their inside jokes, catching up with news, squabbling over menu choices and so on. Sri Lankan t.v. was playing. All this and the intense heat shimmering outside gave us the impression we were back in the lovely Bertie's Lunch House somewhere in Colombo, where we had a very beautiful meal one day a few years ago.
And now, because gluttony is so thankfully rare, I have just eaten a demure nectarine for dinner. That and a homemade popsicle. But Sunday lunches should be devilish. If only my stomach had a respectable capacity to be gluttonous more often.