Coas-daal Nostalgia
like the cliche that i am –
After the 'fridge incident', I decided to swap shed life for island life. In an effort to avoid all adult responsibility – like salaries, rent, bills, relationships – I ended up funding my groovy lifestyle by accepting a job as Head Of Service for a surf and yoga retreat in Sri Lanka.
My job meant dealing with food on a daily basis. But although I was in the kitchen every day, I never got to cook. The place I was living in at the time – coined the ‘railway house’ thanks to its deafening proximity to the train tracks – had a basic kitchen, and I’m not sure if it was the stifling jungle heat, the lack of familiarity, the work or just that deep, dark hole I was beginning to spiral down again, but I abandoned my one lifeline: cooking.
I moved out of the railway house and in with my best friend Hennie, her husband Chris and two adopted pups named Mama and Captain Frank. Back in Cornwall, Hennie and I had been food obsessives, forever feeding friends with our infamous Lunch Club at Finisterre's clifftop offices. But I don’t think I cooked more than five times in the two months I was living in Sri Lanka.
I was spiralling further and I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to live with me – think your hangry housemate but much, much worse (thank god for friends like Hen, is all I can say).
Anyway, this isn’t about my sad spirals but more about the food that got me out of it. I remember the day distinctly – it was like emerging from the fog. I cycled to the hotel, and took in the beauty of my commute: the coconut trees, the lazy river, the local faces I had come to know and love.
Mr Weera (below left, snapped by Mr Joe Coyne) brought out our usual breakfast spread: homemade daal, roti, omelettes and coconut sambal. I could taste family and familiarity in the salt-peaked seasoning of the daal, grounded by turmeric and spiked with heat; the burst of lime in the fresh coconut sambal; the crisp edges of the omelettes and pillowy softness of rotis that had been made by the hands of local daughters, mothers, grandmothers and wives.
In the weeks after that moment, I reached for daal whenever I felt myself slipping. Whether it was the breakfast daal we got at the hotel each morning; the daal served up on roadsides after a particularly great (and sometimes harrowing) surf; the daal that came in Mr Sunil’s famous sandwich – a local Ahangama beachside shack that could be my favourite restaurant in the world; the daal made by the wife of my favourite tuk tuk driver Gayan, who would deliver it with the widest grin on his face – even bigger than the one shown in the picture above.
We call it comfort food for a reason. The dishes that make you feel held, at home, loved, in love, nourished and whole. And if there was ever a time for comfort, it would be now.
I hear rain is forecast next week. I say relish the cooler nights and make a big pot of daal. I’ll be doing just that tomorrow night.
Cat x
coas-daal nostalgia.
In Sri Lanka, a traditional daal is a prosaic and simple dish. No fuss, no frills. I barely use spice in mine, just a heavy dose of both fresh and ground turmeric that colours everything that perfect deep yellow (including your fingers and clothes if you’re as messy as I am in the kitchen). If I have coconut milk or cream to hand, I might chuck some of that in, but as with most of my dishes, I rarely follow the same measurements or ingredients more than once.
I go for red split lentils because they don’t need to soak and cook super quick. Other things you might need: fresh ginger, chilli flakes, fresh chopped chilli, a heavy pour of veg stock (say, the same amount as wine you’d drink after a break up), salt, one white onion – diced, a few big garlic cloves – crushed, spinach – fresh, and a big bunch of coriander.
For a big old pot, I usually measure out about half a packet of red split lentils in a bowl. (1) I heat around two tbsp of oil in a high sided cast iron pot on a medium heat. I like coconut oil as it gives it that nutty flavour and I’m never fussed about the nutritional content of oil, so any naysayers can use rapeseed or sunflower oil. (2) Add ½ tbsp of chilli flakes, 1-2 tbsp of ground turmeric and grate a thumb of fresh turmeric and about two thumbs of fresh ginger. (3) Then go the onions, let them simmer in the spices. (4) Turn the heat down a little and chuck in the garlic.
(5) Once it’s all soft, pour in the lentils and veg stock. (6) If using, add the coconut cream/milk and a big pinch of salt. (7) Turn the heat up to medium until it starts to simmer, then dial it down and let it sit for about 30-40 minutes. If it starts to look a little dry, add water/more stock, but keep tasting. You want the lentils to melt into the spices and stock, so they break down and create an almost coarse velvety texture.
(8) Once cooked, add in the fresh spinach. If I’m feeling frisky, I add peas because we all know I’m a charlatan that likes to bastardise traditional cooking. But honestly the sweet crunch of them makes me really happy so sue me. (9) Serve up in a big bowl with rice or flatbreads, and if you want to make a little yoghurt side hustle, mix yoghurt with lime, salt, extra virgin olive oil, pepper, chopped cukes and coriander stalks. (10) I add the fresh coriander without chopping it, and if I’ve remembered, I’ll toast some almonds to give it that extra crunch.
Enjoy with a beer and a slideshow of travel photos to make you remember that better days have been before and lie ahead too.
food stories.
– San Francisco pals Huckberry asked a few fave faces about their favourite cookbooks
– As the ultimate Bon Appétit fan girl, I love this Healthyish Guide To Being Alone
– Reliving the magic of Chef's Table with this episode featuring Korean monk Jeong Kwan
a few leftovers.
Hot dad Brad Leone's cooking videos at home are worth staying in for
Would happily wolf down this meatball sandwich from Rolf & Daughters
Don't judge a book by its cover, but do judge a wine by its label.
Oh to be picking fresh oranges in Jesse Kamm pants
Rosalind Jana's foodie partner cooked up this sausage vibe and I'm so into it
Upgrade your (fish) taco Tuesdays with Nud from Breddos
Go avokado mad c/o Danish chef Frederik Bille Brahe
and finally.
I aspire to this kitchen sink set up via Lee From America. Spring clean in progress.
and if you like what I'm putting down?
Tell your friends! Tell your family! Tell your lovers!