The first thing that hits you at Kolamba is the smell, reminiscent of the southern tip of the sub-continent, of smoke and of spice. That sweet hit of boiled jaggery, and the stale perfume of dried fish. It’s small in here and we’re sat at the back, positioned in front of the open kitchen so that the chefs can check we’re not chewing gum or etching words into the wooden tables. Those manning the stoves work quietly throughout service, throwing bits into cast iron pans and tossing them aloft like children on a bouncy castle. The ferocious flames deflecting and bending in the light. The cooking is visceral, making me yearn for Sri Lanka. The tea plantations and the beaches that I have only ever read about, at length, whilst trying to get there, hopefully, possibly, maybe, some day. We get a house white made especially to go with this style of food. It is proof that sweet and floral very is the route to take when dealing with spice.
And so to work with more food than is sensible between two, still less than they recommend and way more than the tables capable of holding. They juggle with the space until the wine is off the table and the radius of the wine glasses plug the spaces in between the plates and bowls. But for this, and this is important, the dishes arrive in the correct order. Poppadom’s first, followed by smaller bowls, whilst rice and hopper miraculously appear at the same time as the curries. It seems silly to mention, yet so many restaurants appear to think it is acceptable to send stuff out in an order which suits them and not the diner. I want those poppadom’s first, and good they are, too. The mango chutney it arrives with is excellent; gloomy, full of heat, and addictive.
Something which should be applauded is four of the five vegetable dishes being vegan. We have two of them and they possibly make my two strongest recommendations. The cashew nut fry, robust and punching with layers of spice and heat, and a dhal rooted in time and love, as memorable as any dhal I can recall in the UK. The red lentils braised in coconut, softly spiced and more of that curry leaf. It’s delicious, though likely highly improper, to eat with the hopper containing a friedCacklebeanegg. And I do, further proving my theory that all dhal could be improved with a runny yolk.
There are prawns from the meat and fish section, not the easiest of things to eat, though thankfully served with the finger bowl. Pan fried, they are tasty yet flawed, with most of that sticky mass of chilli and spice remaining on the shell that needs to be removed. Better is the jaggery beef, slow cooked and pungent with cinnamon and ginger. The dark sauce is ideal for mopping up with the rice scented with curry leaf and cardamon. I’m a little bit in love with the gentle complexities that run linear throughout Sri Lankan cooking, less so with the noodle-like texture of the string hoppers that are the last thing to arrive. Everything gets coated in pol sambal; the fresh coconut and chilli relish of sorts that lifts all it touches.
I take a lot home. Half the beef, half the cashew, some leftover dhal fleshed out with rice. It makes for quite the dinner later that evening. Kolamba is very affordable; the snacks and veg dishes sit under a tenner, whilst the meat and fish are all mid-teens. I enjoyed lunch there a lot, tucked away on a bit of Soho that is now becoming a hub for places to eat which won’t cost a fortune. Of all the Sri Lankan food I have eaten in this country (granted, not much), this is place that really makes me want to get there. Hopefully, possibly, maybe, some day. Til then, Kingly Street, Soho, will make do.
8/10
