Place: Amaya Hills. Kandy, Sri Lanka.
Murraya koenigalle, a comfort dish in Sri Lanka, is a red-rice
porridge with curry leaves. The dish has a refreshing taste and a mild
finish.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Murraya koenigalle
White Diamond lemon arrak
Made from fermented fruit, grains and sugarcane, arrak is a distilled
alcohol typically found in south and southeast Asia. This particular
arrak, rated at 33% v/v, is imbued with a sappy lemon nose. The taste
is straightforward, with the sweet, refreshing taste of the lemon
masking the alcohol's strong punch. While the finish is short and not
particularly exciting, there is no unfavorable aftertaste. I could see
it as a great mid-afternoon companion, especially under the intense
heat of the summer.
Woodapple juice
Place: Heritance Kandalama. Kandalama/Dambulla, Sri Lanka.
Freshly made woodapple juice at sunset, overlooking Kandalama Lake.
Sri Lankan egg hoppers
Place: Heritance Kandalama. Kandalama/Dambulla, Sri Lanka.
My favorite Sri Lankan breakfast: hoppers two-ways and the sambol
trifecta (pol sambol, seeni sambol, katta sambol).
Pastries at the Pagoda Tea Room
Place: Pagoda Tea Room. Colombo, Sri Lanka.
Dish: assorted pastries.
Nothing beats starting the day with a sumptuous breakfast of fried and
baked food. Pagoda Tea Room, a well-regarded institution among Colombo
residents, serves up some of the finest, freshest pastries in town.
For my breakfast, I ordered (clockwise from right): fish cutlets, fish
and egg pastry, and fish roll.
Getting to the Pagoda Tea Room is not easy: due to its close proximity
to the presidential compound, the road leading to the restaurant is
completely road-blocked and under severe military surveillance. I am
able to sneak in only after showing my passport and ensuring that all
the destruction I could muster while visiting Pagoda is, by way of
their food's oily excesses, to my health. Humor does help.
Breakfast near Sri Pada
Place: Yellow House. Near the entrance to Sri Pada, Sri Lanka.
After an exhausting overnight hike to the peak of Sri Pada, a
sumptuous breakfast is on offer: guava juice, guava fruits, papaya,
mango, sour bananas, toasts, two eggs, and coffee.
Fried rice with chicken and a fried boiled egg
Place: The Grand Hotel. Nuwaraeliya, Sri Lanka.
The Grand Hotel, formerly a vacation home for a British aristocrat, is
by all means pompous and extravagant. The menu at its restaurant does
not suggest otherwise, with an impressive offering of meats and
seafood dishes prepared in traditional Anglo-French ways. But I
thought I'd stick with local flavors and try their local food. This
fried rice is flavorful, with plenty of juicy bits of chicken and
toasted nuts. The best, however, is the fried boiled egg, which
provides a heavenly conflation of texture upon mastication, with the
crispiness of the fried surface balancing the softness of the egg's
inner core. The floral surface suggests a healthy helping of pepper,
light spices, and salt.
Home-made fish cutlets
Place: a private home. Sri Lanka.
Nip's mom makes the world's best fish cutlets. The Maldive fish is
first chopped (not ground) and then mixed with potatoes, chopped
onions, ground pepper, curry, and held together by egged breadcrumbs.
It is then fried in flavored hot oil. Upon plating, the fish cutlets
are already inviting, with a shiny surface and a plump shape. Upon
mastication, the cutlets burst with flavors of the sea and of an
accomplished kitchen. Most importantly, each bite effuses warmth and
hospitality -- which makes visitors like me feel instantly at home.
Thank you, Nip and mom!
A Sri Lankan+Indian buffet
Place: Raja Bojun. Colombo, Sri Lanka.
Dish: A hearty buffet platter (x3), with a cold bottle of EGB, a
ginger beer and Sri Lankans' favorite non-alcoholic drink.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Dudamel conducts Bernstein and Mahler in Beijing
This past Friday evening, my friend and I attended a concert by Simón Bolívar National Youth Orchestra of Venezuela, conducted by the 27-year-old phenomenon, Gustavo Dudamel.
Simón Bolívar and Dudamel performed two pieces: Bernstein's West Side Story Symphonic Dances and, after intermission, Mahler's First. The rendition of Bernstein's West Side Story was, for me to put it mildly, less than enthusiastic. The outcome was stiff and uninspiring, and lacked the interplay between jubilance and mellowness, as well as the mischievous energy that was called upon by Bernstein. The performance was sourly disappointing, not least because I was eagerly looking forward to this performance after having read and heard so much about Dudamel, who was to become L.A. Phil's youngest-ever music director starting next (2009-10) season, and the Orquesta Sinfónica Simón Bolívar, one of more than 200 youth orchestras in Venezuela funded by the Venezuelan government with the aim of uplifting poor neighborhoods and children who live in them through structured music education. Simón Bolívar, considered the apex of this wildly successful art and social experiment, has won accolades and praises not just for its narrative as a pioneering, broad-reaching social program but also for its symphonic prowess and artistic balance. Therefore, when we heard something that was more like my high school band than one with multiple DG recordings, at least I was so crestfallen that, before the Bernstein was half completed, my mind was drifting away, not into Manhattan's west side as Dudamel probably had hoped, but to endless permutations of how to salvage this Friday evening if we were to skip after intermission.
After intermission, we went back nevertheless, with her Proustian reminder that, even if we had tried, we couldn't have found a better place to be on a brutally cold Friday night in Beijing than in the embrace of the National Centre for Performing Arts. And boy, we were glad we didn't bail! When the first sets of A chords came out, we knew right away that our concerns were unnecessary - they came out with plenty of force and confidence, projecting one-part of controlled balance and one-part of sensual opulence. The Gesellen passages were superbly rendered with meticulousness -- evoking, rightfully so, memories of listening to the Wayfarer Lieder with Kubelik and Fischer-Dieskau, on which part of the first movement is based. The galore continued with a majestic entrance to the second movement, intermingled with a velvety, triple-time mid-passage. The third movement was spacious but not in any way dragging. The voicing of the Frère Jacques passage was smooth and gleeful, with a perfect relay of windwinds meandering through Mahler's handcrafted dazzle. By the fourth movement, I was wondering how much, during the Bernstein, I had missed under the cloak of my suspicion and unwarranted anxiety. The fourth movement was perhaps the high point of the evening, with monstrous horns, plush strings, and a percussion section that made me feel inadequate.
Without a doubt, Dudamel's baton managed to control all of that artistry with precision, raising Simón Bolívar's spirit and energy as he saw fit. And mind you, Simón Bolívar was not an easy baby to control: it had about 150 musicians for the Mahler and over 200 for the Bernstein. By the time the Mahler was marching towards its grand finale, Dudamel was at his best, unleashing a galloping orchestral splendor filled with dramatic outbursts, ending the evening with a feeling of finality and authority. I have always been a huge fan of Mahler, but always in a subdued, measured kind of way. But the way I reacted to Dudamel's Mahler was alien to me -- it was warm, emotional, and fulfilling. Toasting to that, this Mahler by Simón Bolívar and Dudamel was as good as any Mahler's First I have heard.
Simón Bolívar and Dudamel performed two pieces: Bernstein's West Side Story Symphonic Dances and, after intermission, Mahler's First. The rendition of Bernstein's West Side Story was, for me to put it mildly, less than enthusiastic. The outcome was stiff and uninspiring, and lacked the interplay between jubilance and mellowness, as well as the mischievous energy that was called upon by Bernstein. The performance was sourly disappointing, not least because I was eagerly looking forward to this performance after having read and heard so much about Dudamel, who was to become L.A. Phil's youngest-ever music director starting next (2009-10) season, and the Orquesta Sinfónica Simón Bolívar, one of more than 200 youth orchestras in Venezuela funded by the Venezuelan government with the aim of uplifting poor neighborhoods and children who live in them through structured music education. Simón Bolívar, considered the apex of this wildly successful art and social experiment, has won accolades and praises not just for its narrative as a pioneering, broad-reaching social program but also for its symphonic prowess and artistic balance. Therefore, when we heard something that was more like my high school band than one with multiple DG recordings, at least I was so crestfallen that, before the Bernstein was half completed, my mind was drifting away, not into Manhattan's west side as Dudamel probably had hoped, but to endless permutations of how to salvage this Friday evening if we were to skip after intermission.
After intermission, we went back nevertheless, with her Proustian reminder that, even if we had tried, we couldn't have found a better place to be on a brutally cold Friday night in Beijing than in the embrace of the National Centre for Performing Arts. And boy, we were glad we didn't bail! When the first sets of A chords came out, we knew right away that our concerns were unnecessary - they came out with plenty of force and confidence, projecting one-part of controlled balance and one-part of sensual opulence. The Gesellen passages were superbly rendered with meticulousness -- evoking, rightfully so, memories of listening to the Wayfarer Lieder with Kubelik and Fischer-Dieskau, on which part of the first movement is based. The galore continued with a majestic entrance to the second movement, intermingled with a velvety, triple-time mid-passage. The third movement was spacious but not in any way dragging. The voicing of the Frère Jacques passage was smooth and gleeful, with a perfect relay of windwinds meandering through Mahler's handcrafted dazzle. By the fourth movement, I was wondering how much, during the Bernstein, I had missed under the cloak of my suspicion and unwarranted anxiety. The fourth movement was perhaps the high point of the evening, with monstrous horns, plush strings, and a percussion section that made me feel inadequate.
Without a doubt, Dudamel's baton managed to control all of that artistry with precision, raising Simón Bolívar's spirit and energy as he saw fit. And mind you, Simón Bolívar was not an easy baby to control: it had about 150 musicians for the Mahler and over 200 for the Bernstein. By the time the Mahler was marching towards its grand finale, Dudamel was at his best, unleashing a galloping orchestral splendor filled with dramatic outbursts, ending the evening with a feeling of finality and authority. I have always been a huge fan of Mahler, but always in a subdued, measured kind of way. But the way I reacted to Dudamel's Mahler was alien to me -- it was warm, emotional, and fulfilling. Toasting to that, this Mahler by Simón Bolívar and Dudamel was as good as any Mahler's First I have heard.
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