While growing up in Canada, Ruwanmali learned about her grandmother’s way of cooking, which was typical to her hometown of Kandy, Sri Lanka, from her mother, who exposed her to many ingredients and techniques. Her passion for cooking is inspired by her family’s history in farming and gardening. Ruwan’s maternal grandfather and uncles worked as agricultural and botanical curators on estates and parks in Sri Lanka’s highlands (in Kandy and Nuwara Eliya) and her paternal grandfather owned many fruit, rice, and coconut estates throughout Kandy. Her knowledge of South Asian foods and ingredients has been enhanced by her travels to various parts of Asia and numerous trips to Sri Lanka. She shares her love of her heritage, food, and travel with her husband and daughter.
“Their entire life-style is different; those in the villages living a simple uncomplicated life free from the hustle and bustle of traffic, in a fresh and clean atmosphere ...”
(Doreen Alles, Traditional Foods & Cookery Down the Ages)
Sri Lanka is one of the most breathtaking places in the world, and no matter how often I go back, I never cease to be amazed by the incredible geography and flora and fauna of this island. Some of my fondest memories of my family’s numerous visits to Sri Lanka from Canada over the years are of the many road trips we took with my extended family of uncles, aunts, and cousins. I can recall as a child being in awe of how much one region differed from the next. This was especially true as we travelled several hours by car from the capital city of Colombo to my grandmother’s house (and the home my mother grew up in) in Peradeniya, Kandy.
As a child sitting in the back seat, I would watch the remarkable transition from bustling Colombo city life with its open shops and street vendors to slow-paced village life in Peradeniya. I witnessed the drastic transition in landscape from Colombo’s western coastline to the lush, cool hill country of Sri Lanka’s Central Province. Set amid hills on a plateau high in the south-central wet zone, Kandy is part of the Central Highlands, a region that is home to some of the country’s highest mountains. On the drive from Colombo to Kandy, I would see the ocean, flat grassy fields, waterfalls, river gorges, and tall forested mountains, all within the span of only a few hours.
Our usual route always included a break to eat hot lump rice (rice and curries wrapped in banana leaves) at a local rest house, followed by a detour to Nuwara Eliya for tea. My mother was ever-vigilant as we made our way along the narrow roads that snake around the edges of high slopes, but my eyes would be on the vast estates of finely cultivated tea. From a distance the tea pickers appeared as scattered specks of brilliant colour—wind-strewn flowers against terraces of green. And along the hillsides, local farmers stood by stalls, displaying their harvests for sale: jackfruits, leeks, carrots, cabbage, potatoes, beets, avocados, mangos, and papayas. After briefly stopping to pick up fruits for the following morning’s breakfast, we would drive to our favourite tea house, nestled in the cool misty hills. There we would sip our cups of hot black tea, as fresh as the surroundings and equally satisfying.
We would arrive late in the evening at my grandmother’s house, and I would awaken the following morning to birdsong. I would find my mother already dressed, eating breakfast and chatting with family or friends who had dropped in. This summed up Peradeniya for me: happy, informal reunions around delicious meals. In later years my grandmother cooked less, but the household help that had been with her for almost their entire lives were well versed in her recipes. They prepared local varieties of rice, pittu (steamed rice flour rolls), aapa (bowl-shaped rice flour pancakes), coconut sambol and roti, and green leafy mallum (finely cut greens), as well as typical hill country curries such as jackfruit, beetroot, pumpkin, and ash plantain. For afternoon tea, my sister and I would go to our aunt and uncle’s house next door, happily anticipating the homemade cakes and sweet treats.
Almost every visit to my mother’s hometown included a day trip to Peradeniya’s Royal Botanical Gardens and joining evening crowds at the annual Perahara festival in Kandy. In between family gatherings and sightseeing, we made trips into town to places such as the Kandy Central Market to find freshly picked fruits and vegetables, meats, fresh and dried fish, bottled palm oils, and ground and whole spices. The stunning displays of spices stacked on top of tables or piled in baskets offered an unparalleled array of scents and colours.
Although the pace of life is slow in my mother’s hometown, our visits seemed to go by quickly. Before leaving Peradeniya, however, we would make a trip to my father’s home village in the neighbouring Western Province. My paternal grandfather originally cultivated various coconut, fruit, and paddy (rice) plantations in the Central and Western Provinces. Physically being in the place that my father told me so much about when I was growing up in Canada always felt surreal. Quietly stepping foot on the land and looking across acres of coconut trees brought to life the stories about my grandfather. I would invariably recall my father’s words, that my grandfather had started it all with just one coconut plant.
The memories and experiences of our travels as a family inspired me to maintain a connection to our heritage. My parents fostered our Sri Lankan traditions throughout my childhood in Canada, but there was one part of our culture that I was particularly drawn to: the food. The simple act of preparing the dishes and sharing them with family and friends felt natural to me. Just as I enjoyed travelling and taking in the small details of a scene or landscape, I equally enjoyed the quiet intricacies of cooking. Watching my mother cook the various foods we had in Sri Lanka, and seeing how the meals brought people together, became a strong part of my connection to our culture.
Often at my mother’s side in the kitchen, I found myself paying close attention to her recipes—and the stories she attached to them. Unconsciously paying homage to my parents, grandparents, and our shared heritage, I learned about the ingredients my grandfathers cultivated and my grandmothers cooked with. Cooking with my mother also encouraged me to develop my own culinary instinct (since she, like most all Sri Lankan cooks, rarely measured spices or ingredients). While we did not always have the specific cooking tools or exact ingredients called for in the original recipes, the dishes were always so flavourful.
The majority of the recipes in this book originate from the hill country and are village-style curries the way my grandmother used to make them, while still several other recipes reflect the country’s diverse and impressive regional foods. Naturally, most all recipes feature flavours or methods that are a result of historic culinary influences to Sri Lanka (originated from Portuguese, Dutch, and British colonial times).
The first section of the book, “The Essence of Sri Lankan Cooking,” shares the basic principles of what is commonly known to Sri Lankans as their rice and curry diet. “The Pillars” discusses the three chief ingredient categories central to Sri Lankan cooking: coconut, rice, and spices. Recipes for roasted and unroasted curry powder are also provided—these are my family’s recipes.
The section “Tips and Other Things to Know” includes information about using key spices and ingredients, traditional cooking methods, and the texture and consistency of dishes. This is followed by a recipe section, and several of the recipes include tips on how to save time as well as suggestions for menu planning.
Every Sri Lankan meal I make gives me a renewed appreciation for my upbringing and heritage. And inviting family and friends to share the meals I grew up with lets me extend the same generosity I experienced on my many travels in Sri Lanka. With this book, I invite you to develop your culinary instinct for Sri Lankan cooking, and to share the meals you make with family and friends.
“Despite a complex blend of spices, Sri Lankan dishes are simple to prepare.”
(Douglas Bullis and Wendy Hutton, The Food of Sri Lanka)
There is an art to Sri Lankan cooking: an intentional blending of plants and spices and a careful balancing of fats, acids, starches, proteins, and grains. The use of the freshest ingredients, the harmonization of various textures and consistencies, and the characterization of dishes by their vivid colour and rich aroma: this is the essence of Sri Lankan cuisine, and these are the factors the cook instinctively considers when preparing any dish.
Some aspects of Sri Lankan cooking have remained unchanged across the generations. For example, Sri Lankans tend to refer to their diet as the “rice and curry” diet. In contrast to a course-based menu, a main grain and several complementary dishes are brought to the table together. The types of dishes served depends on the main dish, but usually there is a meat or fish dish, two to three vegetable and fruit dishes, and a lentil dish. The grain is usually the largest in proportion to other dishes. Curries and other dishes are not overly large in quantity. This variety allows for a well-balanced meal and an equilibrium of flavours (spicy and cool), consistencies (dry, which is usually the texture of the grain, and moist, which is provided by the gravies of the curries), and textures (soft, hard, and fibrous meats, fruits, and vegetables). For dessert, generally a variety of fresh fruits are served, and on more formal occasions, traditional desserts, which tend to be very sweet and rich, make an appearance. Beverages play a key part to aid digestion and enhance the flavours of a meal or dessert. (You will find that a Sri Lankan rarely serves dessert without the satisfying accompaniment of a hot tea!)
The cooking methods of village cooks and past generations have also left their mark on the cuisine. My late grandmother’s home in Peradeniya sits on a property that you wish only to walk barefoot upon. It once had an open well for bathing, vegetable and flower gardens, and papaya and coconut trees. The kitchen has two open entrances (one leading to the back garden), an open hearth with utensils hanging overhead, and earthen clay pots. Growing up, I would listen to my mother recount stories of my grandmother’s cooking: she made a jackfruit curry that simmered in a walang (a large unglazed clay pot) on a low, open flame overnight; prepared her own ginger preserves from the large gingerroot unearthed from her garden; made ghee with fresh milk from the family’s cows; and cooked with the coconuts collected from her own trees. She would prepare sambols with a miris gala, a tool made of stone that would by today’s standards be considered an artifact. Ingredients would be placed on the stone base of the miris gala (literally, chili stone) and ground by rolling a cylindrical stone over top. This miris gala is still used in the house in Peradeniya, along with the vangediya and mol gaha (picture a gargantuan mortar and pestle). My grandmother had two sets of vangediya and mol gaha: one wooden, to pound raw rice paddy into rice flour, and one stone, to grind spices.
My mother recalls that beef and poultry were prepared infrequently and were more of a treat (partly because my grandmother was Buddhist and didn’t eat meat). Beetroot, potato, snake gourd, bitter gourd, pumpkin, and eggplant (commonly called brinjal in Sri Lanka), however, were just a few of the many vegetables, either gathered from the market or purchased from a vendor travelling through villages, carrying fresh fruits and vegetables.
The diet of those living in the Central Province was greatly influenced by the natural environment: chilly and crisp at higher elevations, such as Nuwara Eliya, with spring-like conditions in Kandy on the same day. A weather pattern characteristic to Sri Lanka is alternating wet and dry spells with seasonal monsoons. Yala, the southwest monsoon, occurs from May to August and brings heavy rain to the south-central interior and southwestern region. These two areas comprise the “wet zone” and offer perfect conditions for growing tea, rice, and an abundance of fruits, tubers, and vegetables. (Maha, the gentler northeast monsoon, occurs from October to January and brings rain to the north. Most of the southeast, east, and northern parts of the country comprise the “dry zone.”)
Many of the stories about my grandmother refer to her hospitality. In addition to raising seven children, she opened her home to almost daily visits from friends and extended family, so she ensured there was always enough food to serve her family and guests. She also regularly took food to her neighbours and the nearby temple. Her generosity nurtured values around the importance of family and community.
When my mother immigrated to Ontario, Canada, in the mid-1970s she brought these ideals and values with her. She showed me from a young age that food is much more than something to be swallowed on the go or unthinkingly consumed at set times of the day. Rather, mealtime is to be appreciated, celebrated, shared, and most importantly, enjoyed! It is a time for the family to take a break, to gather together and relax in each other’s company. On more formal occasions, meals served Sri Lankan–style are works of art, showcasing hospitality and abundance.