Sri Lanka

Restaurant: Hoppers
Location: Soho
By Boeing: 5406 miles
By Boris Bike: 0.1 miles


The modern English are weaned on curries. Many a teenage evening is spent sat in makeshift booths, shoulders rubbing against scratchy red carpeted walls. Our definitions of curries are anglicised, our tikka masalas made with tomato puree and sugar masked in spice. So exploring a greater variety of curries in adult life is exciting. Branching out beyond the quartet of Madras, Dopiaza, Bhuna and Masala is liberating. Other than a few outposts in Tooting it had been difficult to get Sri Lankan food in London. Those outposts of impossibly polite, impeccably waist-coated waiters were somewhat stuffy. Worth an excursion on the northern line for the food, certainly, but not a regular for a convivial evening with friends. But with tourism to Sri Lanka building and the country gaining a certain exotic chic Hoppers opened in Soho to capitalise on the growing interest in Sri Lankan lifestyle and cuisine.

If it was a gamble to launch an unheralded cuisine on the London scene it was one that has paid off. You can’t book at Hoppers and to get a table you have to turn up three hours earlier than you wish to eat and have your name written on a clipboard. It is more than sufficient time to build up a healthy appetite. The décor of Hoppers has a certain colonial elegance, perhaps in part inspired by the success of the Bombay café inspired Dishoom chain. Exposed brick, elegant lighting, a wooden beamed roof and ceramic tile floor certainly give it a quirky sophistication.

To start, a lovely memory of a recent holiday, we enjoyed Arrak attack cocktails: strong, sweet and reminiscent. The main courses are based on hoppers, a fried, pancake like basket. They provide a tasty receptacle for curries and have a satisfying snap and crunch. The rest of the dishes were an onslaught of spice. Rich, fragrant gravies clinging to tender meats. Layers of spice build on the palate with every mouthful. But the real eye-widener is the infamous sambal, a devilishly hot paste made from chilli and coconut. Sri Lankans make their own family recipes of sambal and use it to infuse all number of dishes, proud that the heat is too much for western tastes.
For many the bustle of Bombay is too much, too visceral an experience. In comparison the historical charms of Galle, the gentle beach life of the southern resorts and the faded elegance of Kandy and the tea country make an intriguing alternative. Those returning from holidays there would very much enjoy reliving its tastes. Whether Sri Lankan cuisine will catch on in London to the same extent as Vietnamese and other spicy Asian alternatives to the old staples remains to be seen. But the long queues at Hoppers certainly suggests it has filled a growlingly popular niche in the London dining scene.

Spain

Restaurant: Brindisa

Location: Soho

By Boeing: 5041 miles

By Boris Bike: 0.2 miles

Traditional British tapas was little better than fragranced stodge intended to soak up jug after jug of Sangria. Going out for a Spanish meal was an attempt to liven up the grey of a British winter with some Mediterranean colour. The food itself was often disappointing being a local rendering of flavours yet to be mastered. But in the food revolution since the millennium tapas has been elevated to far more sophisticated level suiting the relaxed, informal, time poor dining experience cosmopolitan Londoners wanted. The menus branched out from chorizo, patatas bravas and Spanish omelettes to showcase a greater range of regional delicacies.

As a business model, tapas borders on genius. Selling taster samples at the same price as a full plate with a quick turnaround ensures high yields. It is easy to spend £50 and leave bewildered and still hungry. But such is the London restaurant scene these days. Brindisa is small, welcoming and convivial with most punters sat around the bar. It is an intimate space with more of the ambience of a coffee shop than a formal restaurant. Handsome barmen and polished steel seem to set everyone at ease. The menu is enticing and varied, with lovers of shellfish particularly well catered for. You are no one in London these days unless you consume Galician Octopus thrice a week. The curling tentacles look deeply unappealing, like gnawing on the calloused hands of a plasterer. As ever I favour the meat dishes, which are consistently succulent and flavoursome.

In such a welcoming atmosphere the volume of middle class chatter is deafening and no conversation is private when you are all bunched around the bar. Spanish dining is a gregarious activity, almost the antithesis of the sometimes starched conservatism of high end French cuisine. The food is a distraction from conversation, albeit a very welcome one. It feels a world away from the Spain of the Costa Brava where fat, peeling ex pats order English breakfasts at bars owned by footballers. Brits are starting to see Spain for more than its sun and sand and cuisine is playing a part in its re-invention in the English psyche.
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