Passage IV

My Most Memorable Meal

[1]

Recently I came across a series of magazine articles which various people described their most memorable eating experiences. Out of all those people who were interviewed many of those people raved about the perfect seven-course meal they had once been served in a grand and expensive restaurant. Some reminisced about romantic picnics. Meals made memorable by the diner's companions; rather than by the food consumed. (52)

[2]

While reading these entertaining memoirs, I was myself moved to rummage through old memories in search of remarkable meals. My first meal at the college dormitory came to mind, (the name of it was Goodhue) but it was hardly memorable for its excellence. I considered the string of Thanksgiving dinners I've enjoyed, but, and perhaps by design, no one of them stand out as unusual. (55)

[3]

Then I remembered the night I tasted the Sri Lankan holiday dish called lampries. Served in a rough cottage in the Sri Lankan jungle, with lizards climbing the whitewashed walls and the innkeeper's dog leaping affectionately into my lap, the meal was certainly not remarkable for its formal elegance. It was, however, the more complex, elaborate, and delicious concoction I've ever eaten.

[4]

It took the innkeeper and the cook all day to prepare the spicy rice and four fiery curries that compose lampries. They began grinding the spices while we guests were having breakfast, and it wasn't until late afternoon that the innkeeper began cooking the curries.Then the cook layered them onto huge, green banana leaves, which she bundled up and tied into packets for the final baking.

[5]

All four rooms of the cottage were filled with the rich curry aromas of cinnamon, saffron, and mystery. The innkeeper brought out cold drinks and split a fresh pineapple. With two strokes of her machete, we took our places, and with great ceremony the cook brought in the lampries—one fat packet for each of us. Inside was a mixture so unforgettably hot and exotic it shocked us, but we kept eating.