You'll need your passports this week, and I’d suggest some light clothing too, as we’re heading off across the Arabian sea, passing over the southern tip of India to arrive at the wonderfully warm, vibrant island of Sri Lanka.
I learn almost everything I know about the place from Chamika Himendra, one of my chefs, and who was born and raised in the town of Galle, at the southern end of the island.
Cricket fans will know it for being home to one of the most picturesque stadia anywhere in the world, perched on a promontory right by the seaside. They love their cricket over there, and Chami still puts his pads on every Saturday during the summer to stride out for the Old Almondburians.
Sri Lanka’s an incredible place, currently undergoing the (hopefully) last rumbles of a bitter war between the Tamil separatists of the north and the incumbent government. With luck, the country will continue to calm down, and allow the tourism trade to flourish once more, for there is much to see and do there.
It sits in a sea teeming with fish, both the small, shoaling coastal varieties like mullet and groupers, and the big deep-sea fellers like marlin, swordfish, tuna and king mackerel. The Sri Lankans make much use of the fish their fishermen bring home, and it forms the largest part of the local cuisine.
Take a trip into the interior, away from the more heavily-populated coast, and you enter lush forests and wide highlands, home to monkeys, lemurs, leopards and the endangered Sri Lankan elephant.
Geographically, Sri Lanka is perfectly situated to allow the cultivation of tea, and much of the higher central region of the island is filled with large plantations. It’s even possible to go and stay at some of these grand houses, and immerse oneself in the rich, exciting history of the Ceylon tea trade. Besides having the nearby wherewithal to make a really good cuppa, any foodie would be happy to live there, as much of the native vegetation can be used in all manner of culinary pursuits.
The curry leaves we used in last week’s squid dish grow on large trees all over the place, as do nutmegs, cloves and cinnamon.
Imagine peeling off a roll or two of fresh cinnamon bark from a tree in your back yard! Tropical fruit grows in abundance, from mangoes and papayas to the lesser known custard apples and soursops. The wood-apple, which grows like a weed, and is used for hedging, produces a hard fruit which can be cracked open to reveal a dense, sticky pulp, which is made into all manner of desserts, drinks and jams.
The coastal plains are where much of the coconut crop is grown, a crop which provides much of Sri Lanka’s export income, alongside the tea. It is used in hundreds of recipes, savoury and sweet, and adds that seductive, perfumed flavour to whatever it touches, whether it’s a fiery sambal sauce or a cool creamy dessert. And it’s one of these desserts we’re going to make today, the charmingly-named watalappan.
Reading through this recipe it struck me as being almost identical to a crème caramel, so I thought I’d boost the traditional recipe with an additional topping of toasted nuts and sugar. I have to say it worked well, especially against the rich spicy flavours and that warm, rounded coconut taste.
It’s a great way to round off a hefty meal, perhaps a dense, complex rogan josh-type curry or even a big roast dinner.
The cool creaminess, soft texture and warming spices suit the task perfectly. You may not be able to nip out into the yard for your nutmeg, but this gets you as close as possible in Yorkshire. You can find jaggery sugar in most Indian shops.
FOR THE CARAMEL:
100g cashew nuts, roughly chopped
200g sugar
FOR THE CUSTARD:
180g dark jaggery
180ml water
½ tsp freshly-grated nutmeg
½ tsp vanilla extract
¼ tsp cardamom seeds
A pinch of ground cloves
1 cinnamon stick, broken
4 eggs, lightly beaten
185ml coconut milk
EXTRAS:
6 ramekins or individual pudding moulds
A little sunflower oil, to grease
A deep baking tray or roasting pan
METHOD:
First, make the caramel. Oil the moulds with a little oil and set to one side. Heat the oven to 220ºC / Gas 7. Roast the chopped nuts in a shallow dish, turning frequently, until they are deeply-roasted.
Put the sugar in a deep, heavy-based pan, and add a small splash of water. Bubble gently until the sugar dissolves, then raise the heat and swirl the syrup around until it reaches a deep golden caramel colour. Remove the pan from the heat and add the roasted nuts.
Divide this caramel among the greased moulds and allow to cool and set completely. Turn the oven down to 150°C. Place the jaggery, water and the spices in a saucepan over medium heat and stir until the jaggery has dissolved.
Cool this light syrup for 5 minutes. Whisk the eggs in a bowl and strain in the spiced jaggery syrup, discarding the solids. Gradually whisk in the coconut milk until the mixture is smooth and uniform. Place a teatowel or several layers of newspaper in the roasting pan, and place the greased moulds around the pan, well-spaced. Divide the watalappan mixture evenly between the moulds and fill the roasting pan with enough boiling water to come almost to the top of the moulds. I find doing this with the tray already in the oven works best and avoids spillages.
Cook the puddings for about 45 minutes or until a skewer inserted in centre comes out clean. They should have a slight wobble when jiggled. Remove carefully from the water-bath, set aside to cool slightly, then refrigerate for 2 hours or until chilled. To serve, run a knife around the edge to loosen, then carefully invert the watalappans onto plates. Remove the moulds to reveal the little wobbly puddings, topped with the cashew caramel.
