by Louis Hessey-Antell. Find Louis on Instagram here.
How many independent coffee shops are there in Bristol today? Sorry for starting with a question, but it’s more a trick question. It’s akin to asking how many birds were in flight over the Avon Gorge two weeks ago. Less common, however, are genuinely authentic Sri Lankan restaurants. Ah, ‘authentic’, that dreadful word! Anthony, Talisman Sam’s right-hand man, isn’t a fan either, so let me try to explain exactly what is so charming about this little blue establishment, without using up any more clichés, and, Heaven forfend, too many unnecessary puns.
I’ve been writing about Bristolian food for decades now, and sadly, that has meant I’ve seen my fair share of mini-Bermuda triangles work their black magic on perfectly serviceable eateries through the years. Some more deserving than others, it must be said, but nothing in this universe could ever have guaranteed The Kandyan’s safety (particularly during the uber Bermuda-era that was 2020). unless they were doing something very right indeed. So in we ambled, and were soon joined by the affable-as-ever front of house team. The slightly more elusive Sam was either gathering some trademark chilli powder or enjoying a well-earned cricket game; but that’s for tomorrow to deal with.
Sam has endowed The Kandyan with years of knowledge, general good-humour, and an overall feeling of calm, and now presides over a close-knit team of promising young chefs and waiting staff. Everything that needs to be bought locally usually is, but when heritage trumps what the doorstep shop has to offer, common sense kicks in. Not common sense in a cynical way (frozen buckets of tried and tested delights to closely mimic a bigger brother in London somewhere) but taking the time to grow vegetables in their own allotment, procuring freshly ground curry powders from Sam’s sister back in Sri Lanka, and even using exotic spices exclusive to their sister hotel: Rangala Guest House. Going the extra mile doesn’t always cut it; the proof, as always, is in the eating experience, but it seemed worth mentioning.
Anthony is the perfect conductor, for the opening bars anyway, and narrates our first course delightfully. “That one’s probably quite spicy”, he warns, directing us to the centre of a crisp, white hopper, towards a dainty, piquant serving of spicy relish. I dip a curved corner into this to confirm, while Helen samples the sweet coconut sambal. ‘Very Moreish’ the menu reads and, at £4.50 a pop, this writer ain’t going to argue. Gone in sixty seconds, and every second a modest master-class in simplicity, we’re now more than ready to experience much more. The wine options at Kandyan are temptingly reasonable, but in this glorious heat, we can’t say no to a couple of fridge-cold Lion lagers. We enjoy the first half of these with more of Anthony’s timelessly witty anecdotes, before the third and final act arrives.
Enter ‘The Turntable’ (my affectionate temporary nickname for their new Taster Menu). We, the eager guinea pigs, give the spinning plate a few rotations to conjure up a gentle twister of aromas and begin splitting each little dish into rough halves. There are ten- count ’em- ten items to taste here (and that’s not even including the poppadoms in the central bowl– nor indeed the two bottomless rice bowls on the side) which I’m sure you’ll agree is a fairly conclusive journey through any under-known cuisine.
For some reason, I always go for the dry stuff first. Not an issue, though; the crisp wadeh (a little lentil-based fried patty) and the stuffed roti work beautifully as landing strips for every lusher flavour to follow. These diminutive servings somehow manage to work harmoniously together while also punching well above their weight in the taste department. The beetroot and mustard seed dish is, to borrow more of Anthony’s words, “vegan without trying”; half-chutney/half-curry somehow, and curiously satisfying.
Nearby are the lovely meat options: chicken and celeriac, and pork and mango respectively. The proteins are rich with marinade and yielding, stewed within their own individual complex, chunky gravies. Potent lime pickle (but not as you know it) sets these both off brilliantly, particularly in the eccentric way I’m fond of: inside a piece of roti, sandwich style.
Strangely, although not really when you consider our new friend’s earlier words, the golden medals probably belong to the vegan offerings in truth. Effortlessly savoury, polar opposites yet harmonious when sampled jointly, and this is just one of many impromptu flavour pairings available to any taster menu chooser; one is a green papaya chutney and the other a gentle spinach dhal. It would be redundant to wax lyrical (see…I’m already onto the cliches but almost made it through!) any further, so please allow me to conclude this article in the only way I currently know how; with some terse one-liners gifted to us by The Kandyan’s now oft-mentioned, and hopefully soon to be better known, spokesperson Anthony:
“The Singalese is different.”
“Serendip is the old name for Sri Lanka.”
“Does my entry to the country (Sri Lanka) affect the economy when I go over there? The answer is no, but I know what you mean.”
“Any Sri Lankan will tell you that the only way to get by is to multi-task.”
“Real Sri Lankan cuisine, a lot of it, is vegan without trying. It is vegan.”
“Sam is the Kandyan…he did it the hard way.”
I propose a further arm to this charming minor empire – perhaps something destined for a festival or event years away- ‘Sam’s Pop-Up’. All the sign needs is a little logo reading ‘From The Kandyan’, and hopefully all of Sam’s hard work can pay off just a little bit more.
Come for the art, the music, the drink, the conversation, and remain indefinitely for the food. You won’t be disappointed. Cricket fans get a few extra treats due to a local piece of cultural coincidence (or perhaps serendipity is the more appropriate word to use here- to pay some respect to one of the cuisine in question’s linguistic output) because Horfield is cricket mad and happily so is every Sri Lankan chef in Kandyan. The outdoor area is even called ‘The Pavilion’…I could go on forever, but at some point I need to go back to this place, so I’ll stop now.
“Two plain hoppers and The Turntable!” for a mere £44 will buy you a first-class ticket to…and this is one of mine… “an unspeakable dimension.” Budget a dozen quid more, and you can also enjoy a couple of large Lions to wash this all down with.
Highly recommended.
10/10
Louis Hessey-Antell