The mist had not lifted.
By morning, the world was still nothing but shifting grey, the jungle whispering beyond the reach of sight. I had slept too deeply, the kind of sleep that comes when your body is busy processing the kind of heat it barely survives.
Downstairs, the guesthouse owner sat cross-legged on the porch, peeling garlic with the slow patience of a man who had never rushed a thing in his life.
“Eat,” he said, nodding toward the kitchen. Not a question. A command.
I stepped inside.
The air was thick with spice—cinnamon, cumin, something darker, something unfamiliar. A clay pot sat over a low flame, steam curling up in lazy spirals. Vegetables bobbed in a coconut broth so golden it looked like stolen sunlight—potatoes, carrots, green beans cut with the brutal efficiency of a man who had done this a thousand times. A handful of mustard seeds snapped in the oil, a last-minute act of defiance.
But something felt off.
The door to the kitchen was open. Beyond it, the mist swirled, revealing flashes of the hillside, the curling path leading down toward the valley.
And then—
A shadow.
Not the guesthouse owner. Someone else.
Still. Watching.
The curry simmered. The scent was maddening—rich, earthy, sweet with coconut but holding a bite of something sharper, something waiting beneath the surface.
“Sit,” the owner said, sliding a plate toward me. His voice was steady, but his eyes flicked—once, toward the open door, then back to me.
I ate.
The first taste—velvety, warm, the coconut carrying the weight of spice like an apology for what was coming. Then, the fire—green chilies, hidden beneath the sweetness, striking hard enough to remind me I was still in their country, still at their mercy.
Outside, the shadow moved.
A rustle in the leaves. A presence that did not belong.
“More?” the owner asked, his hand drifting—not toward the pot, but toward the knife resting by his side.
I swallowed.
Nodded.
Because danger comes in many forms.
And some things—some pains, some flavors—are worth facing, no matter the cost.
How To Make A Sri Lankan Mixed Vegetable Curry
I find the best thing about learning to cook cultural recipes in the country they originated is also learning the story behind them. Other than being a great cook, Winston gave great explanations as to why certain things are used together. We even got Alona to use the hand cranked coconut grater.
Once we started popping the mustard seed in the hot pan along with the curry leaves and pandan, the smells started to permeate the outdoor kitchen. That is how flavorful this dish is. If you are cooking it indoors, make sure to crack all the windows you can. In fact, around this point other home stay guests came outside and requested this mixed vegetable curry for their dinner as well.
Mixed Vegetable Curry Ingredients
- 2 Potatoes, peeled and cubed
- 2 Eggplant; sliced into medallions
- 1 Plantain sliced into medallions
- 2 Carrots, diced
- 2 cloves of Garlic, roughly chopped
- 2 Onions; chopped
- 12 Long Beans; chopped
- 1 tbsp Mustard Seed
- 3 branches Curry Leaves
- 1 Pandan Leaf; ripped into 2-3 cm pieces
- 2 cups Coconut Milk; homemade is best, but as that’s difficult store bought also works.
- 6 Chili Peppers
- 3 curls Cinnamon
- 1/2 tsp Turmeric Powder
- 1 tsp Salt
Mixed Vegetable Curry (Sri Lankan Style)
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Take a pot (we used a clay pot, but a dutch oven on a medium flame also works) and add the vegetable oil, mustard seeds, curry leaves, and ripped pandan leaf. Shallow fry until the mustard seeds start to pop.
- Add all the chopped mixed vegetables. Put a lid on the pot and turn the heat down to medium low. Let simmer for 10 minutes,
- Add the coconut milk, coriander powder, and cumin. Replace the lid and let cook for 10 minutes.
- While it is cooking, crush the chili peppers, cinnamon, and turmeric with a mortar and pestle. (You can use a food processor if you do not have a mortar and pestle).
- Add the chili paste to the pot and cook for 10 more minutes. Add salt to taste.
- Serve the mixed vegetable curry with red rice (or rice of your preference), poppadum crackers, and coconut sambal.
Winston also taught me the recipes for:
Ambul Thiyal – A Sour Fish Curry
Sri Lankan Roti – A coconut based skillet bread
This recipe is featured in my article Best Sri Lankan Recipes
