So, Pol Sambol. "Pol" is the Sinhalese word for coconut (Sinhalese, by the way, is the language spoken by the majority ethnic group in Sri Lanka. It is essentially derived from the ancient Indian languages Pali and Sanskrit, but has been bastardised along the way by the inclusion of Portugese, Dutch and English words into the lexicon - not very unlike the way Sri Lanka herself has been bastardised <ahem> sorry, culturally enhanced by the occupation of these countries at various stages of her history. Sinhalese is utterly useless outside Sri Lanka, except of course when you are with another Sri Lankan in a foreign land and you want to say something rude and / or lecherous about one of the locals sitting next to you without having your head punched in and / or being reported to the authorities: in this respect, it is absolutely brilliant...)
"Sambol" is a little harder to describe. On the one hand, the word - in normal - usage, will almost always be used to refer to a food-item. There are many types of sambols in Sri Lanka, including "Pol" (which we are currently discussing), "Seeni" (literally "Sugar" but this only refers to one of the ingredients in the dish, which predominantly consists of fried onions - this vagueness in naming a dish after one of its minor ingredients is a very Sri Lankan trait and applies to many other aspects of Lankan life, not just food: as an example, our MPs are always referred to as "The Honourable Mr. So and So...) and "Onion" (not to be confused with Seeni Sambol, although the key ingredient is, again, onion - it's just different ok, don't ask...).
The other usage of the word "sambol" is more idiomatic, describing a situation in which the protagonists have got themselves into a muddle (for example, "tch, they've got themselves into a real sambol now, men". Fyi, "Men" is just one of those things that get tacked on to the end of sentences in Sri Lanka, much like the Singaporean "lah" or the Sarf-London "innit") not unlike the English term "to get into a pickle". Now, one might think that "Pol Sambol" should, therefore, logically mean "Coconut Pickle". It doesn't. Logic of that nature does not apply in Sri Lanka (we have our own indigenous logic, thank you) and Pol Sambol is actually rather more in the way of a "relish" than a pickle.
Here's what it looks like:
As you can see, the main ingredient is grated coconut (sometimes, the names of dishes actually do refer to the key ingredients, but not always - it's a matter of discretion, and an example of indigenous Lankan Logic or "ILL"), to which one adds chillie (actual chopped pieces of the fresh red stuff - red as the Devil's bottom and twice as fiery), maldive fish (not necessarily from the Maldives - another example of ILL in action - but chopped bits of salted dried fish), onions and perhaps a squeeze of fresh lime. The traditional method of putting this all together is to lay the whole lot in a heap on a traditional slate slab and grind it all up into the glorious mass pictured above, but you can just as easily chop everything up very fine and mix it by hand as well. A tip for people living outside Sri Lanka, you can use desiccated coconut, but nothing beats gratings of the real thing.
For me, like many other Lankans, pol sambol must be ring-stingingly hot or there's no point to it (I will explain "ring-sting" later...) - this is not a dish to be wimped down to "mild" or even "medium-spicy", it has to be had full-on for maximum effect. It is a very versatile dish, one which goes with pretty much anything - an accompaniment to rice and curry; a side-dish with hoppers or string-hoppers (more on these in a future post); or simply on its own with hot, crusty, rustic village bread (my favourite - hence the name of the blog).
It is a dish that can be eaten at breakfast, lunch or dinner or, as is often the case, at breakfast, lunch and dinner with a quick pol sambol sarnie as a stop-gap between the three. This is Sri Lankan comfort food, pure and simple (but no longer cheap given the price of coconuts these days): it is our bread-and-butter pudding, our treacle sponge, our mother's apple pie, our foul medamas (Egyptian sister-in-law). My favourite way to eat it is with fried eggs, bacon and bread for breakfast (or sometimes, for dinner).
It is hot and fiery, burns your tongue on the way in and burns elsewhere on the way out ("ring-sting"); it is calorific, criminally high in cholesterol and fundamentally bad for you; yet at the same time, it comforts you when times are tough and perks you up when times are good: it is, in other words, quintessentially Sri Lankan and I love it.
