Nothing to do with hopping or with people who hop. The ‘worldtravelfamily’ website tells me that: ‘Standard hoppers are typical Sri Lankan bowl-shaped or funnel-shaped pancakes. String hoppers are nests of noodle-like steamed batter. They’re almost like rice noodles, to eat with curries and chutneys in place of rice. Hoppers can be filled, you’ll see egg hoppers, vegetable hoppers and sweet hoppers.’
I was introduced to hoppers, egg hoppers especially, on my first visit to Sri Lanka in 1968 and I loved them. They have been part of my breakfast experience here in Sri Lanka ever since. And that experience has been added to this week.
On Monday, my first morning at the Galle Face Hotel, at the breakfast buffet, down the very far end, past fresh fruit, wonderful papaya, bananas, passion fruit, melon and pineapple; continental sausages and cheese; bread for toast and various jams and marmalade; all sorts of curries; baked beans, bacon, potatoes and mushrooms; past the chef who made omelettes and who fried eggs to order, then there at last was the stall and chef for hoppers. Monday’s chef was elderly, small and spoke little English. I asked if I might watch and he smiled in agreement.
A hopper frying pan, if that’s what it’s called, is like a semi-spherical metal bowl with a handle. I don’t see how it could be used with an electric or induction hob. Charcoal or gas, I would have thought. Here it’s gas. The pan is wiped clean with a smidgen of oil then heated. My day one chef held the pan near his face to check the temperature. Then in went a small ladle of batter which was swirled around to make the thinnest of shells, an egg dropped in the centre, the yolk broken and it too swirled around. The pan is then covered. When he judged it to be perfectly cooked the chef placed it on the plate I proffered. He then popped another crispy pale brown hopper on top of the egg hopper and was obviously pleased when I took some chilli paste as an accompaniment. We were both pleased. He pleased that I was pleased. I pleased by his skill and obvious enjoyment of the task and at the prospect of eating my first Sri Lankan breakfast of the visit.
On Tuesday as I came in to breakfast I nodded good morning to an older Sri Lankan couple at the next table. The husband and I had exchanged pleasantries at the pool the previous afternoon. They were obviously regulars at the hotel and the staff treated them with particular deference and respect. There was a different chef at the hopper stall and he suggested I go back to my table and that he would send my egg hopper when it was ready. This egg hopper was not up to Monday’s standard. The yolk wasn’t broken but that’s the same as some liking their fried eggs ‘sunny side up’ and others not. The shell of this egg hopper was not crispy, “Not good,” I thought, but who am I to judge?
And then I noticed what was happening at the next table. An egg hopper was brought, barely tasted, and rejected. There was a brief conversation with the waiter. After a while a second egg hopper was brought and even I could tell it wouldn’t do. The shell instead of being an even palest of pale browns was blotchy white, dark and light brown. It was rejected on sight. A third attempt was also rejected, not with anger but with a sigh of disappointment. My neighbour and I acknowledged our mutual sadness with a look.
Wednesday morning there was yet another chef at the hopper stall and while I was there a young Sri Lankan woman came up beside me with, already on her plate, some string hoppers and accompaniments that I hadn’t noticed. I asked about them and she said, “You should try them.” And she explained that as well as the chilli paste there was caramelised onion mixture, not spicy, and a coconut sambal. She also told me where I’d find the string hoppers and added, “I always take everything!” So, of course, I took everything. Wednesday’s hoppers were better than Tuesday’s hoppers but not as good as Monday’s hoppers. Even so there was no need for lunch.
Thursday, another day, another breakfast, another chef who suggested I take one of the egg hoppers already made. I declined on the grounds that I wanted the yolk broken not whole. This was not altogether true as what I really wanted was a hopper freshly made. To be fair this chef was trying, at the same time as making my hopper, to instruct a trainee in the art of omelette making. My egg hopper had almost the look of a lotus flower around the edge, pretty maybe, but not the way for a hopper. And there was a puddle of batter at the bottom. Oh dear.
Today’s hopper, it’s Friday, was not too bad. Not up to Monday’s standard but not too bad. I didn’t recognise the chef from earlier in the week but he certainly was not Monday’s chef.
I know that small matters occupy small minds but surely it is clear to all that hopper making is not a small matter.