A Sweet Invitation
It was a warm afternoon in a small Sri Lankan village when my host placed a simple clay pot in front of me. “Curd,” she said with a smile, sliding a small jug of amber-colored liquid alongside it. I’d heard of buffalo milk curd before, but never tasted it. The treacle—kithul palm syrup—glistened in the sunlight like liquid gold, promising something indulgent yet unpretentious.
The First Spoonful
I dipped my spoon into the creamy white curd, its texture thick yet silky. As it met my tongue, the flavor was tangy and fresh, almost like yogurt but with a richness that felt deeper and earthier. Then came the treacle—sweet, smoky, and slightly caramel-like—swirling into the curd and transforming it into something entirely new. My taste buds paused for a moment, as if asking me to slow down and pay attention.
More Than Dessert
Halfway through, I realized this wasn’t just about taste. It was about history, tradition, and the way food here connects people. My host explained that in Sri Lanka, curd and treacle is more than a dessert—it’s comfort, celebration, and a gesture of welcome. Families share it at the end of a meal, roadside vendors serve it to travelers, and for many, it’s a taste of home.
Lingering Sweetness
When the clay pot was empty, I noticed the coolness of the curd still on my tongue and the treacle’s sweetness lingering in the back of my throat. The breeze carried the scent of nearby kithul palms, and I found myself thinking that perhaps this simple pairing was perfect precisely because it hadn’t tried to be anything more than itself.
A Memory I’ll Crave Again
As I left the village that day, I carried with me more than just a full stomach. I carried the memory of a dish that felt like a smile—warm, generous, and unforgettable. Even now, miles away, I can still taste that first spoonful, and I know I’ll return for it someday.
The First Time I Tried Curd and Treacle—and Fell in Love