I have a friend whose mother is Jamaican and father is of Sri Lankan heritage. He has two favourite restaurants. One is Fish Wings & Tings in Brixton (owned by a Trinidadian, I should note, but Caribbean), where we eat endless plates of codfish fritters and drink rum and Ting. The other is Hoppers, the Sri Lankan and South Indian concept with branches in Soho, Marylebone and King’s Cross, each ideal for lunch meetings and doltish catch-ups.
At the Soho branch, this friend of mine will tell me about the latest in electric cars in between sips of whisky and Diet Coke. But I don’t go nearly as much as he does. He’ll message the group chat with the words “I’m in Hoppers” at least once a fortnight, occasionally alongside a photo of an egg hopper, the rice-based pancake, and a plate of devilled paneer.
