In The Guardian, David Jenkins writes about his food experience — dal, dal, dal was dull, dull, dull — on the hippy trail back in the seventies, and how much things have changed since then with the arrival of apple pie in Varanasi and ‘German bakeries’ and bottled drinking water everywhere
The first one I remember having out East was on Unawatuna Beach, near Galle, in 1981, with Simon Le Bon. Unawatuna was ravishing then: a perfect crescent of golden sand, a few bamboo shacks, a house some rich junkies lived in, two members of Duran Duran seeking inspiration for their next video, and a palm-fringed restaurant, its deck facing the sunset. I was, of course, stoned; I had, of course, the munchies. And Simon… well, Simon was pouring maple syrup over a banana pancake. There it was: glistening, glutinous and the answer to any hippy’s prayers. So I ordered, and I ate, and I was hooked. Ever since – from Sihanoukville to Sikkim, from Vagator to Varanasi – I’ve fallen ravenously on those banana pancakes and wept with joy.
