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When a restaurant has a passionate fan club, it makes you take notice. Chef Ceylon’s champions include acclaimed chef Kylie Kwong, Sri Lankan-Australian artist Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran, and the couple at my neighbouring table, who’ve travelled from the northern beaches and unreservedly endorse this western Sydney establishment: “The food is delicious,” they say. The claim is backed by their towering stack of finished plates and a two-hour round trip (not to mention $20 in tolls) to get here.

No matter your postcode, there’s pay-off in dropping by. Chef Ceylon opened in 2018 on Toongabbie’s main strip, where the scent of spice hints at the many Sri Lankan eateries near the train station. The current owners (husband-and-wife team Nilani and Duminda De Silva) took over in 2023 and also manage sister restaurant Kandy Bites in Glebe.

Step inside Chef Ceylon and you’ll be magnetised by the rainbow rows of curries and various pastries in its bain-marie. Spotlit pan rolls (which resemble crumbed spring rolls) are stuffed with lamb, chicken and vegie fillings by pastry chef Kisaa Kuda Widanalaga, who quietly assembles them at the back of the restaurant. She makes about 1000 a week. They’re also known as Chinese rolls, namechecking the migrant community that likely shaped the Sri Lankan snack.

There’s more Chinese influence in the brilliant hot buttered mushrooms, deep-fried into a crunchy rubble and jolted with honey, garlic and chilli. Their capsicum strips and jags of ginger evoke the wok-tossed comforts of a stir-fry.

Hot-buttered cuttlefish, another Sri Lankan staple, is made here in a similar way, with crushed chilli and pepper levels dialled up or down according to diner preferences.

The firepower of the kottu roti can be fine-tuned, too: ask for mild or opt for the full-blast impact that a mountain of chilli paste generates. Translating to “chopped roti” in Tamil, kottu roti was apparently invented in the 1970s to ingeniously repurpose old flatbread.

It’s known for its distinct soundtrack: the percussive clatter of metal spatulas as street vendors loudly slash and scatter roti strips through ingredients at a fast-food tempo on a grill.

On an island country known for diverse demographics (Hindus and Buddhists who avoid meat, Muslims who shun pork), kottu roti can be flexed accordingly. At Chef Ceylon, it crackles with deep-fried curry leaves and coconut shreds. Enjoy it with egg and confetti-strip vegetables, or add chicken, lamb, goat or seafood.

The roti is sliced and wok-tossed in a kitchen run by head chef Pemasiri Egodagedara, so you won’t hear the cross-cutting rhythms of street stalls. Instead, a YouTube playlist of Sri Lankan artists such as Bathiya & Santhush (BNS) is the restaurant’s only soundtrack.

Over several visits, I become a Chef Ceylon champion and start a conversion spree. My boyfriend orders the chicken and lamb curries, but agrees the vegetarian options are the stars. According to Lanka Food by O Tama Carey (who runs Darlinghurst’s excellent Lankan Filling Station), curry and rice remains Sri Lanka’s national dish, despite the many agricultural and political changes the country’s endured. She says the blanket term doesn’t do justice to the dazzling spectrum of what “curry and rice” can mean.

At Chef Ceylon, it spans gentle dahl, starchy chilli-speckled ash plantains and sweet lively ribbons of beetroot curry. Rice might come with kale mallung, animated with fresh coconut and shredded greens, or what I’m told is “famous” eggplant (wambatu moju), technically a sweet and sour eggplant pickle. Deep-fried eggplant wedges – hit with mustard and fenugreek seeds, steeped in a syrupy vinegar, chilli and sugar mix, and served with crisp onions and green chilli – are reduced to confectionery-like shards of caramel and spice. I savoured this with every rice grain.

“Chef Ceylon’s kottu roti crackles with deep-fried curry leaves and coconut shreds.”

Sri Lankan food has dynamic range: it can be gently spiced, tangy or feature a roaring amount of chilli that hits like an intense weather system. Mango lassi is a good tonic, as is a Sri Lankan ginger beer. The fridge is also filled with rose-syrup pink faluda, a drink of Persian origins that’s topped here with ice-cream and rainbow sprinkles.

On one visit, I walk by an indecision-plagued customer. I suggest the eggplant, but he says his wife often cooks it at home, a little too often – a “problem” I’d love to inherit! In a household without wambatu moju on regular (or any) rotation, I’m glad there’s Chef Ceylon for my cravings.

Good Food reviews are booked anonymously and paid independently. A restaurant can’t pay for a review or inclusion in the Good Food Guide.