‘still magic’
I will be honest, as I always am with you, dear reader, West London is sadly not my usual stomping ground. A little better-washed, better-behaved, and silkily billowing than my Soho/East London bedfellows. But when you are invited to a bastion of Indian cuisine in London, one that predates your own existence by a decade, you dust off your best tight black suit and lacy white shirt. You excitedly skip past Harrods without even the slightest snarl at the gold-plated baby strollers that threaten to nip at your heels.
Steaming past some Americans butchering the tube station’s name, we steer a slight left at Gloucester Road. There she blows, sat in reigning Victorian splendour, arched and candlelit door peeking out-subdued but inviting. Inside, things are anything but played down. Canary-yellow kurtas frame welcoming faces, and pale-blue linen suits are thrown into brilliant focus by the two or three ginormous chandeliers. These glass monster squat above the main dining room as you strut from the swanky, moodily lit bar area. But this is, after all, August so the dinning room is deserted for the wraparound conservatory, easily the size of many of Soho’s biggest restaurants. Copious hanging plants mean that giants like me have to duck so as not to get a tendril in the eye, and a large birthday party basks in the diffused twilight. We have an intimate table at the side and slink back with a glorious view of the good times and satin-clad waiters as they calmly glide to and fro.
My partner was very intrigued by a cocktail named Cran It Be Love. Turns out Bryan Cranston designed it, and it features the Breaking Bad actor’s mezcal brand, Dos Hombres, which he shares with Aaron Paul (I guess it’s the closest legal thing they could merchandise to meth). Furthermore, they launched it in this very space. Nosing down for a divine, if dangerous concoction with a liquorice lightness that belies the diabolical blend of mezcal, cognac, absinthe sambuca and apple sour below. Benny, one of our many hand-holders during this great journey we call dinner, explains that my Red Hot Chilli Pepper is named after his (and my) favourite band, with a light kiss of chilli coming from Kashmiri peppers. Both cocktails-and I find myself shocked to say this-are well worth the £21/18 price tag, although perhaps just the once.
Back again, Benny explains that they produce a wide range of dishes from across the subcontinent (along with celebrity mezcal brands) and are the only restaurant in London to use a real coal fire for their Tandoori. This proves expertly true later in the evening. Blending Bombay’s authenticity with Goa’s spices, Bengal’s delicacy, Mumbai’s vibrancy, and Mughal opulence-an ambitious statement from the website, but we like a culinary battle cry!
But first, let’s amuse that bouche. Palak patta-baby spinach fritter (chaat) with lashings of sweet yoghurt and sapphires of pomegranate seeds-sits across from the best potatoes I think I have ever had: Aloo tuk chaat, a warming crunch with tamarind and slices of dates. These two tiny sweet smiles start the whole train ride off.
Moving to the more substantial: Adraki lamb chops, in an almost heart shape, wishful thinking clearly, as I am in love, with a tender thwamp of ginger and expert spice blend, reminding you of quite how bad these morsels of meat can be in subpar Indian restaurants. The corresponding chunk of chicken is nicely infused with thyme but pales in comparison to its sheepy neighbour.
Now for more of the famous flames. Somewhere behind swinging wooden doors, the tandoori coals are devouring. Prawns, one each, thick as a knuckle and curved upwards as if doing Dhanurasana yoga pose. They taste of smoke and industry but at the same time of sea, freshness, and nature. Lime marinade and the accompanying mint chutney give them a green-and-black sparkle and an engaging taste. A truly contradictory dish-three of these beauties will set you back £39, so it had better be.
Mains come in the classic scooped mini plates, with the crispiest Malabar paratha and Tandoori roti to dip and drag, and saffron pilau rice to soak. Even the grains have a perfect yellow crust like the face of some volcanic moon, and a depth of flavour equally explosive.
Chicken tikka makhani (their variant on butter chicken) is, without hyperbole, the best I have ever tasted-and this is my go-to dish in lesser establishments. “Rich and creamy” seems to do it a disservice; it is luxuriant and grown-up, as it should be, seeing as it has been with the restaurant from the very beginning. Jackfruit and carrot sukhe is a surprise hit, with a massage of warmth to the throat but the lightness of the raw fruit. An okra dish changes my perspective on the sometimes-slimy vegetable, and a deep dal makhani, along with a pearly raita, is present to calm all that spice. The lamb bhuna and kingfish in banana leaf rather take a back seat with all the heavier hitters around them. Mackerel can be a rather bony fish, and it’s an odd choice with all that almost uninterrupted softness and smoothness.
All this perfection is paired (thankfully not by us) with the recommended white-Grover Sauvignon Blanc 2023 from Bangalore. The heat of the day and the cool nights produce balance, yet a sharpness that keeps the spice in check.
Cupid’s bow is a dessert in itself, with rose water hooch coming in a coupe the size of your head, and my Southside hydration (a Negroni twist with coconut-infused vermouth) again calms the overestimated plate. Which is just as well, as the desserts are not the meal’s high point. A figgy, coconut-coated rasmalai is rather chunky, and Ajmeeri coconut mousse burfi is a rather too-sweet affair. However, a cardamom kulfi saves the day-like ice cream frozen in the heart of a gas giant, this is an improvement I didn’t know existed but now cannot live without. Even if the biscuit base might be hard on the old or Ozempic-affected wrists.
Anywhere where the poppadoms arrive on a solid silver sombrero-style plate is not going to be an everyday affair unless you are truly mint-chutneyed. The blend of many demonically lit, sparkler-filled birthdays and couples just leaking upper echelon is amusing, along with a smattering of the celebrity-wannabe Bryan Cranston crowd. This is a wine-by-the-bottle sort of place, a “how much for three prawns?” sort of place. A “God, that curry makes me want to melt into its core and become it” sort of place! After 43 years, there is still adventure happening here, still experimentation, still magic. Let Benny, Chef Sriram Aylur, and the team guide you around the whole triangle of Asia without even having to stand up. Although don’t forget your wallet, as travel is always an investment.
Grab a seat under that hanging jungle, click HERE!