salaam namaste, bloomsbury - review

Bloomsbury is an area that I - still to this day - strongly associate with my golden yesteryears at university. I bunked many a lecture from UCL’s Department of Physics and Astronomy in favour of social smoking and afternoon snakebites in the student union, located at a proximity too conveniently close for self-discipline to have much of an effect.

This isn’t really an area of fascination, unless it happens to be the place you live or study, or you’re visiting the British Museum. It’s dense with poor students surviving on Boots meal deals paid for with clubcard points, when bank balances are as below zero as a harsh Alaskan winter. I will assume the grown ups who can afford to live here entertain more socially-happening parts of town when they dine out. And sure, Bloomsbury is relatively close to the well-heeled business folk of Chancery Lane and its immediate surroundings, should any of them fancy a 20 minute walk for an Indian lunch.

Yet here you will find the ‘finest Indian’ cuisine, according to the website of Salaam Namaste, a restaurant in this spot since 2005, run by award-winning Chef-patron Sabir Karim. And yes, it is fine. In the same way five pound coins change instead of a crisp note is fine. Or your medium-rare steak request revealing only the most modest blush of pink within is fine. It’s ‘fine’ in that it did the job - it fed us and we ate (most of) it.

I specifically chose an Indian dining partner to assist the critiquing and fill in any knowledge I might lack. He proved a useful sounding board for the mixed bag of dishes we received.

“These poppadoms aren’t evenly cooked. Look at the different shades of colour here and here. Try this bit, it will be chewy and not crisp,” he was right.

Chukandari venison tenderised with beetroot had pleasing flavours, but the vegetable had been a bit slack in its job, the meat needing the serration of a steak knife to dissect. The spoon of dark pink beetroot dip was a delight though, sweet, earthy and hot. 

Beautiful fat prawns, were delivered on a scalp-sweating pool of Portuguese ‘fiery spices’ - essentially translating to the extra hot sauce at Nando’s. Coughing and spluttering, we sucked the sweet flesh from the shells with tingling lips - it was my favourite dish. Goan spiced scallops with mango salsa were soft and delicate, but perhaps needed a little salt.

Also good was the moru kachiathu - ripe mangoes and green bananas cooked with yoghurt, green chillies, ginger and curry leaves. Sweet and tart, with a back-of-the-throat heat tickle and chewy fruit. Very pleasing.

Ginger marinated lamb chops were fine (that word again), but not close to the falling-away disintegration from a hard stare alone I have come to expect from them (I specifically recall their outstanding texture in Chakra). Then there was an aromatic lamb curry, served in the clay pot it was cooked in, which looked good furnished with fresh coriander, but was just a bit lacking in both interest and succulence of meat.

Mooshed up baby aubergine with sesame and a mustard and curry leaf sauce is difficult to ignore on the menu, and it didn’t disappoint. But then there was the promise of whole grilled butterflied mackerel with a tomato and cucumber salad, which does nothing but call out to you on a hot June day. I have fond memories of eating exactly this whilst gently rocking on a boat surrounded by the azure of the Aegean on trips to Turkey.

But this was about as far from that as you can get. It looked great, all shimmering and golden, but the first bite told a different story. It was exceedingly tough, but worse than that, it tasted - wrong. It was detected instantly and I immediately extracted the offending mouthful - we left the rest of it untouched. My partner asked if it was cooked from fresh, they said it was. I don’t know what was wrong with it, but it wasn’t right.

For a Friday lunch, business was sparse. Those that were present were serving themselves from steel vessels on the side for the buffet deal. I think we were the only ones ordering a la carte, and so we waited a little longer than usual for the kitchen to manifest the dishes, but it wasn’t a problem.

The interiors leave a lot to be desired, with every inch of surface area assaulting the eyes with varying degrees of beige and brown. The staff were nice enough, and perhaps there’s a different vibe in the evening. This has the potential to be a decent local, and fulfill that requirement I’m sure it regularly does. But competition for Indian cuisine in London is tough and standards elsewhere are too high for me to hurry back.

Liked lots: spicy prawns and green banana with mango
Liked less: mackerel, interiors, lunch-time atmosphere
Good for: a reasonably priced lunch if you happen to be in the area; a candidate as a decent local

My rating: 3/5

Find the menu on Zomato.

Afiyet olsun.

Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.

zumbura, clapham - review

The first thing you’ll notice about Indian restaurant Zumbura - nestled in the well-to-do idyll of Clapham Old Town - is that in almost every way, it does not feel like an Indian restaurant. 

The interiors: no linen, leather bound menus, chandeliers, or sitar recordings. Instead, a vivid ceiling butterfly-and-birdscape, and deep turquoise and bare brick walls embellished with wild flowers in slim glass vases. 

There’s a wooden bar of organic form laden with ingredients used in the kitchen including the namesake fruit zumbura (pomelo in Urdu) and fresh tamarind. The crockery is beautiful, imperfect, handmade, and purchased from a local pottery. Brass light fittings with bare bulbs adorn the walls, chairs are seemingly salvaged classroom-style wood and metal, and there’s a presence of shabby chic nick-nacks.

It feels altogether South American to me, reinforced by the large and full-on Argentinian family force at the table one over having a rollicking time in Spanish, and another table of three Spanish friends. They even have tequila on the after-dinner digestif menu.

The agreeable interiors can no doubt be attributed to the trio behind the enterprise - co-founders of furniture retailer Dwell, Aamir Ahmad, Sean Galligan and David Garrett. The kitchen and the food cooked in it often make the heart of a home, so whilst sidestepping from the furniture business to restaurateur seems a little off-tangent, I suppose a (tenuous) link could be argued.

The staff: an absence of any sub-continental front-of-house. 

The food: clean, sprightly, fresh, vibrant; small plates intended for sharing, Indian-tapas style. There are no superfluous and sorry-looking lettuce plate adornments. There is no poppadom fodder to make you thirsty and order more alcohol. There are no layers of oil pooling on the surface of sauces (I know people who stick the edge of a serviette in to absorb the excess sin before eating).

Chef Raju Rawat (previously in the kitchens of Bombay Bicycle Club, The Cinnamon Club and Michelin-starred Benares) was drafted in to help achieve Ahmad’s vision: to create a British Indian restaurant authentic to the cooking found in traditional Punjab homes, without the customisation so often used to appease western palates at the detriment of dishes. 

If his intention is for the food to taste like no other found in Indian restaurants, then based on my restaurant repertoire, he’s nailed it.

Spinach and onion pakoras, battered in chickpea flour and lightly fried were entirely without grease, blisteringly hot straight from the oil, sporting a flourish of fresh coriander and nothing short of a delight dipped into the tart and sour imli (tamarind) and green chutneys (£4.50).

A nod to the Indian street-side favourite that is chaat - bread fried to a crisp and puffed rice, doused in a calming yoghurt and a piquant ginger tamarind sauce, and entertaining a mix of tangy, salty spices - one of my favourite plates and one for the teeth as much as the taste buds (£4.50).

Potato cakes were smooth and delicately spiced rounds, providing a further great medium for the zippy chutneys (£4.50)*, and the chapli kebabs were handsome, dark and slightly charred disks, soft patties of beef kneaded with garlic, ginger and spices (£7.50)*. Breaking either of these apart revealed the still-vibrant presence of component ingredients - coriander leaves, onions. It all feels like it was made moments before, and probably was.

Firm and nutty kala chana (black chickpeas - my favourite form of this pulse and incidentally, my preferred choice when making humous) braised over time with onion and mango powder was an earthy, wholesome bowl of texture and flavour (£4.50). A yellow daal cooked with curry leaves and garlic, was thick enough to hold its form when spooned onto a plate (£4), the bowl quickly excavated with the help of warm parathas and naan making up the bread selection (£4.50).

* these portions include three pieces - we were given two (as seen in the photos) as were sampling many dishes for the purpose of the review.

Opaque hunks of coley spiked with mustard seeds and fenugreek was great (£8.50), with basmati assisting the mopping of the sauce. The kullia stew of lamb and turnip was arrestingly aromatic, with sweet and slightly translucent hunks of root veg, flaking meat, bones to suck on, and the sort of gravy cleared so completely, kitchen staff may well have wondered if they had put anything in the bowl in the first place (£7.50).

For a sweet close, there are a handful of traditional desserts - chilled rice pudding with cardamom, buttery semolina, and gajar ka halwa - a very nicely done warm and creamy amalgamation of grated carrot, milk and sugar (not too much) topped with pistachios (£3.50). You won’t go far wrong with ice creams or sorbets either - pistachio intensely represented, mango fruity and refreshing (£3). 

I’m yet to mention I worked 30 seconds walk from Zumbura from the day it opened in November last year until I left that job in March this year. Colleagues tried it, but I never got round to paying a visit. Lost time, of which I will be making up for.

This is a great neighbourhood local offering something quite different to the rest of the Indian dining scene - finally the sort of Indian restaurant food you really could eat every day.

Liked lots: the completely different feel to other Indian restaurant in all aspects, wonderful staff
Liked less: I'll get back to you
Good for: eating great Indian without the associated ghee-laden self-loathing

My rating: 4/5

Afiyet olsun.

Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.

RECIPE: chicken saag and coriander chapatis

chicken saag and coriander chapatis

As the ever-perceptive Homer Simpson once sang whilst shaking his backside in a conga line during an archetypal The Simpsons moment, “You don’t win friends with salad”.

Unless, you can transform a load of greens into something everyone wants to eat - a curry. A great tasting one at that and likely to be healthier than most ‘salads’ on the market.

I've come across a fantastic 7,000 word article covering the 34 science-backed health benefits of spinach written by Helen Nichols over on Well-Being Secrets. Awesome bedtime reading, should you still needed convincing about spinach.

A chicken saag is a curry consisting of the meat cooked in a spiced sauce made from some type of leafy green - mustard leaves, finely chopped broccoli, fenugreek (methi) or in this case, spinach. There is a lot of good in this dish and it’s low in fat. So it’s a good option for all the self-restraint we’re (supposed to be) exercising at this time of year. Serve with rice to mop up the sauce, or some warm and freshly made coriander chapatis (below).


Chicken Saag 

Serves 4

260g fresh spinach leaves
1 thumb sized piece of fresh ginger, chopped
3 green chillies
2 garlic cloves
30ml rapeseed oil
8 whole black peppercorns
3 bay leaves
1 tsp cumin seeds, ground (or ready ground cumin)
1 tsp coriander seeds, ground (or ready ground cumin)
2 small white onions, chopped
4 tomatoes, chopped
2 tsp mild madras curry powder
1 tsp garam masala
4 skinless chicken thighs with bone, flesh scored
4 skinless chicken legs with bone, flesh scored
5 tbsp low fat yoghurt
Sea salt
Coriander leaves (optional)


Cook the spinach in a pan with a tight fitting lid on a medium heat until wilted - there is no need to add water or oil. Push it about a bit with a wooden spoon. Once wilted, transfer the spinach to a food processor. Add the ginger, chillies (de-seed them if you want to remove some of the heat), garlic and 50ml of water. Blitz until smooth.

Pour the oil into the same pan and on a medium heat, fry the peppercorns and bay leaves until the former begin to pop. Add the cumin and coriander, stir, and cook for a further minute. Add the onions and a pinch of salt, stir and cover. Cook until soft and brown, about 10 minutes - give the onions a nudge now and again with the spoon to prevent any sticking.

Tip Retain any water that condenses in the lid when you lift it to stir - allow it to fall back into the onions.

Add the tomatoes, stir and cook for another 3 minutes. Add the garam masala and curry powder and cook for further 3 minutes.

To this pan add the spinach mix, combine well and cook for another 5 minutes. Stir in the yoghurt, a tablespoon at a time. When fully mixed, add the chicken and combine until they're well coated. Simmer with the lid on until the chicken is cooked through, about 20 minutes. Remove the lid and raise the heat so the sauce begins to boil. Keep stirring and turn off the heat once you’re happy with the consistency of the sauce. Taste for seasoning and feel free to add more yoghurt if it has too much chilli heat.

Serve in warmed bowls with a sprinkle of fresh coriander leaves, a drizzle of yoghurt and some coriander chapatis (below). And by the way, this tastes even better the next day.

288 kcal per serving*

Coriander Chapatis

Makes 15

300g chapati flour
1 tsp rapeseed oil
80g coriander leaves, finely chopped
5g sea salt
2 tbsp low fat natural yoghurt

Sift the flour into a large bowl and add the coriander, salt and oil. To this add 3/4 cup of warm water and the yoghurt. Combine in the bowl with a wooden spoon until it creates one mass and then turn out onto a floured surface. Knead for 10 minutes or until smooth, no longer sticky and it springs back if you poke it. Place the dough into an oiled bowl, cover with a tea towel and leave to rest in a warm place for 15 minutes.

Divide the mass into 15 equal pieces. To do this weigh the whole mass and divide by 15 - the result is how much each piece should weigh, around 45g. Roll each piece into a ball between the palms of floured hands. With a rolling pin and on a floured surface, roll each ball out into the shape of a rough circle with the thickness of a 50p coin (around 2mm).

Heat a non-stick frying pan or tawa over a high heat for a minute. Put a chapati in the pan - when it begins to puff up and bubble, turn it over. You want each side to have browned and blistered a bit. Repeat with the rest of the chapatis. Don't over cook these or they will become hard.

Tip As each chapati is cooked, place it in a pile with the rest and keep the pile wrapped in a clean tea towel, rather than on a cold plate for example. This will prevent any condensation gathering under the bread.

These are wonderful eaten warm and fresh. Alternatively, keep them in an airtight container and consume within a day or so. Or you can wrap them in cling film and freeze them. If you do, place them in a warm oven to thoroughly heat up before serving.

71 kcal per chapati*

Afiyet olsun.

*calories are a close approximation calculated using My Fitness Pal.

yummy choo mauritian pop-up - review

aubergine bringele / shrimp croquettes / gateaux piment

The only Mauritian food I have the pleasure of devouring is cooked by my Mum – and hats off to it, it’s pretty good. No wait – it’s excellent (she might be reading this). All jokes aside, it is excellent. It’s a significant enough draw for me to have entertained fleeting thoughts throughout and post University of ‘maybe I could move back home?’. 

Such thoughts don’t pervade my mind anymore – I’m a bit past living with the parents now. But for Mum’s cooking, it’s almost feasible. I can genuinely smell the spices of her beef with cloves, achard, and butter bean curry as I type. Is there a word for that? According to Google yes. Phantosmia - the perception of a smell in the absence of any physical odours. Alas, there is no actual Mauritian curry where I’m sitting.

It’s not always feasible for me to drive the hour it takes to get to my parents unannounced and exclaim that I’m hungry for some prawn rougaille. Because if it was, my mum should be charging for the service. 

So when an opportunity arises to eat some home cooked Mauritian fare, I’m on the case immediately. And such an occasion presented itself in the form of a Mauritian pop-up supper club hosted by Selina Periampillai from Yummy Choo Eats. Here’s a little about the lovely lady herself:

'Selina Periampillai is a self-taught cook who hosts the popular 'Yummy Choo' supper club at her home in Croydon, specialising in Mauritian home cooked cuisine, and her website www.yummychooeats.com has become a ‘go to’ page for Mauritian inspired recipes and food reviews.  Specialising in cooking up colourful, moreish dishes with a tropical flair and unique flavours, Selina combines her passion and creative use of ingredients to transport guests to the sunshine island and leaves them wanting more!'

I’ll have some of that.

Rather than Selina’s home, this particular event was hosted at the Blue Mountain Cafe as part of the Pop Goes Sydenham programme seeing the town come alive with food events featuring local chefs, suppliers and produce. 

At a mere 25 minute drive from my work in Clapham and with ample parking, it was an ideal location for a week night meal. The venue was brightly coloured with room for around 20 guests at communal tables to accommodate the sharing platters and bowls. At front of house we had Belinda Lester doing a sterling job of greeting everyone warmly and swiftly planting welcomed lychee rum cocktails into our hands to help ease us into the format of the evening. 

Once all the guests arrived, Selina stepped out from the kitchen in chef whites and with a beaming smile to welcome all and provided a quick low-down of what to expect for the different courses.

The large platters delivered consisted of an array of appetising bite-sized typical Mauritian starters (or gajaks). These included aubergine bringele (aubergine slices coated in a light chickpea batter); well spiced and soft shrimp croquettes made from dried shrimp and potato; and crunchy gateaux piment – a typical street food made from split peas and chillis. 

To accompany these were some winning chutneys – coconut tamarind and mint along with a vibrant cotomili satini (coriander chutney). Both lent aromatic, light and refreshing qualities to the food – they were delightful.

coconut, tamarind and mint chutney / coriander chutney

There are few things that make the heart of a hungry diner sing more than being regaled with large bowl after large bowl of quality food leaving the kitchen and landing at your table, and so we were introduced to the mains. 

My first encounter with these dishes was in the form of wafting cinnamon aromas penetrating my olfactory bulb before I even caught sight of them. And what an introduction. The sauce for the cari poulet (chicken curry) was a beautiful brown reminding me of the curries my my mum makes housing tender morsels of meat, and the coconut and spinach dhal was thick and creamy from the coconut milk. 

The fish vindaye was not something I had sampled before and Selina revealed it’s often the most popular dish at her supper clubs - it’s easy to see why. Pickled mustard fish with chilli and onion – appetisingly chewy chunks of fish coated in a dry spiced sauce. Dozens upon dozens of freshly made and warm pooris along with very fragrant rice were passed around the tables to help mop up all the goodness remaining on plates. 

The prawns in the rougaille were soft and appealing, a texture that seems to pervade most cooked prawns I’ve experienced. However, I felt the rougaille sauce itself was a little too liquid – I have previously known it to be thicker and something that coats the meat within but this was more akin to a soup and therefore I felt the flavour was a little diluted. No doubt this is down to the permeations of recipes over time and from family to family; they will always have their own unique nuances and never be identical. And they shouldn’t be. 

fish vindaye - pickled mustard fish with chillies and onion

cari poulet - a family recipe chicken curry

coconut and spinach dhal

prawn rougaille

freshly made pooris

For the brave (Matt included), there were little bowls of piment confit dotted on all the tables -  hot bullet chillies with garlic and oil. When I say hot, I in no way mean that lightly. I had half a tiny one and stopped my brain melting by swiftly shoving coconut chutney in my mouth. Matt managed to consume a total of three with other big mouthfuls of food before getting hiccups and admitting defeat. 

It reminded me of the time my mum made achard (a Mauritian pickled vegetable salad) as part of a Christmas dinner. It contained both green beans and big fat hot chillies. She would always remove the chillies from the portion she dished out to me and I would put my full trust in her ability to differentiate them from the beans and successfully fish them all out. But this time, she missed one. I merely bit down (I didn’t even chew), immediately spat it out and what was to follow was probably the most violent reaction to a chilli I’ve ever had. 

My breathing was cut short and instinctive reaction put a tissue to my mouth, which I then used to dab my face now wet with streaming eyes. This then caused the whole side of my face to burn bright red of which a slathering of Vaseline was the only relief. Oh, and I temporarily lost my hearing. I hear something like 1 out of every 100 chillies are off the scale hotter than the rest of their species and you can consider yourself the subject of any Schadenfreude taking place at that dinner table if one ends up in your mouth. A painful Christmas evening for my face that was indeed.

piment confit - bullets of fire

Our trou normand consisted of little shots of pineapple and chilli sorbet inspired by the combination sold on the beaches of Mauritius to help cool off sweltering bodies. It did a perfect job in cleansing the palate and cooled off our sweltering mouths from those piment confit bullets of fire. 

For dessert, individual tropical plates of coconut sago drenched in a sticky but not too sweet spiced syrup sitting alongside a sweet mango and pomegranate salad. Sago is a starch extracted from the spongy centre of palm stems and seemed to behave quite like rice grains in a soft but packaged rice pudding  – yet another new and successful ingredient to check off my list of conquered consumables.

pineapple and chilli sorbet

coconut sago with spiced syrup / mango and pomegranate

The atmosphere was lively with sega music playing in the background and conversation flowing across parties and tables as we got to know our neighbours. For many, it was their first experience sampling the delights of Mauritian cuisine. 

I like to think of it as the Vietnamese of the South East Asian world; in a similar vein Mauritian food is lighter and more aromatic than the comparable but quite different food from the Asian sub-continent. 

After grafting hard in the kitchen with her mother present for assistance, Selina closed the evening by thanking everyone for coming and making her way round the tables to speak to each individually. It was a truly enjoyable few hours and I only wish I had brought some Tupper wear (if I could get away with it).

Selina frequently hosts supper clubs and pop-ups and there are probably few better ways to introduce yourself to this cuisine than by letting her cook it for you. To stay up to date with her upcoming events, follow her on Twitter (@yummychooeats) or keep an eye on her website yummychooeats.com.

Selina, a sister from another mister, you’re doing us Mauritians proud.

My rating: 4/5

Afiyet olsun.

dishoom, covent garden - review

The main encounters I have with Indian food involve the always excellent, authentic and homemade doggy bags Indian friends bring me; leftovers from what seem to be almost weekly occurrences of some sort of event revolving around the eventual climax of a wedding – engagement parties; pre-engagement parties, pre-wedding parties, a pre-party party (these guys know how to have a good time). Or, dining out at a good local curry house – I tend to gravitate to those catered for the Eastern palette rather than customised for the West. A good example of these are Saravana Bhavan or Lahori Karahi (the latter more Pakistani cuisine than Indian). If you find natives in a curry house, you know there’s a decent chance of it being both good and authentic as is the case with both of these.
 
What I haven’t really experienced is making a specific trip to a ‘proper’ Indian restaurant as opposed to a curry house. I see the differences being that the former would be a larger establishment well kitted out, centrally located rather than local, innovative dishes alongside traditional, enticing interiors, and with most if not all of their business coming from meals dined on the premises rather than take-away. Dishoom in Covent Garden certainly ticks these boxes, but it was hard to dismiss an almost glaring observation on this visit – amongst the packed out tables and ever increasing queue outdoors, it was a challenge to spot a single person of Indian heritage.

If I had stepped into a venue that hadn’t already bowled me over with some wonderful aromatics as soon as I had entered and descended down the steps into the basement bar, this observation would have set alarm bells ringing. But this place achieved just that, and along with some questionable over-Americanised but well intended greetings from a person not in waiting uniform and a cocktail quickly in my hand, I was more than ready to see if what came out of the kitchen matched the jaunty and vibrant vibes from the front of house.

My companions and I ordered what seemed to be almost every third dish from the menu – each entry read as something I wanted to consume and it was challenge to apply a filter to prevent a cry of ‘we’ll take one of everything’. But realistic we remained, and within mere minutes of ordering our table surface area soon dwindled as plate after plate was delivered.

The ‘small plates’ or starter proportions were generous, with a cereal bowl sized vessel presented to us, and actually with a component of cereal in it. It was the bhel - a sort of upmarket Bombay mix with the addition of puffed rice (just like Rice Krispies but without the sugar), seasoned with lime and mint, speckled with jewels of sweet pomegranate kernals, and a hell of a lot of ginger - never a bad thing. It was crunchy, spicy and very flavoursome. The bowl of skate cheeks (the cheeks of skate – who knew fish even had cheeks) were battered and looked like appetising chicken nuggets but with a better colour. They were accompanied by a fruity date and tamarind chutney which helped lubricate what were otherwise slightly dry bites. Okra fries were a great take on busying the fingers with the familiar form of chips but green, spiced and salty.

okra fries, bhel and skate cheeks

okra fries

From the grills we chose two meats and a vegetarian option. The paneer tikka while spiced did not lose its delicate flavour which I felt was quite impressive. It was the texture that was more so though - one that gave way to more of a crumble under pressure than previous experiences I’ve had with the cheese, quite delightful. The murgh malai consisted of chicken thigh meat seasoned with garlic, ginger and coriander – while tender and moist, the depth of spice and flavour did not quite lend itself to the expectations from the overnight marinade it had received. The lamb boti kebab however was outstanding – furry with the fibre of ginger, tender and moist, seasoned with impact from a whole host of spices – completely delicious and I could have done with a portion to myself.

paneer tikka

lamb boti kebab

murgh malai

To provide a purpose for our naans and kimono-silk thin roomali roti, a thick and creamy bowl of the house black daal was ordered – while relatively mild in its inclusion of spice, the texture was completely gorgeous and one of my favourite things on the table (after the lamb) for this reason. It reminded me a lot of refried beans and with a squeeze of lime and fresh coriander it could have been Mexican – a bigger stamp from Indian spices would have helped differentiate it more. But this did not detract at all from the pleasure it yielded. The portion of raita to help cool the table off was of generous soup proportions and my personal preference would have liked it a little more strained.

roomali roti and garlic naan

house black daal

Dishoom sells itself as a fond memory to the fast dwindling and traditional cafés of Bombay. While it’s hard for me to tell if the dishes that come out of its kitchen are true to these roots (I’ve never been to Bombay, let alone a Bombay cafe), I don’t think it really matters. Perhaps this is the reason I found too few natives within, but while the food is delicious and the staff are friendly, the restaurant will continue to be busy and I think rightly so. Don’t discount your local curry house now that Dishoom is here as there is no need to – what they provide are two quite different range of products and experiences.

It’s not possible to secure a table for less than six for dinner, but you can for breakfast and lunch reservations. I was quite eager to top the night off with some of their warm and spiced house chai, but caffeine after 3pm for me these days will render a sleepless night. All the more reason to return and perhaps try out a different time of day – I can think of few things more appealing than starting off a weekend with a buttered bun maska or two dipped into spicy hot chai. Already there.

Alfiyet olsun.