Seeds of fine dining

Now that it’s getting colder and darker ever earlier in the evening the only way to cheer this old chick is with good wholesome temperature and chili hot food. I have a restaurant review (of previously mentioned post - Monday) for all you London foodies to go and try out. For those not in London envy is not a good colour. For those in India, go eat a chicken kathi roll and then a plate of momo’s on my behalf please!

I’m usually suspicious of anything that calls itself Indian food in London. From all my food travels in London I have found the standard operating practice for so-called Indian food is manifold:
1. If the signage reads ‘Indian and Bangladeshi cuisine’ it usually means there are Bangladeshi cooks and the menu will say ‘Ponir’ and serve everything coated in bilious red. Not to my taste.
2. If the signage says ‘Indian and Pakistani specialities’ it usually means Pakistani food but we aren’t sure anyone will come and eat it if we don’t use the word Indian. It can mean awesome kebabs like Tayyabs or merely mediocre fare. I'll more than manage.
3. If the signage reads ‘Indian’ it can mean we are Bangladeshi or Pakistani but we won’t tell you that, we’ll just sell what we think best under this generic label. This usually includes the British variants of Balti, a cuisine made up entirely by migrants feeding a population reeling from having given up the Raj. You’ll most likely find Korma, Jalfreizi, Madras and Vindaloo as the given categories, and be able to order any ingredient (chicken, various meats or vegetables) covered in the above mentioned sauces. The only difference in is the degree of hot moving steadily up from category to category and the odd addition of chunks of onions or coconut or yet more red food colouring. Served with ‘Poppadoms’ and ‘chutney’ (which my firangi friends think is a starter we serve at home). Who invented this stuff?

Whichever way the cookie crumbles I avoid Indian restaurants because I usually come away disappointed and literally with a bad taste in my mouth. Alternately we go to overpriced but genuine Indian restaurants run by Michelin stars and their wannabe’s and come away with huge bills for inordinately simple meals in tiny well styled portions. A better yet bitter taste.

So it was with some trepidation that I took the Central Line to Caraway on a cold Monday evening with two colleagues in tow, having been invited to dine there by an ex-colleague. The husband of the ex-colleague has a business interest in the restaurant and she was being kind and spreading the word simultaneously. I am always suspicious of free meals. Or of free anything for that matter. I’m cynical like that.

Cynicism gave way under the weight of a delicious meal. Caraway was heavenly. A large Indian carved wood door took us into a simple yet elegant interior. The staff was almost entirely imported from India and the menu was too long, mainly north Indian with some random things that did not fit thrown in for good measure. I was told that the menu was never ending because they were testing out what worked and what didn’t before honing it down to a more manageable list. Thankfully there was not a Balti or Vindaloo or Madras in sight.

We shared starters and main meal between 4 of us so that everyone could try everything. I’m not going to go over our entire meal, just point out the dishes that caught my fancy and that I would go back for. Among other starters we had dilli ki aloo tikki (which was not quite Delhi’s but really really really good nevertheless with some awesome channa served on the side of it) and some bhelpuri (which was fresh and with every chutney like it had just been made rather than out of a supermarket bottle). Among our main dishes the most mentionable were the dal (which was not gummy or chunky in consistency but instead perfectly piping hot and freshly tempered), galouti kebabs (not a patch on Lucknow’s but still soft melt-in-the-mouth and delicious) and baingan ka bharta (which I LOVE if it is made well and I have to say this was one of the best, again consistency and flavour won me over). The highlight however was the freshly made rumali roti’s - one of my all-time favourite’s which is unbelievably unavailable in London. Watched the chef throw it in the air and lay it delicately on its upturned cooking structure. Beauty in motion. The rumali itself was light and thin and oh-so tasty. I defy you to eat one and quibble.

There was way more food than I can readily describe without drooling all over my keyboard. I came away thrilled at having found a reasonable north Indian food place that is not pretending to be Indian but is instead really INDIAN. The quality and taste of the food was a big pro in my book – just the right level and temper of spices, no artificial red coloured everything, not overpowered by chillies and genuinely Indian recipes. Good sized quantities in little clay pots for a price not too high. I liked the ambience as it were, not cheap-ass plastic furniture and yet not ostentatious over-the-top chandeliers and overdone Indian-ness. The lighting could have done with a bit of boost but it was not dark or depressing in the least. I liked the glass partition between kitchen and restaurant floor – it usually means they can’t get away with mucking up and slipping on the housekeeping. Rumali throwing is also a good spectator sport.

There were some small cons that I thought could do with some work. Like too many salad leaves with my aloo ki tikki (who does that?) and some not so great paneer dishes. On balance however it is a little gem. And I am thrilled to have been introduced to it. As with any new place the test is in how long they can keep it up without slipping into quality. I’ll be back to find out.

Caraway Brasserie: 513-519 Cranbrook Road, Gants Hill, London IG2 6HA. Tel: 020 8518 4111