We only ended up in this Punjabi gaff opposite the Echo because literally everywhere else was shut on Christmas eve. I’ve hated Indian food ever since my first job at a takeaway when on my first shift, I dropped chicken on the floor and the chef sent me on my way to serve it.
I’ve also always had an irrational disdain for the letter Z because I’m Welsh and there’s no Z in the Welsh alphabet, so this place had a large cross to bear (cross? chilli pepper?) as I sauntered in past the faux palm trees and artificial waterfall. On that subject, don’t they know names have a capital letter? Grr, #creativewritingprobs.
Inside it’s decadent to the highest degree, a bit like Dubai airport. You get multiple forks so you know this place is swank. I even decided against wearing my white-girl bindi for the occasion.
There was literally nothing on the menu I fancied, and this menu is absolutely gigantic. I was determined not to have the white-girl chicken tikka massala, but I was suspicious that the jalfrezi contained scrambled eggs so requested it minus the eggs.
For starters I had garlic mushrooms, which were tasty but way too garlicky for my taste – basically, a bowl of garlic seasoned with mushroom.
My meal arrived in a bucket (you all know how I feel about meals in buckets) but I only had a mouthful before getting distracted by my mum and my brother’s passanda and korma, which actually turned out to be amazing despite my Ffs-don’t-embarrass-me-with-your-korma-and-chips judgements. They were the tastiest I’ve ever had and I helped demolish both, and you even got free cocktail sticks to poke family in the eyes so they wouldn’t notice.
Mum paid just under £120 for the four of us, but there were no holds barred and a ton of food which went to waste – tragic.
The interior of this place aims for the classy fine dining vibe but falls a bit short, what with its silver diamanté embellished upholstered furniture. HOWEVER, the food is totally boss which alone would lure me back (as long as parentals pay again).