IN DEFERENCE to the valued views of Ms Ritchie and
Mr Wellman, I thought the time had come for a spot of Third World, ethnic feeding, and to start the survey I decided to investigate the latest arrival on central London's Indian restaurant scene, the Chor Bizarre in Albemarle Street, right opposite the entrance to Brown's Hotel. There had been an Indian restaurant, the Gaylord, previously on the site and, like the Gaylord, this new one is the offshoot of an Indian establishment in Delhi. Chor Bazaar means 'thieves' market', and the amiable managing director, Rohit Khattar, explained to me that he thought it would be fun to repeat the Delhi experience in Lon- don's best bazaar — Mayfair — but to turn it into a pun and call it 'bizarre' instead.
The interior is certainly that. Designed by Mr Khattar and his family, Chor Bizarre is a floridly surreal version of an Indian market, with Kashmiri lovers' alcoves, tables topped with glass cases containing bric-a-brac, Indian four-poster beds turned into tables, and Indian miniatures and mar- vellous sepia photographs of scenes from the Raj on the wall. It's certainly a long way from the flock-velvet wallpaper school of Indian restaurant, and manages to create an agreeably witty and relaxed atmosphere.
I went there after a Prom — all Bach on original instruments, the sound too faint by far for the Albert Hall — with a Russian law student, Zarina Korolova, and it was good to settle into Chor Bizarre's more exuberant form of authenticity. The kitchen specialises in Kashmiri cooking and to try the widest choice we opened with a selec- tion of starters followed by Maharajah and Maharani thalis — great trays of beaten metal covered with latoris' (small bowls) containing the various dishes. Of the starters, machhli amritbhari, a Punjabi ver- sion of fish and chips, with spicy battered fish served with pakoras, tandoori, garlicky king prawns, and reshmi (chicken) kebabs were all delicious, and the spicy chutneys with which they were served, a revelation. On the thalis we much enjoyed the various meat dishes that came and particularly liked the black lentils cooked with tomatoes, the baghare baingan — aubergine cooked in a peanut, tamarind and sesame-seed gravy, and some of the finest, most positively flavoured pilao rice I have tasted. Rotis and nan breads were excellent too. Neither of us really had room for dessert but allowed our arms to be twisted to sample an interesting semolina effort and some delicious home- made kulfi — pistachio- flavoured Indian ice cream. With the meal we drank lassi (thinned yoghurt, either salted or mango- flavoured, both refreshing) and afterwards took some exquisite Kashmiri, slightly sweetened, spicy tea. This meal was fun from start to finish, a far cry indeed from the average curry or tandoori house, with a mass of new flavours, and at £25 to £30 a head, depending on what you drink, it seemed fair value for the heart of Mayfair.
Another 'smart' new ethnic venture in the West End is the Moroccan restaurant Momo (the owner's name) in Heddon Street, an alley tucked away off Regent Street, near Savile Row. The financial adviser, cooking writer and keen foxhunter, Katie Dashwood, and I went there on a hot evening. Despite a booking made a week ahead we were greet- ed off-handedly and shown to the nastiest table in a then half-full room. Having negoti- ated a better one, given with little grace, we were able to appreciate the agreeably North African decor and surroundings: it was only later that the volume of the music became intolerable and made conversation virtually impossible.
`That's no mirage, they have outlets everywhere!' Our starters of taboule, lentil salad, aubergines, vegetable feuillete, and pastry filled with chicken and saffron were pleas- ant enough, but seemed underflavoured and the taboule was very dry. Next I had pastilla of pigeon, pie filled with rather dry pigeon, sweetened with icing sugar and on the stodgy side. Katie's tagine of chicken and dates, piping hot, served in its cooking- pot, was also rather heavy and lacked defi- nition of flavour. Katie thought she would have enjoyed it more after a good day's hunting. We gave the desserts a miss but much enjoyed the Moroccan mint tea, as we did the excellent Moroccan red wine. A visit to the bar downstairs was only achieved with difficulty, a sour-faced woman at the top of the stairs maintaining it was a private club, which clearly it was not, and the owner Momo amending this to numbers being limited by fire regulations. Once there I assumed that the heavy body odour maintained by the milling throng was probably designed to mask more exotic aro- mas. At £63 for two Momo seemed to rep- resent poor value and I would be disin- clined to return.
My final port on the ethnic trail was Yas in Hammersmith Road, opposite Olympia, which a couple of months ago won the Time Out Best Middle Eastern Restaurant Award. I must confess I'm at a loss to under- stand how. I went there with my brother John, better known as 'Fingers' to his sport- ing friends, an avid trencherman. We repaired there after a stirring performance of Ein Heldenleben, conducted by Andrew Davis at the Proms, eager for our dinner. The menu was presented with alacrity by a charming, presumably Iranian, girl — for that is the nationality of the cooking — our orders taken and a jug of iced yoghurt drink produced forthwith. For half an hour thenceforth we and the rest of the room were untroubled by the service of any food whatever, and on protesting were told that there was a shortage of staff in the kitchen.
When our assorted vegetable hors d'oeu- vres did eventually appear they were dull and bland, though the Persian flat bread was excellent. My lamb kebab that followed was tasteless and chewy. The saffron rice was good, and John's stewed lamb, cooked with fresh herbs and red kidney beans, was more assertively flavoured and therefore better. The Persian sorbet at the end with lemon juice squeezed over it was delicious. In view of the staff deficiencies the manag- er, Mr Kazavi, very decently declined to charge us for our disappointing meal and assured us that things would be better next time. I can only hope so, and reckon it would then cost about £20 a head, depend- ing on drink.
Chor Bizarre, 16 Albemarle Street, London Wl; tel: 0171 629 9802. Closed Sundays. Momo, 25 Heddon Street, London W1; tel: 0171 434 4040. Open all week.
Yas, 7 Hammersmith Road, London W14; tel: 0171 603 3980. Open all week
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