IT WASN'T exactly that I was trying to keep Alounak
a secret, but each week I somehow found myself not writing about it. I tend towards the evangelical mode gener- ally: my desire is to broadcast my enthusi- asms, to force them on your attention. Although it is true I did worry whether publicising the place would change it. But now that Vogue has blown the gaffe there's no point in worrying.
In fact, Alounak stopped being London's best-kept secret some time ago. A friend of mine, who had been able to arrange late- night trysts there without fear of observa- tion or gossip, has been moaning for a while about how impossible the place has got since she keeps running into friends in it. Because it was also partly in deference to her that I didn't rush into print about this Iranian caff situated in a shed in the railway sidings off Olympia (she had introduced me to it), her resentful abandonment of it seemed to liberate me from my reticence on the subject.
The trouble is, I've probably made it sound much better than it is now. Well, not much better, for I love it, but somehow more possible. When I described the place as a shed, I was speaking literally. Actually, I think I might have been talking it up rather. It is in what looks like a Portacabin just off the railway track, or two Portacab- ins, one for the dining-room the other for the kitchen. When the trains go past, the place rocks. In fact, the place rocks most of the time: a joggling foot there, an emphatic blow to the table here, the slightest move- ment sets this foundationless structure shaking.
As far as I can work out, Alounak means `little house' in Persian. I deduce from the description given to me with the transla- tion, it means hut. Which is what it is. But a but serving wonderful Iranian food. There used to be a Persian (very much a Persian) restaurant in Notting Hill Gate, presided over by a woman with the longest finger- nails, painted silver, I've ever seen. I remember particularly a lamb stew with walnuts and pomegranates, but sadly it was taken over by some pizza'n'pasta joint.
Alounak — the Russell Road version doesn't replace it, in that it has a small menu of plain, unrestauranty food, but I am given to understand that the new Alounak in Westbourne Grove serves food `Sony, but 1 believe my species is more endangered than yours.' of a more opulent nature. I should have checked it out, and I will, I will. But I'd pre- fer to leave the flasher place for another day.
It's difficult to give precise directions, but if you go to Russell Road as far as Jinnah House, on which faded building are inscribed the words Faith, Unity and Disci- pline (making this homage to the founder of Pakistan sound rather more like the manifesto of some Ecstatic Miss Whiplash Movement), and go into the entrance to the carpark opposite and turn sharp right, it is the third but on the right.
Start with a plate of sabzi, just fresh herbs, which come here with a couple of slabs of white cheese. Eat them with some yoghurt and chopped cucumber, a chopped salad, though this aromatic dice of tomato and onion is more like a salsa, and some large, flat rounds of buff-coloured bread. You will inevitably have doubts as you walk into the place, but once you start eating they will go. It is all so fresh: the almost hairy raspiness of the mint, the extraordi- narily insistent liquorice hit of the tarragon, and the tender sweetness of the onion.
For a main course there are two lists, one of kebabs, another of the dishes of the day. I've had Monday's, which is a lamb stew with split peas and potatoes, and half of Tuesday's — which is to say, the meat part of it had already gone, so I had the rice with some meat from the kebab section. The rice in question is sprinkled with what Alounak describes as `barberries' or, in fact, 'barberry'. I can't work out exactly what they are: they're semi-dried, sour- sweet red raisiny berries, like dried small cherries, which is what I'd have thought they were, but the waiter insisted they were a berry. Whatever they are, they're wonder- ful. The meat I had was a chicken fillet. I usually have the chicken kebab, which is exceptional, but this was even better. I don't know for how long they marinade their chicken here, but it is extraordinarily tender, and fragrant with lemon and onion juice. Otherwise I like the minced kebab best. The flat lamb kebab I had was a bit stringy, though a kebab of more nutty lumps at the next table looked divinely juicy. Rice is always light and just right.
There are no puddings, but you'll be offered Iranian tea in those glass cups with a gold stripe at the rim. The Iranian equiva- lent of lassi, that yoghurt drink, is dough, and for those who like this astringent, sourly refreshing drink it is exquisite here. Whether for religious reasons or because it hasn't got a licence, there's no alcohol in the place, though you can bring your own with you sans peur et sans repr6che.
The bill has never come to more than £23 for two on any night I've been. These days you have to book. Last orders are at 11.30.
Alounak: 72 Russell Road W14; tel: 0171- 371 2350.
Nigella Lawson
Previous page
