VAMA; THE GEORGE AND VULTURE Robert Hardman

RESTAURANT reviewers are not sup- posed to review restaurants on Sunday nights, or so the owners like to believe. `You should have come on Friday,' is the usual Sunday night lament when the anony- mous punter asking tricky questions finally Comes clean. But as this column has asked before, if it is acceptable for standards to drop on Sunday nights, why does the same not apply to the prices? I have come to regard Sunday night as a very good time to review a restaurant for the simple reason that if a place is good on a Sunday night, then it will be consistently good. This was what brought me to Varna, a leading light of the new-wave Indian movement situated on the World's End stretch of the King's Road. Since opening three years ago this week, it has been show- ered with commendations including 'The People's Choice' award for best London restaurant in the Evening Standard/Carlton restaurant awards.

For some reason, I had never been. Per- haps it was 'The People's' tag which had deterred me. If 'The People's' restaurant was like 'The People's' anything else, it probably had a rigid smoking ban and lots of polenta on the menu. Not so.

It was admirably busy for a Sunday night, to the point that the only table I could get was at 9.30 p.m. The owners had clearly set out to avoid British Indian restaurant stereotypes with a blend of stone floors, Warm yellows and light background jazz. The name Vama is apparently the San- skrit word for 'essence of woman' — hence the Indian Miss World on the menu cover — but it is also a convenient approximation to the name of the man behind the restau- rant, Andy Varma. Trained in French and Italian cuisine, he has run restaurants from Toronto to Delhi, and has brought all those influences to bear in this homage to the cui- sine of the North-west frontier.

It makes for original food. I was not greatly enamoured of the rustami 'thumb bahar (mushrooms stuffed with cheese and Pomegranate) as the rawness of the inside of. the mushroom seemed to jar with the spices cooked on to the outside. But it was Interesting. My friend, Corisande, was thrilled with her tandoori tiger prawns, beautifully marinaded in yogurt and chilli oil to leave them thy but juicy. I wonder if the spelling of 'chilly oil' on the menu is some sort of joke. These were hot. I could detect signs of Sunday nightitis when the waiter came back to say that the main course I had ordered, saag gosht (a hot lamb curry with spinach) had run out. They could do adaraki gosht (lamb in a mild tomato sauce) and they could do spinach, but not lamb curry with spinach. I went for the adaraki, which contained some very nice lamb but was not what I had expected. It came with a sauce so mild that I could have been eating lamb stew in cen- tral Europe. In addition, I had ordered what turned out to be a triumph, the matar methi malai, a smoky purée of spinach, peas and fenugreek leaves which seemed to lift everything it touched — the lamb, the beautifully crunchy peshwari naan, the rice.

There were further signs of Sunday nightitis when Corisande's khandari murg (stuffed chicken breast imbued with saf- fron) emerged as the wrong dish — murg tikka makhni — a few small chicken pieces in a light, vaguely sweet-and-sour sauce. To make up for this, the waiters, attentive and apologetic, threw in a phalli aloo, a superb blend of green beans and new potatoes tossed in cumin.

I have no doubt that we would have fared better on another night, but it was still an excellent dinner. The minor touches such as raita made from yogurt hung in muslin rather than straight out of a pot, and sauces built from oil rather than water — all unite to create one of the best Indian meals in town. No wonder that Chelsea's `Sony I'm late, I overhibernated.' popocracy — Messrs Ferry, Geldof and Adams — all flock here. It will certainly not be three years before my next visit.

From new-wave Indian to old-wave English. The following day, I ate at the George and Vulture which has been serv- ing City people since the 12th century. For a while, it was Dick Whittington's local, but it was Charles Dickens who really put it on the map.

The Pickwick Papers are full of references to the tavern where Mr Pickwick liked to hold forth (and crash out), and little has changed since Dickensian times. This is, in no small part, thanks to the great man's great-grandson, Cedric Dickens, who took me to lunch in one of his favourite corners. `I think Charles must have got free meals, judging by the number of times he men- tioned this place,' said Cedric.

Few places are more worthy of the phrase 'tucked away'. Set in the labyrinth of alleys behind St Michael's, Comhill, the George and Vulture is so tucked away that its address in the phonebook — Castle Court — does not feature in the A–Z.

It is old-style City dining at its best: pot- ted shrimps, scallops, steaks, chops, firm bubble-and-squeak and so on, brought promptly by a staff who have been there for years and seem to know all the customers. The grill which cooked my substantial fillet steak has been there so long that it is listed.

The brewery which owns the George and Vulture has made various attempts to mod- ernise the place and turn it into just anoth- er pub, but every time the suits come up against Cedric and his band of devotees who are determined to keep things as they are. 'Even the benches are listed,' he explained gleefully.

Cedric's Pickwick Club holds its meetings there and there is an annual Dickens clan gathering upstairs in the Dickens room. It has more ye olde worlde charm than a dozen Cotswold tearooms, and yet the George and Vulture makes little fuss of its heritage. It simply goes about serving good food to City regulars in what happens to be an historic building.

Perhaps, one day, the suits at head office will have their way, turn it into a themed pub and call it something like the Rat and Eurobond. But I can't really see the point. The people who like those sort of pubs wouldn't be able to find it. And even the sharpest ponytail in the marketing depart- ment could not come up with a name like the George and Vulture.

Varna, 438 King's Road, Chelsea, London SW10; tel: 020 7351 4118. Dinner for two with wine: £75. Lunch and dinner every day.

The George and Vulture, Castle Court/St Michael's AlleylGeorge Yard, London EC3; tel: 020 7626 9710. Lunch for two with wine: £45. Lunch only.

Robert Hardman is a columnist and corre- spondent for the Daily Telegraph