Jinnah's Tandoori and Seafood Restaurant
The new surroundings are a feast for the eyes; the menu a feast for all the senses.
There are two huge hoardings above the doorway to Jinnah's Restaurant. One has a photographic reproduction of magnificent mosques. The other has photographic images of a banquet. If you look carefully, you'll also see a photo of Muhammed Ali Jinnah, considered the founder of Pakistan.
The homage to the man who carved a modern Muslim nation from old India continues past the entrance. The staircase is lined with photos of Jinnah, plus posters of Bollywood stars, scenes from old Lahore and fading shots of dishes of food. Flashing lights lead to a door and then, wonderland.
The room is a kaleidoscope of politics and the colours and crafts of Pakistan. One wall is covered in black and white photos, a shrine to the life of Jinnah.
The other wall is partly covered with photos of a mustachioed man posing with a variety of glamorous people. We surmise from the captions he is our host, Chaudry M. Javed, during his movie producer period. The second half of the wall has clippings documenting his time as a restaurateur which, according to the menu, dates from 1976.
Javed owned another restaurant called Jinnah, also in Dulwich Hill, until he closed down 18 months ago. He reopened here late last year and, in the process, has gone all out in the decorating department.
Not only are there walls of photos, there are black lacquered chairs imported from Pakistan with red and yellow woven nylon seats. A charpoy or rope bed with gold twine is on a platform, bedecked with cushions. A pile of cooking pots and implements is heaped attractively at one end.
On the ceiling are an embroid- ered bolster cover, fabrics used to decorate a shamayana or ceremonial tent and an ajraq patterned bedspread. Red velvet pelmet curtains and scarlet floral sheer disguise the windows. Satin tassel pulls hang among clocks and plastic ivy fills any empty space.
Signed cricket bats, a hockey stick and soccer jerseys, all in frames, fill other gaps. And, finally, paintings of Jinnah and, in an alcove with hangings and cushions, a portrait of the late princess Diana.
The display is so revealing we feel no need to ask Javed any questions. Even my friend, who had eaten at the previous incarnation of the restaurant, is speechless. He does manage, however, a chirrup of excitement when he looks at the menu and sees the word paya.
A slow-cooked dish of usually sheep or goat's feet, this version has beef shank and is a superb braise, reduced to a soup-like essence. You use naan (served on colourful, woven wicker mats) or rice to mop it up. The sumptuous broth is heady with spices, tempered by soft onion and barely-there tomato and garlic, lively with a brush of ginger and balanced by lemon. I've never had anything like it - and it's marvellous. Be warned, though, it's rich.
The homage to the man who carved a modern Muslim nation from old India continues past the entrance. The staircase is lined with photos of Jinnah, plus posters of Bollywood stars, scenes from old Lahore and fading shots of dishes of food. Flashing lights lead to a door and then, wonderland.
The room is a kaleidoscope of politics and the colours and crafts of Pakistan. One wall is covered in black and white photos, a shrine to the life of Jinnah.
The other wall is partly covered with photos of a mustachioed man posing with a variety of glamorous people. We surmise from the captions he is our host, Chaudry M. Javed, during his movie producer period. The second half of the wall has clippings documenting his time as a restaurateur which, according to the menu, dates from 1976.
Javed owned another restaurant called Jinnah, also in Dulwich Hill, until he closed down 18 months ago. He reopened here late last year and, in the process, has gone all out in the decorating department.
Not only are there walls of photos, there are black lacquered chairs imported from Pakistan with red and yellow woven nylon seats. A charpoy or rope bed with gold twine is on a platform, bedecked with cushions. A pile of cooking pots and implements is heaped attractively at one end.
On the ceiling are an embroid- ered bolster cover, fabrics used to decorate a shamayana or ceremonial tent and an ajraq patterned bedspread. Red velvet pelmet curtains and scarlet floral sheer disguise the windows. Satin tassel pulls hang among clocks and plastic ivy fills any empty space.
Signed cricket bats, a hockey stick and soccer jerseys, all in frames, fill other gaps. And, finally, paintings of Jinnah and, in an alcove with hangings and cushions, a portrait of the late princess Diana.
The display is so revealing we feel no need to ask Javed any questions. Even my friend, who had eaten at the previous incarnation of the restaurant, is speechless. He does manage, however, a chirrup of excitement when he looks at the menu and sees the word paya.
A slow-cooked dish of usually sheep or goat's feet, this version has beef shank and is a superb braise, reduced to a soup-like essence. You use naan (served on colourful, woven wicker mats) or rice to mop it up. The sumptuous broth is heady with spices, tempered by soft onion and barely-there tomato and garlic, lively with a brush of ginger and balanced by lemon. I've never had anything like it - and it's marvellous. Be warned, though, it's rich.
Before the mains, we have a platter of entrees, again all good: pakoras, fried fresh and densely packed with vegetables and cardamom, prawn multani fried with a dusting of black salt and fenugreek, Seekh kebabs of roasted minced lamb, dry and warm with spices.
A rose lassi, sugared like a royal sherbet, arrives in a tall glass. It is neon pink and topped with cream. The desserts come in martini glasses. The kheer or Lahori rice pudding has milk cooked down to a sweet, brown consistency, and the halwa is a dry, fluffy semolina pudding studded with flaked almonds.
A peek past the bar area into the kitchen and we can see Javed hard at work. He beckons us. The kitchen is spotless, the spices and condiments arrayed in identical jars below a poster of Marilyn Monroe. He proudly shows us his tandoor, lined with clay. The hefty 4200 kg cooker had to be winched in - the door to the kitchen was smashed to let it through. Such dedication deserves applause and we toast his health with chai tea and milky coffee.
A rose lassi, sugared like a royal sherbet, arrives in a tall glass. It is neon pink and topped with cream. The desserts come in martini glasses. The kheer or Lahori rice pudding has milk cooked down to a sweet, brown consistency, and the halwa is a dry, fluffy semolina pudding studded with flaked almonds.
A peek past the bar area into the kitchen and we can see Javed hard at work. He beckons us. The kitchen is spotless, the spices and condiments arrayed in identical jars below a poster of Marilyn Monroe. He proudly shows us his tandoor, lined with clay. The hefty 4200 kg cooker had to be winched in - the door to the kitchen was smashed to let it through. Such dedication deserves applause and we toast his health with chai tea and milky coffee.
No comments:
Post a Comment