Bombay Brasserie - London
Courtfield Close, Courtfield Road, London SW7 4QH
+44 (0)20 7370 4040
Review by Lydia Manch

My grandmother grew up on a hill-station called Ootcamund in Tamil Nadu, and even though she’s lived in England since long before I was born, her cooking has always been Indian. So Indian food isn’t something I go to a restaurant for often, if only because years of grandmotherly conditioning mean that it feels slightly wrong to seek out any lentil stew but hers.

So, I’ve decided, if you’re going to cheat on your grandmother’s cooking, you should try to make it count. No furtive trips to late-night curry houses, all midnight rushing and morning remorse. If you’re going to do it, then it should be with deliberation. With style. Possibly with the smell of tamarind coming from behind the bar, and with sepia photographs of men in jodhpurs and long moustaches covering the walls. Possibly at the Bombay Brasserie on Gloucester Road.

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We started with a soft-shell crab and two shots of soup, and the crab was great - simple and very fresh, just cooked in a thin batter. Technically, the crab wasn’t mine, but it was too good to let a technicality stand in the way; I sweet-talked some away from Douglas. Or took it against his will, depending on whose version you hear. In fact, Douglas turned out to generally be much better at choosing his food than he was at defending it from me. Later, when the desserts arrived, I waited till he was talking about tea varieties with the waiter and then made free with his plate of Khaas Malpoi – slices of pancake-wrapped carrot paste, weirder and more interesting than my mango sorbet. It was an object lesson for him on eating in haste or repenting at leisure.

As for the main courses, the black cod cooked with orange and Sarawak pepper was just as good as the crab, or better. Stronger flavours, but the pepper cut through the orange and kept it from being sticky-sweet. It was good enough to keep my attention on my own plate, and Douglas ate his Goan halibut curry in peace.

So, the food’s excellent. The restaurant itself, everything warm and stuffed with cushions, is a comfortable place to eat. The booths and tables are spread fairly far apart, which gives a feeling of privacy even though it’s usually quite busy. The hand-towel, between courses, arrives as a small tablet that expands when the waiter covers it with warm water. That’s not really integral to the dining experience, but it’s quite cool.

There is a catch, and it’s a three-figure one. The Bombay Brasserie isn’t cheap. Starters, desserts and cocktails all hover around the £10 mark, but main courses zoom up to £25 or more. The wine list starts high and moves higher. The prices on the menu gave me a moment of wistfulness for my grandmother’s kitchen, where the only payment required at the end of the meal is a hug. My instincts tell me that this probably wouldn’t work on the waiters at the Brasserie, no matter how friendly they are.

Still, if you’re devil-may-care with your credit card and looking for really fresh crab, or a softly spiced black cod, or a tamarind cocktail, the Bombay Brasserie might be worth the price tag. It might even be worth risking my grandmother’s wrath.