Perched
on a block of Ninth Avenue that I only recognized as a place I had
tromped through en route to an art gallery or the Moonstruck Diner, my
dinner partner and I initially missed the restaurant and almost decided
to pop over to the Half King for burgers instead. Putting away the
Google maps on our BlackBerrys and actually using our eyes, we
eventually found the door and made our way inside to a small table by
the window.
The two-story restaurant, owned by Sunitha
Ramaiah, has a sleek interior; walls are covered in Bollywood-inspired
art and a comely staff glides around almost undetected. There isn’t a
piece of chintz in sight.
Ramaiah’s menu is based on Indian
street food and is broken up into three sections: Street Bites, From
the Roadside and Curbside. From the first section, we dove into “Papdi
Chat” ($7) chickpea-and-potato-stuffed dumplings, and “Kathi Rolls”
($10)—both the chicken and lamb variety— which were weighty scoops of
meat rolled in flatbread. Our small table was becoming cluttered with
plates—not to mention glasses as we were quickly draining ginger
martinis ($12).We ate quickly and with purpose before moving onto the
next course, preparing ourselves to nibble on the tiny portions that
would surely come from a place with such nice design and so many thin
blondes tapping at iPhones just a table away.
Imagine our shock when
the tandoori-cooked lamb chops ($25) came out piled like cheerleaders in
a pyramid and the fivespice shrimp ($19), with cumin, coriander,
turmeric, cloves and fenugreek, actually had more shrimp than spice! It
was at about this time that we started feeling like pigs for ordering
more off of the Curbside menu. Made up of sides, condiments and naan,
this menu proved dangerous as plates like creamed spinach with homemade
cheese ($6) and basmati rice with caramelized onions ($4) and breads
came flying out.The blondes stopped typing and gawked a bit, but I
wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t turned my head to order another
drink.
It wasn’t just the size of the plates alone that we
found alluring—Batty knows better, kids—but the flavors.The tastes were
familiar but not quite the same old thing.While the appetizers had
bordered on too greasy, a tried and true effect of my usual pig-out at
Milan (where I always say its my birthday to get mango ice
cream with a candle in it), the main courses were more carefully
conceived and executed than their relatives on the East Side. By the
time a dessert of dried milk balls over coconut sorbet came floating
over, we were rubbing our bellies and using our drink-ordering hands to
signal for a check.
Walking east after dinner, we crossed
Lexington and peered up the avenue, where so many plates had been
refilled to get the most for our $6.95. They’re great old friends, but
alas, we had just met someone new and much more sophisticated.
--
Bombay Talkie
189 9th Ave. (betw. W. 21st & W. 22nd Sts.), 212-242-1900
