Bombay Bundobust

Desi meets gourmet; rustic Indian food in eclectic settings; nostalgia and then some more. that's Bombay Brasserie for you

For the longest time, desi food - the best desi food that is - used to be available at hole-in-the-wall joints. They still are, and, in Dubai, areas like Karama, Bur Dubai and Deira - traditionally, residential strongholds for the sizeable, and price-sensitive, Indian expat population - housed (and continue to house) the best value-for-money eateries. As they say, location, location, location. Demand and, therefore, supply. Indian food also graduated to the casual dining space at food courts and are now smattered across malls and other 'alternative' locations.
The interesting new trend has been a surge of Indian fine dining joints. Indego (by Vineet Bhatia) at Grosvenor House has been around for a while now, but that caters to diners who seek an 'international' twist (and apparatus) to Indian cuisine. Recent gourmet additions include the (already) hugely popular Tresind (at the Radisson Royal Hotel on SZR) and Atul Kochhar's Rang Mahal (at JW Marriott Marquis). One of the newest players on the desi haute cuisine scene is Bombay Brasserie - a well-known restaurant chain promoted by the Taj group of hotels across global signposts. The Dubai chapter was invoked thanks to the setting up of the new Taj in Business Bay, and it's already managed to stir up the (melting) pot.
Bombay - or Mumbai, as it's now called - has its own unique brand of food, borne out of the city's 'melting pot' status in India. For years and years, it was the most cosmopolitan city in the country and in south Asia (alas, not any more: Delhi has overtaken the new-fangled Mumbai by leaps and bounds), and its food was an eclectic dishing out of authentic flavours from across all of India (I still remember how, in the 1980s, Delhi Darbar in Bombay would take the mickey out of anything prepared in the Indian capital).
Bombay Brasserie continues the tradition of boxing up the best of Indian food, and serving it on a platter - to the accompaniment of superb presentation. "Rustic food in a contemporary setting," the restaurant manager explains, as we are ushered in, half-expecting to see the Bombay skyline silhouetted instead of the Burj Khalifa (but, of course, it is the Burj!). For starters - and I'm not talking food starters - I had the feeling I was on the sets of some 1970s-styled Bollywood flick: the exaggerated ambience interspersed with sleek minimalism (Helen in a cabaret suit?), a partly live kitchen and the heady zoning in of colours. Then, there's the opulence of regality balanced out by European kitsch (justifying the name: cinematic Bombay juxtaposed with the very French brasserie).
Now, the food. We try out a random sampling prepared by the chef, who reinforces that his metier of desi food is not fortified by fantastical fusions. The starters' platter is wonderfully well-rounded: curry leaves-infused Malabari soft-shell crab, lamb Galawati kababs, chicken tikka, and - wait for this - papdi chaat. The Galawati kababs are the pick of the lot, thumpingly well-cooked, and just the perfect consistency (anybody who's had the real Galawatis from Lucknow would know exactly how important the word 'consistency' is in this context); the crab is interestingly flavoured, and the tikkas are, well, decent enough. The chaat, which is rather an anachronism because the last time I had Bombay-iya chaat, I was hunched up at a roadside (which is what defines street food, right?); they say you need to be on the streets to truly enjoy a full-bodied chaat - goes with the territory. but this chaat is quite resplendent in its ivory tower, and hygienically so. More power to it.
For mains, we are served the following: mustard sea bass, a lamb curry (martabaan ka meat, if you want the proper name), dal makhni and an assortment of delectable, freshly-baked rotis. I like anything with mustard, so the fish is a big hit. Being Bengali - and therefore better acquainted with sarson or shorshe (Hindi and Bengali, respectively, for mustard) - it always amazes me how much flavour and zing is imparted by this humble, yet fiery, spice when crushed into a fine paste. The lamb - mutton, actually - is slow-cooked to oily goodness. My fight is with the dal makhni; I'll probably get better options at a hole-in-the-wall Karama outlet, so it's definitely ticked off any future orders' list at Bombay Brasserie.
I am too full by the end of mains - a tiresome problem you need to contend with when you are feasting on desi food - to go full throttle with desserts. Tasting portions of anjeer ka shahi tukda (bread and fig pudding), malpua (cardamom syrup-soaked pancakes) and chenna payesh (kheer made with cottage cheese) make their way to my table and, first impressions, they're a food photographer's delight. The kheer is pleasant, while I find the malpua slightly over-sweet. The shahi tukda is fantastic - tough act to find the 'hey presto' balance because shahi tukdas are almost always overdone - and I'm tempted to break my tasting portions' resolve.
The Bombay Brasserie outing begs the question: is it worth paying five-star prices for food (or at least versions of it) you are likely to get at the restaurant around the block? My answer is: yes. Go to Bombay Brasserie to indulge in the oxymoronic upscale-desi experience. Savour the richness that is so inherent in Indian cuisine, but so often discarded as being ubiquitous. And rediscover the pleasures of a bygone era: when Mumbai was Bombay, and when food was the city's soul.

sushmita@khaleejtimes.com

• Food and Dining

Sushmita Bose

• sushmita@khaleejtimes.com