In the restaurant world,
everyone everywhere seems to be downsizing. Part of this phenomenon
can be explained by the ominous drumbeat from health authorities,
who warn that supersized portions of food are behind the creation
of a nation of triple chins. But fashion plays a role in the
equation, too: Right this moment, if you're an American chef
and you're not offering itty-bitty this and teeny-weeny that,
you simply aren't in vogue. You know the scene has changed when
a restaurant serving Asian street food is awarded three stars
by the New York Times, and dessert in a trendy San Francisco eatery
means a milkshake served in a shot glass (two slurps and it's history).
Once strictly Spanish, "tapas" now can be found in Chinese,
French and Indian venues, and increasing numbers of restaurants
are rechristening their traditional courses. Fresh: "small
plates" and "bites." Leftovers from yesteryear: "appetizers" and "starters."
Riding that trend is Heritage
India in Dupont Circle, a sibling to the excellent Indian restaurant
of the same name in Glover Park. "Contemporary
Indian fare," the menu says by way of introduction, before
moving on to "small plates of street food." If golgappas
are any indication of what they're eating on the run in Bombay
or Calcutta, I want to request a transfer overseas. This snack
consists of four tiny round cups with shells as thin as paper,
and a pinch of diced potato and chickpeas in their centers. Presented
in individual spoons, the crisp-soft bites are made complete at
the table by a thin but wicked liquid spiked with tamarind, paprika,
roasted cumin and mint. The resulting flood of flavors -- wild
fun -- raises my expectations.
Luckily, there's more where those golgappas came from, including
chickpea noodles, puffed rice, shallots and fresh herbs nestled
in a peppery lentil wafer shell -- the vibrant circus of textures
and tastes known as bhel puri. Fat chicken drumsticks glisten beneath
a glaze of sweet chili sauce that will have you licking your fingertips,
while lemon grass and coconut add heat and sweet to a martini glass
filled with warm ringlets of squid mixed with soft onion and more.
A bar of salmon paved with fresh-cracked spices is a nice idea;
too bad the fish tasted tired when I got it.
The further this kitchen
strays from India, however, the more I wish it didn't. In one
misguided "tapa," a ragout of
chicken curry is ladled over a stolid slice of polenta. In another,
pieces of Parmesan-sprinkled naan are offered to scoop up a garlicky
black bean dip that speaks to the American Southwest. Both dishes
are like a new puppy: They try too hard to please.
The pillars around the room and the bar with its faux peaked roof
look a little Grecian, reminders that in an earlier incarnation,
this location poured retsina and served squid stuffed with feta
cheese. Otherwise, the interior sings in tune with the cooking.
Greeting diners up front are a gently tinkling tiled fountain and
handsome portraits of members of long-ago Indian ruling classes.
Waving from the rear of the expansive peach dining room is a seated,
bronze-colored Buddha . The banquettes are swaddled in gold-, rust-
and green-striped fabric that suggests autumn, a palette echoed
in the smart vests worn by the waiters. Lush plants and carved
wooden screens advance the theme, too, though the soundtrack is
all over the map. Sometimes the music places you in a disco; at
other moments, the sounds are so tranquil, you wouldn't be surprised
to find a masseuse hovering over you.
Pasta is not what you expect
to eat in an Indian restaurant, and probably not the direction
you want to pursue at Heritage India, based on what I've tried
of the five so-called "pastabilities." A
collection of decent mussels, scallops and fish is wasted on a
fistful of wet angel-hair pasta, for example. Worse are mushroom-stuffed
ravioli, overcooked to a pasty mush, draped in a grainy cashew
gravy that accentuates the problem, and ringed with bland vegetables.
On the other hand, dishes from the tandoor, or clay oven, are
every bit as memorable as those I've sampled across town at the
original Heritage India. Onion seeds and yogurt lend crackle and
tang to grilled shrimp, and the saffron-tinged chicken proves meaty
and moist. Luscious black lentils and fluffy basmati rice enhance
both meals. The warm-from-the oven breads also are very good, and
if you order the blistered wheat bread with mint or the naan with
crumbled lamb, they come with more than a mere suggestion of herb
or meat. Any of the breads can be put to good use wiping plates
clean of their sauces, including the vinegar-and-pepper-ignited
gravy that gives the lamb vindaloo its explosive edge.
Indian desserts typically don't get much respect, and, frankly,
there's reason for this: Often, if they're not sweeter than a Disney
heroine, they taste as if they'd been made with grandmother's perfume.
The endings at Heritage India are a better breed. Rice pudding
-- cool, loose, creamy and mixed with plump white raisins -- is
sheer comfort, while kulfi is a model of that slightly chewy Indian
ice cream. Piping hot milk balls -- like ultramoist doughnut holes
-- arrive in a light syrup with slivered almonds.
The new Heritage India is big and beautiful, with service far
more polished than anything I've experienced in Glover Park. Still,
I'd trade some of those good looks downtown for more food that
was less hip. Tortured ingredients are easy to find; superior naan
and tandoori prawns -- now those are things to celebrate