Darbaar: A right royal Indian banquet

Darbaar has that hotel-y need to be all things to all visitors, says Fay Maschler, but there are some stand-out dishes 
Spice of life: the 220-cover restaurant and bar
Daniel Hambury/Stella Pictures
Fay Maschler31 January 2018

Nearly five years ago on a visit to India I stayed at Falaknuma Palace, originally one of the homes of the Nizams of Hyderabad, now a Taj hotel. In 1937, the Seventh Nizam was reckoned to be the wealthiest man on earth and as such was accorded the cover of Time magazine. Unlike Bill Gates (I am presuming here) he had 86 mistresses and employed 38 of his retinue of servants just to dust chandeliers. Owning a mint probably helped with the accumulation of riches.

In the Palace Library of Falaknuma is the guest book from the Delhi Durbar of 1911 that marked the installation of George V and Queen Mary as Emperor and Empress of India. It is one of those documents that gives you shivery pause, particularly if you are an English person born in India as I am. The meaning of durbar is the court of an Indian ruler and the singular spelling of this new restaurant in the City is presumably to differentiate it from Durbar Tandoori in Notting Hill Gate, Imperial Durbar in Tooting, Delhi Durbar in Twickenham, London Durbar in Ilford and so forth.

Missing out this year — so far — on an expedition to India I am partly mollified by the transformation of what was the short-lived Japanese Chrysan into what feels like nothing so much as the restaurant of a modern city hotel in India. It has the sharp-elbowed design, lack of atmosphere, preponderance of businessmen among the customers and staff trained to enquire “How has your day been so far?” in an effort to establish some futile rapport. It makes me immediately enthusiastic, as does knowing that Calcutta-born head chef Abdul Yaseen worked long and hard at the Cinnamon Club and Cinnamon Kitchen.

The menu reflects, says the publicity, dishes inspired by banquets of the royal courts. One of my companions, a beady, discriminating eater, says he thinks the operators have looked long and hard at the approach of the very successful Gymkhana in Albemarle Street and aimed to adopt some of its best culinary practices. That is not a foolish thing to do and may account for meats such as rabbit, quail and goat being featured, some served on the bone from whence comes the spirit of the animal.

A strong choice: Keralan shrimp cocktail, one of many dishes created by head chef Abdul Yaseen
Daniel Hambury/Stella Pictures

At the same time there is that hotel-y need to be all things to all visitors so there is the offer of salt-baked beetroot and quinoa salad — the club sandwich de nos jours — lunch items such as jungle-spiced chilli beefburger, Goan haddock with mushy peas and chips and girly assemblies such as seasonal fruit medley with dried pomegranate. These can be side-stepped and over two dinners we find some moodily-spiced, authentic dishes which almost seem to come from a separate kitchen. But since it is huge — a legacy of Chrysan — and wide open to the restaurant it is obviously not the case.

A wood-fired oven with logs vigorously burning signals that breads will be alluring and they are. Yaseen slaps out the dough in a rather thrillingly assertive way and the naans, particularly the beguilingly sweet Peshawari naan and lacha paratha, should not be missed, nor the puffy “nanza” — a hybrid of naan and pizza — that I suspect works best in the paneer, smoked chilli and dried tomato version that we choose.

My friend Adam, who has been cooking from — and is a great fan of — Rick Stein’s India, is interested to see rock moss, aka dagarful or stone flower, as one of the flavourings along with allspice in nawabi chicken pasanda. He tracked down in Drummond Street what is in fact a lichen for a Rick dish of Chettinad chicken. Its flavour in the skewers of chicken here — showily presented in a brass pot — is fugitive but yoghurt and I suspect cream captures succulence in chicken breasts where the heart usually beats very faintly.

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Turmeric, that champion anti-inflammatory, is rewardingly evident in baked leg of rabbit, tender on the bone, served with a clever sauce of chilli and sweet corn. Aside from Reg, who is not allowed a vote as he won’t eat rabbit, this is voted the standout dish by my party scoring equally with the clovey dal makhani — rendered as black lentils on the menu — which is made to its benefit without red kidney beans.

So disappointing that you wonder why it is served is The Royal Pot (at £38.90) to share. A dry, arid, overcooked lamb shank and various random vegetables including potatoes arrive in a handsome vessel. It is a lot of money for almost no reward. Stick with potato and date samosa chaat, Keralan shrimp cocktail, quail with pickled chickpea salad, butter chicken, the rabbit, Hyderabadi goat biryani as the rice element and lemon and stem ginger brûlée with rhubarb for dessert. Wines, particularly on the lower slopes of the list, are marked up with similar exuberance to the food.

Japanese “washlet” loos — another legacy of Chrysan — try to make up for the absence of a winter journey to a warm country with gentle rainfall, but don’t altogether succeed.

Lunch Mon-Fri noon-2.15pm. Dinner Mon-Sat 6pm-10.45pm. Set menu (for four or more) £35pp. A la carte, meal for two with wine, about £120 including 12.5 per cent service.

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