Dishoom

3a St Andrew Square, Edinburgh

0131 202 6406

Lunch/Dinner: £10-£30

Food rating: 9/10

I KNOW that you shouldn’t eavesdrop the conversations of others, but sometimes you just can’t help yourself. Next to us at Dishoom in Edinburgh sit two Indian chefs. We learn that they take their professional metier extremely seriously and so always make a point of checking out the standard of cooking at every new Indian restaurant that opens. They’re impressed. They nod approvingly at the house black daal. Their verdict on the biryani, a dish guaranteed to sort out the experienced Indian cooks from half-hearted dabblers, is unequivocal. It’s first-class. I suspect they’ll go right back to their kitchen team and say: “Listen up, there’s a game-changer in town.”

So I'm happy that our order overlaps with theirs, because now I can taste what they’re talking about. The fragrance from our Awadhi lamb biryani, once the flour and water seal on its piping hot clay pot is broken, is alluring. It wafts that distinctive basmati perfume along with the Mughal scent of warm mint. A cap of golden-brown caramelised onions crowns the rice, which tastes freshly prepared, every grain cooked yet still holding its shape. Chunky cubes of lamb buried in its warm depths are rewarding finds, as gently aromatic as the rice. The house daal teaches me a lesson in humility. I ignorantly thought my own daal was pretty good, but it’s kid’s stuff in comparison. Dishoom’s is dark and rich, simmered over 24 hours. The net effect is deep and buttery, capturing a fudgy sweetness from thick cream and properly prepared ghee. I’m wondering if I have overdone the lamb ordering a bit – I avoid chicken unless I know it’s free-range – but when the lamb chops appear they dispel any such misgiving. Their overnight marinade of warm spices (cloves to the fore), ginger, garlic, palm sugar, and lime juice has produced a velveteen spice crust, blackened winningly by the grill, and they’re still rosy in the middle.

Before I taste it I’m inclined to think that the vadu pau, marketed as Bombay’s version of a chip buttie, will be some mongrel mash-up. Wrong. The potato patty is roughly mashed, deftly spiced before you even consider the hot brick-red Ghati masala, pungent with asafoetida that fringes it. Sandwiched with two pickles in a neat bap, this is a remarkable dish for £3.90. Purveyors of potato fritters eat your heart out. This is something else.

If you think you don’t like okra, their treatment here – slit lengthways, crisp fried, then dusted with salty hot spices – might provoke a rethink. Gunpowder potatoes are another crowd pleaser, crustily roasted, smashed up just enough to trap crushed spices and a profligate quantity of fresh coriander in their frayed contours. They’re freshened up with a welcome sourness, from amchoor (dry mango powder) perhaps? It’s just so easy to eat them and every mouthful is lively and interesting, symptomatic of Dishoom’s confidently bold flavour palate. This alone should give its more conservative local rivals the conviction to dig deep to their culinary roots and up their game.

Of the puddings, I’m so-so about the pineapple and black pepper crumble that comes with very British custard, an Anglified dullard compared to the savouries that preceded it. It would take me a while to get my head around the kala khatta kola ice. Its viscosity comes, I guess, from its kokum (a berry from the mangosteen family) syrup. I’m almost coming round to it, savouring its minerality from black salt, when the overbearing sweetness kicks in.

Food apart, it’s fun to eat at Dishoom. This mini-chain recreates the Irani cafés of Bombay that democratically welcomed one and all with their faded elegance. Ceiling fans turn slowly. You sit on Bentwood chairs under glass chandeliers that illuminate sepia family portraits. Partitioned wood and glass panels permit partial vistas throughout the dining room that layer on atmosphere. This faux vintage decor does work. And Dishoom uses its three-floor premises cleverly. You enter at ground level and must pass the appetite-whetting open kitchen. Then you cool your heels in the basement bar before impatiently hot-footing it up to the first floor dining room to check out the dishes that exude these wonderful smells.