PULLED LAMB samosa, then. The pastry crisp, bubbled, the filling packed into layer after meaty layer that reminds me somehow, as I stoop forward and take down chunks, of one of those proper American pastrami sandwiches.

I fork up mouthfuls of what they say is a slaw. Think micro-diced cucumber, onion, pomegranate swoosh of dressing, occasionally doing a dunk-o-rama into a bowl of mint yoghurt.

The waitress, nice young woman, had been telling me the reason it’s so quiet tonight is there’s something going on at the comedy club across the road.

That, and it’s a Tuesday. Oh, and it is Park Road, after all. Round the corner. Between Eusebis and the Doublet.

A sort of mini-no man’s land where tenements meet right-on barber shops meet wide grey sandstone stretches.

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Have I ever mentioned my uncle Peter Salvatore used to own a chip shop here? I have. Moving on then.

A prawn biryani bon bon is plucked from the dish right now and popped into my mouth, smoothly spiced filling bursting onto the palate, crisp shell cracking. I’ll look for actual prawns in one of them later, prising it apart like a mad west end geezer, and fail to identify a single one.

But that won’t stop me splish-splashing drips of honey yoghurt onto the sleeve of my full-fat polyester suit as I polish them off.

I hear chitter-chatter from that table by the window, something about those MoonSwatch Omega timepieces never, ever being available to buy across the counter but loads being available at inflated prices on reseller markets. And the same person selling them. Ooft.

Kitchen closes at 9.30pm, I hear now. A trio of tourists being told (it is 9.30pm) as they wheel in the door enthusiastically. But I can’t actually see anyone.

Due to the Marigold Cafe’s, erm, interesting, no make that challenging, layout. Very high partitions separate the booths, the one I am in too, blocking a view, I think, of a bar behind me, jumbling the room up, great during Covid when this new place wasn’t open, but a bit unusual otherwise.


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Unusual too, I think, while I lollygag through one of life’s greatest pleasures, dining alone, is the way that they have set up every single table for a rush that ain’t gonna come. On a Tuesday night anyway. Every single table. Knives, forks, napkins, wine glasses, tumblers, wine lists and side plates, lined up little parade ground soldiers on every polished table top in here. A bit hotel dining room. Meh, I think, as I decide the rarhra gosht has had enough time to cool down and finally send a fork to crack its grilled, piped, mashed potato crust.

Signature dish, it says on the menu. Shepherd’s pie, it says in my mind. Except it’s packed with lamb stewed in Punjabi spices, textured with crisped onion.

At first I’m like so-what but then I find myself a) having eaten the whole thing b) having done so with the serving spoon and c) sending the edge of that giant spoon running along the contours trying to run down the last morsels.

“Will I take your knife and fork away,” the waitress says, looming suddenly, prompting a blush to colour my cheeky chunky jowls.

I return to the Marigold fried chicken, a fillet in my fingers, dusted with powdered salt and chilli peanuts, globules of that buttery sauce clinging on. It’s okay, I get some spicing, not enough seasoning, but then great fried chicken is extremely difficult to make and even the sauce can’t mask the slight dryness of the meat.

Now, is it a bird, is it a plane, or is it even a cafe? It’s not really a cafe, I mutter, as the chef’s artistry with some seabass fillets, sweet curry sauce, Pak Choi and lime is demolished clunkily, hungrily – pausing only to think that these superfine noodley things can look like bones. But it is pretty good. I will come back. And I hope then they’ll be even braver with the spicing.


Menu: Interesting, occasionally exciting mix of Indian sub-continent spicing meets snacks you—really- want-to-eat. Full marks for ingenuity. 5/5

Service: Quiet night, one waitress serving me, extremely pleasant and efficient. Full marks too. 5/5

Atmosphere: Hmm. Bare brick walls, leatherette upholstery, boothorama, moody colours: it’s got a vibe. Lot of partitions though. 4/5

Price: Marigold Fried Chicken £8, Pulled Lamb Samosa £7.50, Rahra Ghost £9, Kashmiri Seabass £10.50, Prawn Biryani Bon Bons £7.5 -fair enough. 3/5

Food: it’s a yes. I occasionally thought the spicing could have been bolder, the seasoning stronger but as an opening salvo in a new take on old favourites it’s definitely worth a visit. 7/10

Total: 24/30


The Marigold Cafe
144 Park Road
Glasgow
0141 471 3414
Opening: Kitchen open til 9.30pm. Stays open later for drinks.