CityLife

Gurkha Grill

I SUPPOSE I’m spoilt. Call me picky but a crisp salute from the twinkly-fierce major domo outside EastzEast always makes me feel like Roger of the Raj entering the gates of Delhi. 

It’s the full-on Punjabi uniform with headdress that does it. When the former CityLife.co.uk Manchester Restaurant of the Year opened their second city centre outlet along Blackfriars they even transported us in a gaudy, imported Indian bus, blasting out bhangra. That was the end of Curry Kitsch.

The cool, clean look inside raised the bar from flock wallpaper. Yet, despite the customer buzz, it was a bit corporate bland actually.

If the revamped, tripled-in-size Gurkha Grill in West Didsbury also wishes to deflect from the chain café bar look that seems to go hand in hand with expansion to 160 covers, it really also ought to invest in a front of pavement figure.

Flashing blades

Yet maybe one of those compact Nepalese warriors brandishing a killer kuri (not curry, sic) might be a mite off-putting, flashing blades and all that, until you realise they’ve always been on our side.

The only Gurkha soldier we encountered in this Burton Road institution was on the side of their house beer, Gurkha (brewed under licence in the UK).

My companion, Mopsi Chopra’s (blonde!) sister Chastity, currently auditioning for Strictly Bollywood On Ice got a complimentary Bailey’s.

There was something less than Himalayan about our Nepalese starter.

Indeterminate garlicky potion

Sandheko Hot Salad (£6.95) featured grilled paneer cubes (Indian cheese), but the scanty portion of iceberg lettuce and cucumber was dressed in an indeterminate garlicky potion. 

We weren’t expecting a recipe passed down from spiritual leader to spiritual leader, but we instantly lost faith in our authentic destiny.

Which was a shame because it is a jolly place, busy on a raw Monday evening.

Chastity, releasing the inner anorak in her, had researched Nepalese cuisine in advance, since West Didsbury appears to be forming part of the Himalayan culinary foothills with both The Great Kathmandu and Gurkha Grill in situ.

Rice is apparently expensive in the hills, so the Nepalese substitute dhedo, a mixture of flour and water or butter.

Imported luxury

The ubiquitous snack is momo, a meat dumpling served with spicy soup and a tangy tomato dip.

Alas, dedho and momo came there none. Tandoori and tikka, yes.

But then this is a grill. And seafood, which must be an imported luxury in Nepal, figures surprisingly.

I wished it hadn’t. Our tandoori king prawns had all the flavour and texture of cotton wool – and cost £12.95.

Ill-advised foray

For nearly twice that price, our ill-advised foray into Lobster Tikka Masala produced similar texture and taste problems. 

The texture was stringy, the taste of lobster all but obliterated by a coarse, creamy sauce the colour of stage blood. ‘Is this dish radioactive,’ queried Chastity.

Ginger chicken (£8.45) from the tandoor oven was pleasanter, despite a gloopy sauce, emanating fragrant ginger and coriander, but it couldn’t redeem a disappointing meal. 

Expansion is obviously to capitalise the Gurkha Grill’s popularity, particularly with musos (Badly Drawn Boy and Andy Votel are just two of its besotted fans, according to the menu). 

As the new look nears completion, it is not as immediately chic as Simon Rimmer’s new, larger Greens around the corner and may not be as creative or subtle in its use of spice either.
 

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