What
Once upon a time, Kensington High Street was a bit of a culinary desert. But when Dishoom set up camp in 2017, the landscape shifted. Suddenly, the Bombay (as was) of the 1930s had been resurrected in W8: think chatter, clatter, spice in the air. On our recent visit – a hot late-summer evening – a jazz band was sending brass notes skyward, the galleried room hummed with chatter, queues curled out the door. It’s loud. It’s heady. It smells utterly divine. Word of warning: conversation will involve a fair bit of shouting. But then, this is Dishoom. You don’t come here for peace. You come for transport.
Where
You’ll find it tucked off the High Street, inside the bones of the old Barkers department store. Once a grand stalwart, now transformed into a cinematic 1930s Bombay canteen, expect low lighting, battered posters, deep banquettes, the faint crackle of a record player. In short, nostalgia turned up to full volume.
To Start
Dishoom doesn’t do starters and mains in the old-fashioned sense. Instead, snacks, small plates, and sharers tumble onto the table, demanding you graze, dip, crunch and tear. The samosas? A masterclass in crisp shortcrust, shattering under the bite to release a spiced pea-and-potato filling that hums with warmth, nudged along by sweet-tangy tamarind. Chicken and mango salad feels virtuous but never dull – tender chicken tangled with ripe fruit, broccoli and seeds, the whole lot dressed in a lively mango-chilli-lime number. Chota papad arrive puffed-up and hexagonal, sprinkled in masala magic, ready to be scooped through a chutney of mangoes, two ways. Blackened butterfly prawns are charred, juicy, and begging to be prised from their shells – South Bombay fish-market chaos distilled into one perfect bite. Okra fries? Well, if crisps could flirt, they’d taste like this. Gunpowder potatoes are a marvellous melange of smoky char, butter and crushed seeds, all crunch and smoke and seduction. And finally, fish Amritsari – slender strips of fish in a carom-scented batter, designed to dunk into a vivid green chutney – made the table fall silent for a moment. Always a good sign.
The Main Event
We’d already hit the point of satiety, but some dishes are non-negotiable. The house black daal, for example – slow-cooked for 24 hours is a dark, velvety hymn to comfort. One of those ‘why-wouldn’t-you’ dishes. Alongside, a Goan monkfish curry – coconut, kokum, tamarind, curry leaves – is heady, fragrant, gently luxurious. Cooling kachumber – a messy muddle of cucumber, onion, tomato, lime – did its duty perfectly, as did the raita: soothing, minty, cucumber-cool.
To Finish
Only one way to round things off: mango kulfi. Smooth, satin-textured, shamelessly sweet. A little golden sun on a stick.
To Drink
The Permit Room bar more than holds its own. The Margarita, sharpened with clarified tamarind and a dusted rim, was the perfect foil to Dishoom’s spice-laden feast, while Baba’s sesame espresso martini takes a classic and flirts with chai, molasses, sesame – a knockout. Or try the ‘new’ Old Fashioned: bourbon, PX sherry, date liqueur. Old Bombay in a glass. And for the small ones? Mango and fennel lassi. Lush yoghurt, sunny mango, a little hint of fennel. Our daughter demolished hers.
The Service
Dishoom staff have the knack: warm, switched-on, always nearby without hovering. They’ll nudge you towards the right choices if you’re dithering. And you’ll leave convinced they enjoyed having you as much as you enjoyed being there. Almost.
