Sindhu
The Compleat Angler,
Marlow Bridge Ln, Marlow
01628 405 405, sindhurestaurant.co.uk
Marlow, with its rushing river, neat lawns and Pugin-designed St Peter’s Church, is the sort of picture-perfect Home Counties town where everything is not quite as it seems. Because beneath that polite, picturesque façade – all manicured verges and immaculate hedges – and the boat houses, harvest festivals, Michelin-starred pubs and air of soft gentility, a primal, unspeakable evil lurks – a malevolent force that drives good men to do very bad things.
Or so I like to believe. Now before the enraged burghers of this pristine place fire off furious missives crying smear and slander, and demanding my head on a Royal Doulton plate, this is pure fantastical speculation, borne from the dark eddies and swirling currents of an over-fervent imagination. I blame Doctor Who. And Hammer Horror. And James Herbert, M R James, Agatha Christie and anyone else who so besmirched a tender and innocent mind.
Sindhu is the local Indian restaurant of my dreams, and as far removed from the usual curry house as it could possibly be. Not that I can’t love both
But at Sindhu, an Indian restaurant within The Compleat Angler hotel, the only evil spirits are sold by the legal measure, and any murderous thoughts are directed solely toward one’s lunch. Outside, the Thames roars through the weir, before slowing to a stately pace and meandering under a handsome iron bridge. I keep my eyes peeled for bodies.
Meanwhile, chutneys appear – excellent, home-made chutneys with tiny poppadoms – and we know we’re in good hands. But we knew that already, as this is an Atul Kochhar gaff. And anyone who can tell their keema from their korma will be certain in the knowledge that Kochhar is a master of spice. And a superlative Indian chef. Although our first taste, a cup of butternut squash soup, a freebie given to all, is a bit drab and well behaved. You could happily take it home to meet your parents, but this isn’t the Kochhar cooking we all crave. Nor are the battered calamari rings, well fried but dull.
Things start to look up with the fried chicken, lustily spiced and beautifully battered, with a sweet, delicate tomato sauce, bolstered by a sly pinch of Kashmiri chilli. Soft shell crab is decent too: small but not bitter. And then lamb seekh kebab, a splendidly soft and fatty cylinder of pure ovine delight.
More chilli, plus layer after layer of spice, cumin, cardamom and coriander seed, that echo joyously throughout the mouth. Dipped in cool, minty green sauce, it’s a fine combination of comfort and class.
There’s lamb chettinad – plump, blackened cutlets hewn from a beast old enough to know a thing or two about flavour. Again, they wear their spice with pride, subtle and aromatic, rather like the southern Chettiar cuisine from where they hail. There’s juice and chew and charm. With a sharp cucumber salad and a square of spiced polenta upma, it’s a southern Indian staple.
Best of all is a Hyderabadi dum biryani. The chicken thighs have been cooked in the tandoor first, which gives them that lovely lick of smoke. Then sealed, like a dead Pharaoh’s wife, in the pot with the rice and gently cooked for hours. The rice is sublime, each grain individually discernible, and the whole dish scented with pandanus, or screwpine, that floral, delicate staple of Mughal cooking.
Squishy aubergine comes flecked with mustard seeds in a rich tomato and saffron sauce, while yellow dahl is superior stodge. The breads are freshly baked and buttery, the naans puffy and burnished, the mint paratha discreetly flavoured. As ever with Kochhar, it’s a menu that skips and gambols across the subcontinent. But wide-ranging doesn’t mean that flavours all meld into one. At best, Sindhu offers a masterclass in regional Indian cooking. And despite not being in the kitchen, he’s trained his brigade well. A couple of uninspiring starters aside, this is high-class Indian food. Albeit at pretty high-class prices.
Service is slick and sweet. And they even brought our wine, stranded on the other side of the room, to rest back on our table. The sound of rushing water is by far the best muzak one could ever hope for, while the view of that wonderful suspension bridge sure beats the gum-stained pavement. In fact, Sindhu is the local Indian restaurant of my dreams, and as far removed from the usual curry house as it could possibly be. Not that I can’t love both.
In fact, the only proper disappointment is coming to the realisation that Marlow really is just a nice, pretty Home Counties town. With no nefarious evil or satanic cults. And not so much as a glimpse of vampire, werewolf or murderous monk.
Lunch for two: £100