Amaya is on a gorgeous street in Belgravia opposite the poshest supermarket ever (a Waitrose, natch, housed in what looks like a neo-classical white temple). Inside, the restaurant is a bit of a mix design wise – there’s sleek, dark tables, low lighting with shots of colour and bar-like acoustics, but there are also random enormous statues. The service was surprising for SW1, that is to say snooty and efficient, although one note of discord was struck when we asked for mango chutney. Cue long, blank shake of the head… apparently one doesn’t do that here.
We went for the tasting menu for the table, which in any normal Indian restaurant I feel may be code for the leftover pot scrapings from three weeks of kitchen staff meals, but here was very decent. The waiter, too, managed to hide his derision for the bunch of confused foreigners opting for the easy non-choice. There were minced chicken lettuce parcels (fridge cold but tasty), two different grilled and succulent chicken bits, addictive sweet potatoes, lamb keema (gorgeous), fairly decent naan bread (not too greasy but not charred enough), tandoori broccoli with ginger yoghurt (too crunchy for me) and good raita with pomegranate. There was also a stellar venison kebab which, twenty years on, finally put my mind at rest that Bambi had indeed gone to a better place. Dessert was also part of the menu, a small but perfectly formed slice of lime and mint tart. We were satisfied, rather than stuffed, as each plate was just enough for four tastes, although I have a feeling one guy at the table would have gone back for a second round of ordering if social niceties hadn’t been at stake. Overall: the venison kebab alone convinced me to return on a quieter night and explore the proper menu some more.
