Indian spice spoiled during a soggy supper
JAKARTA (JP): What a difference a day makes, and even more so a couple of years. Yes, it had already been a couple of years since I had the privilege of attending the opening night of the Copper Chimney restaurant at Jl. Antara No. 5, Pasar Baru.
To say a privilege is no mere idle chitchat as at that time the Copper Chimney had all the appearances of becoming one of the best North Indian restaurants in Jakarta. But there's been a lot of water under the bridge since then as I found out on a recent return visit to the Copper Chimney, now renamed the Sindh-Punjab restaurant -- we were informed that the management is the same, although personally I have my doubts.
Of course, Indian food is one of the greatest blessings that God has bestowed upon us ungrateful mortals. Although the first time you taste a chicken vindaloo may be enough to almost blow your head off, after that, like some wondrous drug, you won't be able to get enough of it.
Our evening started off badly, however, with the heavens opening shortly after we left the house. The rain was still coming down in buckets as we pulled up in front of the restaurant in the labyrinth of back streets behind Jl. Pasar Baru. By this time the street was the scene of a flood of biblical proportions and we had to wade our way through calf-high water to get to our spicy destination.
Having stumbled our way into the restaurant looking for all the world like a pair of drowned rats, we were accosted by a tall individual who turned out to be the owner, and who led us to our table at the back of the dining area. There wasn't much choice as regards tables, in fact, as half of the restaurant was occupied by an extremely noisy family party. The noise level was further pumped up by a seemingly maniacal commentator screaming out the goings on at an English league soccer match on the TV.
As for the seating we were assigned, it would have been laughable if it hadn't been so annoying, consisting as it did of a couple of semicircular detached wall sofas trundled out to the center of the floor and placed around a bare, glass table devoid of anything resembling a tablecloth or other adornment.
By this stage, we could only hope that the food would do something to alleviate our discomfort, and so it proved, although not without a disquieting moment or two.
We started by ordering two large masala pappadam (thin, spicy and deep-fried wafer made from pulse flour), which I considered rather expensive at Rp 8,000 each but which came with the customary chutneys, although in this case the choice was confined to mango and mint, both of which were just about acceptable. The pappadam, however, were still oily and rather lacking in the spice stakes.
We continued our meal with a number of other starters and side dishes, including mutton samosa (well-spiced mutton and vegetables wrapped in pastry triangles and deep-fried) at Rp 25,000 for two and vegetable frankie (similar to a spring roll but wrapped in naan bread) at Rp 10,000 for three.
The samosa pastry was light and well-textured while the mutton filling was delicious, albeit a little salty. Meanwhile, the frankie were well-presented and hit the mark as far as my companion was concerned. I also tried out the tamatar (tomato) cream soup which again was delicious and left the taste buds crying out for more.
By this stage I had a distinct craving for rogan josh (a spicy mutton curry) but was abruptly informed by the gesticulating manager that it was not available. Meanwhile, my partner had a similar craving for tandoori spring chicken but was equally abruptly informed that they were all out of spring chicken (all the other chicken dishes presumably being made from somewhat older, if not actually geriatric, birds).
As a second choice, I finally settled for the chicken vindaloo at Rp 25,000. This turned out to a hearty and satisfying affair leaving a deliciously tingling aftertaste at the back of the mouth. Oh, to be able to cook like this at home! Meanwhile, my companion, after much obvious prompting from the manager, who by this stage had rather overbearingly perched himself on the edge of our seat, plumped for the chicken tikka masala (Rp 30,000), a dish consisting of chicken pieces marinated in yogurt, chili, garlic, cumin and garam masala, which is then cooked in the tandoor oven on skewers.
The end result was delicious, she professed. The saffron rice (Rp 15,000) and plain rice (Rp 10,000) that we had also ordered did not, unfortunately, arrive until nearly 10 minutes after the entrees had been set on the table!
Notwithstanding the myriad of potential delights on offer, my partner decided to forgo dessert. Yours truly ordered kulfi (traditional Indian ice cream). I had heard about the sensuous pleasures of kulfi before but had never actually indulged myself. What have I been missing out on?
This stuff was incredible -- superlatives are well in order here -- and has earned itself a place high up on my list of all- time favorite heart detonators. Refreshing Indian teas rounded off our evening in the Sindh Punjab, an evening not only marred by poor service and unpleasant surrounds, but also the annoying "drip, drip, drip," of a leak somewhere behind us. I know it was raining and all that, but a leak in a far-from-cheap restaurant? Come on, guys!
On our way home through Jakarta's dank and rain-soaked streets, I found myself wondering how the formerly almost regal Copper Chimney could have degenerated to such an extent. This conundrum is, of course, one that only the management is capable of answering.
Nevertheless, hope springs eternal and it must be said that the quality of the food served was still reasonably good. So, let's earnestly hope that the management can build on this to restore, if not all, then at least some of this restaurant's former glory.(Bill Blade)