Restaurant review: May Krishna preserve the Maharaja These are the bare necessities, hums Injy El-Kashef, the simple bare necessities of life "Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us, And black the waters that sparkled so green. The moon, o'er the combers, looks downwards to find us At rest in the hollows that rustle between" -- (Seal Lullaby, Jungle Book) It was an absolutely delightful Ramadan this year, what with the entire month spent in hospital corridors and my fast broken to gastritis medicine -- it just couldn't have been more charming. All good things must come to an end, however, and so it was that I found myself, escorted by the little one, en route to the newly-opened Indian restaurant at the Ramsis Hilton, teaching him the proper slobbering sounds to be made in anticipation of a promising meal. In persuading him to accompany me, I had been obliged to magnify the "India" and minimise the "restaurant" aspect of things -- I must admit that he was initially a trifle disappointed with the lack of elephant swinging its trunks by the entrance. The wonderful waiters more than made up for that, however, with their genuinely engaging warmth working its magic on him right away. He flashed the most radiant smiles back at them, wiping his little hands in the moist towel presented to him in wondrous amazement as he embarked on this journey of discovery. With a strikingly serious air, barely managing to hold the extensive menu upright -- the only one in town boasting a separate section for vegetarians wishing to sample subcontinental delights -- he perused it at length after ordering his mango juice, slowly spelling out the syllables with newly-acquired reading skills, then raised a revolted eyebrow while I requested my sweet Lassi. "You mean, the dog?" "No, silly. It's a delicious yoghurt drink. Want to try?" The response was a decisive "ewww" that required no elucidation but rather prompted a quick reminder of table manners. The courteous ma"tre d', delighted with the "youngest guest to have visited", did his utmost to ensure that the small Maharaja's first experience with Indian food should be a complete success. He was obliging as to prepare the Pappadam (flat, thin, lentil-flour bread) crisp-fried rather than grilled, just to give the young teeth a little more chewing fun. Quick consultations resulted in a choice of Murgh Tikka Masala, normally consisting in a curry sauce over chicken pieces but this time prepared in a special tomato sauce deemed more acceptable to a six-year-old palate. Along with the Subzi Pulao (Basmati rice with vegetables), presented in the knuckle of a bamboo shoot, said six-year-old had a full- fledged culinary blast, interspersed with exclamatory variations on how good food is in India. Always faithful to things creamy, yours truly delighted in a Murgh Mumtaz, which arrived boiling hot in a copper serving dish, forcing me to take my eyes off the Krishna paintings adorning the walls with their blue radiance and focus instead on the cashew nut gravy in which my cutlets bathed. My Nimbu Chawal (Basmati rice with lemon) was a perfect contrast of flavours, bringing the subtle aroma of lemon side by side with the subdued sweetness of the sauce; the tender chicken required no more chewing effort than the long grains of rice which looked as beautiful as they tasted in pale yellow. Add to that a side spoonful of mango chutney, a dash of minted yoghurt, and you might begin to imagine the construction of colours and textures into which I launched. Pickled vegetables interrupted the gentle flow of docile flavours with their lemony strength and saffrony nuance, to be washed down only with fresh cool Lassi. In the meantime the discussion taking place across the table had moved from Ghandi to Mowgli, the little one having just re-watched the Jungle Book cartoon upon seeing me reading the book. The conclusion? Memorable people make their mark because there is more kindness in their hearts. And so he had a new pearl of wisdom to ponder while indulging in his chocolate ice-cream, while I wiggled my eyebrows at the Gulab Jamun sitting before me in a graceful porcelaine dish, before it was my turn to be reminded of table manners as I slurped the thick syrup of those succulent milk dumplings. They are just too good, too rich, too finely flavoured with their soupçon of cardamom and grated pistachio for decorum. Though the bill was rather spicy at LE392, including a bottle of water, this was simply a perfect meal, impeccably served by waiters with amazing karma. My little seal no longer needs swinging elephant trunks. Maharaja Ramses Hilton Tel 577 7444
