Restaurant review: Daydream believer Never mind the prozac, here's the den of Indian delights You pass the water flower bed and the spice rack with its miniature compartments of exotic promise and they just hang there. On the walls of the foyer, framed in glass cases, metal implements of intricate design dare you to solve their riddle. They could be anything, weapons, musical instruments, the chastity belts of sadistic dwarfs, anything. An intriguing ominous tone has been set as you step into the Moghul room, the city's premiere den of Indian delights, and your curiosity still won't give up, gnawing at you, until you finally penetrate the Dreamer's daydream. Perennially shy, the Dreamer writes a mean grant proposal but her head drifts regularly back to the clouds if left unattended. It's fitting then that we find ourselves adjusting to the chilly climate in this dark blue and creamy eggshell haven whose ambiance suggests floating on a billowy mass. Pointy chairs surround, and complement, the decorative genie lamps on every gold-topped table, and round eight-seater booths are tucked away against the ends of the restaurant. A hulking blue ceiling drapery sets the imperial tone, and a makeshift stage is barely large enough to accommodate the sitar-based three-piece acoustic band we missed because we chose to dine on Wednesday. All else seem at ease with the air-conditioned breeze as, we'll soon discover, fine spices have already been paddling away through their bloodstream. Deciphering the daydream becomes a matter of desperate urgency. This is not just some mental space she escapes to, this is the ultimate ambition of all her senses, and, ideally, her raison d'être. It's a detective story set on the terrain of reverie, and the only leads on offer are those you can squeeze out as you nonchalantly enquire about the (allegedly) insignificant details, to unearth that very special chimera. Expert waiters start you off right. Tongs centre the complementary rich and steaming vegetable samosas on your table with a dignified authority, and the mint chutney only makes you wish there were more to dip. The lamb delicacy, Kashmiri Rogan Josh, is as tender as Um Kolthoum's vocal chords, and the spinach and cottage cheese, Palak Methi Paneer, with dry fenugreek and ginger is pungent and tasty. We dip leavened white flour bread, Masala Kulcha, stuffed with mashed potatoes, green peas, and cottage cheese, into our food, and wash it all down with silky Lassis -- a dollop of mango suspended in the Dreamer's like an afterthought. Half our food leaves us stuffed. Such is the intoxicating richness of these offerings, and our selections merely scratched the surface of this gastronomic goldmine that would make the most apathetic of tongues ache with need. Those braver (or greedier) souls wishing to venture towards the set menu would be well advised to take 15- minute digestion breaks between the courses. You've narrowed it down. Her house overlooks the coast, a loved one snores blissfully a few feet away, her lungs gluttonously inhale the fresh air, and somewhere nearby a canvas and paintbrush lie untouched. But, she claims, you're still nowhere near. The central role is her subjective state, the one no one else could possibly experience, the very problem of consciousness. One look, though, and you know it's blissful. Another look and you know this place inspired it, and sustained it. We share a Malai Pista Kulfi, a thick ice cream with the texture of bread, and it's official: we can die happy. For those clinging to the crutches of prozac, let it be known: this place is probably the quickest and surest fix for maladjusted serotonin levels. Restaurants like these are the reason culinary columns were ever devised. Writing this review has been a process of frequent interruptions; wiping the drool off the keyboard was no graceful chore. The second hand on the clock may just push me over the edge, but it won't quiet down, not until I return. Moghul Room Mena House Oberoi, Pyramids Road, Giza. Tel: +2 383 3222, 383 3444. Opening Hours: Dinner, 7pm-12am daily. Lunch 12.30pm -- 3pm Fridays. (On weekdays lunch is served at the same time in the Khan Al-Khalili restaurant). Dinner for two, LE250. By Waleed Marzouk
