I could live in Glasgow, I think. It’s a city for those who put personality over handsome looks, with nicotine in its lungs and lyricism in its throat, all baroque bravado and shipyard swagger. Where the rain falls, not romantically, but horizontally and frequently. In many ways it reminds me of Birmingham, how the brutalist hard lines clash head on with the most beautiful of buildings, and the people work with what they have and not what they want. It’s a place to experience, to live and breathe, not listen to antiquated opinions of. Glaswegians are some of the great people of the world; resilient, humble, worldly, tribal. On one afternoon I popped into a shop to look for a specific present for my wife. When they didn’t have it the lithe red-headed fella behind the counter pulled out a bottle of whisky and offered me a dram, turning the most ordinary exchange into a small masterpiece of timing.
We were there for two days this time in my third visit within a year. I already have my favourite places; cocktails at Absent Ear and Daddy Marmalade, Guinness at The Laurieston but only from the middle tap, coffee from the world class God Shot Studio, and lunch at the equally world class Shawarma King, to be taken at 11.30 when the doors open and the lengthy queues are not yet fully formed. For dinner I’ve settled on Namaste by Deli Darbar in St Enoch Centre, often on the nights when I should be exploring elsewhere.
Sometimes it’s just the spicy chicken pakora and a glass of single malt, others it’s been the haggis pakora which should be a thing just about everywhere given how well the lightly spiced batter works with the heavily spiced sausage. We get gol gappa as good as it gets, the crisp one-bite shells filled with tangy yoghurt and masala chaat that hums with freshness. I comment to the endearing server that it’s the best gol gappa I can recall eating. She tells me it’s her favourite thing on the menu and suddenly I feel justified in my choices.
I think, without the mixed grill, I would have been content in eating the occasional lunch of cheesey chips with masala and not writing about Namaste by Delhi Dabbar. But I had it – twice – and here we are. It’s one of the great mixes out there, up there with Brigadiers and the one at Number 25 in Bromsgrove. The sheekh kebab is as good as any I’ve eaten, little more than really good lamb, black pepper, and cumin, cooked gently until the fats and protein meld. There is excellent chicken tikka to complement a more robust leg of tandoori chicken, chicken wings, and lamb chops that have been marinaded in hung yogurt until the meat starts to pull from the bone purely by lifting it up. Each one a study in layering spice. Each one very delicious. I think the mixed grill is twenty quid. I was heavily stuck into Macallan 12 year old by this point given its half the price of everywhere else. Priorities. A garlic chilli chicken bears little semblance to the kolkata original, but it’s great, a thick pungent mass that balloons over the pieces of chicken. It once got two stars at the Great Taste Awards. I’m pretty sure I was judging that day.
The most a meal has been is £45 and on weekdays they do cocktails that are either five or seven quid, and the chai is the best chai I’ve ever tried (it’s 3* Great Taste). It’s just one of those places that does stuff right, fairly classical Indian on paper, but actually more Scottish Indian, a place that wears its dual heritage proudly on its sleeve. Looking back it’s only the bready naans I don’t care for. It’s the kind of place that could easily be a regular if I lived close by, though it kind of already is and I’m four hours away by train.
8/10
Sign up to the newsletter here
https://blog.us14.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=08c98db0e9d6eb9e5b54695a1&id=eda85ee6f4
