Dishoom London: an homage to the now-fading Irani cafés in Bombay

Lamb Samosas

Dishoom Chicken Tikka and Garlic Naans

Vada Pau

Mango Kulfi on a stick and Pineapple and black pepper crumble

Trenchcoat – H&M Trend. Bag – Kurt Geiger ‘Deuce’. Grey jeans – Urban Outfitters. Shoes – Topshop. Plaid Shirt – Uniqlo Mens. Grey cardigan – Barbour. Watch – Sekonda.

We fit right in, Joanna and I, at Dishoom, inspired by Irani cafes that existed in abundance in Bombay at the turn of the 20th Century, those which welcomed practically everyone regardless of social class or occupation. So we fit right in, because alongside memories of wealthy Bombay businessmen dining next to the struggling rickshaw-puller and the whore, there was us, two girls that knew no more than the ABC’s of Indian cuisine, asking the waiter what samosas look like. To those seasoned Londoners who add to the national statistic of curry being one of Britain’s most popular foods, our choices may seem unusual, but apparently Dishoom prides in being not, an Indian restaurant, but a Bombay Cafe. Everything is designed to share and each person is recommended to order 2 – 3 dishes. The food come in concise portions, each rich in flavour and character, or in other words, DI-SHOOM.* Interiors designed by Russel Sage (who’s also done Zetter Townhouse, The Hospital club…), I’m transported straight into an exotic world that is also oddly nostalgic despite the fact that I’m the dunce that doesn’t know what samosas look like. Don’t let the hype/commercial reputation (their other branch is in Covent Garden theatre district) deter you, especially the Shoreditch branch with the beautiful courtyard already littered with sofas and benches, I’ll be out there with a Bollybellini come July. For now, try the bottomless spiced chai, Behl and the Pineapple and black pepper crumble as dessert.

*Bollywood version of Ka-Pow!

Leather knot bracelet – COS. Watch – Sekonda. Wallet - Stella McCartney Falabella wristlet (c/o Harrod’s)

Studded boots – Chloé Susan (c/o Net-A-Porter). Shoes - ASOS

Coat – Mango. Jeans – James Jeans. Cashmere sweater- Uniqlo. Shoes – ASOS. Bag – Kurt Geiger Rhubarb rock. Snood – DIY Knitted. Silver necklace – Gift from mummy (Korea)

Sometimes I forget that my ‘normal’ friends have no idea I’ve been blogging for the past four years, and by blogging I mean scrambling around in a hamster-wheel charging for the vague unknown, and generally being occupied full-ish time doing so. I didn’t plan on letting this define my life, and if I still have a say, I’d like it not to, but I’m slowly starting to realise that I’ve subscribed to a very particular brand of lifestyle brought on by this business of web logging. It all became clear, really, when Carrie and I went to Paris for a night (yes, girl-on-girl details if you come back after midnight, you know it) for a small project with YSL Beauté, and all throughout I had this odd sense of comfort. The type of comfort that comes with the fact that I can hand her my camera and then pose as if the camera isn’t there, or the fact that we’ve mentally agreed on meeting at my room in twenty minutes, fully dressed and ready for some outfit shots. She will know exactly why we’re going out on a five-mile walk in 4-inch heels with a pair of foldable flats in our bags, and why I insist on hovering over our rapidly-cooling crêpes that we waited half a frozen hour to get our hands on for the sake of a photo (which, as you can see, didn’t even make the cut). Is this all getting a bit weird? Are we perhaps editing ‘the moment’ and never enjoying it as is? With that said, I had a swell time with Carrie and the YSL Beauté team, and Paris is even more stunning in the autumn.

Sea scallop, oyster, seaweed and watercress

Clockwise: Carrot puree with pickled celery and basil; Mushroom broth with buffalo curd and water mint; lemon sole with smoked marrow and roasted bone sauce

Dessert: Macerated strawberries with Butter milk custard and Strawberry meringue

Silk trench coat, Calvin Klein. Trousers, Topman. Grey t-shirt, Gmarket. Bag, JHYoo. Shoes, Topshop.

Let me just go collect a few more scrap metal bits to sell so I can once again afford to take some more shots inside Roganic to show you. Or, just book and go, actually. I don’t think I’m confident enough to explain what the dishes are anyway, that’s usually Sophie‘s job and I’m the pizza-belly photographer that nods fiercely pretending to know what a hake is. (‘Yes, this hake is so delicious, can one grow it in the garden?‘) The funny thing is, I didn’t near expect Roganic to be this good despite all the gushing, although when I arrived at the address the low-key grey-pistachio exterior with frosted windows did throw me off a bit. When I plan to spend £60+ for a lunch I expect at least a carpet of some variant of red, and servants, bowing. But then again yours truly is cheap-azz that cry over a £6 burger. I went for the 6 course option, only because it’s a no-choice tasting menu which means the 3 course option would’ve been like having glorified finger food for lunch and the 10 course option would’ve been having LOTS AND LOTS of finger food for lunch. If you’re a foodie feel free to leave that dijon mustard-smear in my comment box now. Said glorified finger-food was beautifully presented on surfaces with contrasting or complimenting textures, and served with the most adequate tempo; every course had such harmony within itself – by the time we were on dessert my palate had been active like an LED dance floor. The only time I’ve had that kind of party in my mouth was when I first tried peanut butter and Oreos after watching Parent Trap in 1998…. YUM. Before the company put two and two together and forever ruined adolescent excitement of of food-experimentation, that is.