Mayfair is the gleaming nexus of London’s luxury Indian food network. You’ve got the game-changing Gymkhana, critically acclaimed Bibi, older-than-old-school Veeraswamy and plenty more besides. For some reason Jamavar flies under the gilded golden, jasmine-scented radar. But it shouldn’t, because, for my (inadequate) money, it’s one of the very best.
Unlike the afore-mentioned Gymkhana, which strives for intimate clubhouse ambience, Jamavar is all about the grandiose. The room is big. The ceiling is far away. Dark wood and shining brass abound. The staff are sharp as a tack and always at hand if you need something. Eating at Jamavar is a special occasion, whether you want it to be or not.
Jamavar’s menu delivers comfort
Gratefully, the food lives up to the setting. Jamavar understands that there’s little point ‘elevating’ south Asian cuisine if you also remove the inherent qualities that make the food so enduringly popular in Britain. You want warmth, depth of flavour, aromatics and sustenance. You want comfort, and Jamavar’s menu - which pinballs around the Indian subcontinent with gay abandon - delivers comfort. Ironically though, one of the only dishes which has been visibly elevated - the chandni chowk ki aloo tikki - is also one of the best. A prettified version of a Delhi street food classic, this starter of potato cakes, tamarind, mint and spiced white pea, presents a mind-expanding combination of smooth-crunchy textures and flavours. The haleem starter was another immediate charmer. Usually made with lamb, Jamavar’s beefy remix has all of the porridge-y moreishness of the original but augments it with posh naan and a smattering of crispy toppings. Predictably, my only criticism: it needed more naan.
The mains, then. Our vegetable biriyani was a delight, served within a cauldron of pillowy pastry, which traps the all-important steam inside until the moment comes to crack it open. The malvani prawn curry had the requisite Goan tang and shining golden surface hinting at the tamarind-tastic goodness within. Perhaps best of all: a forbiddingly dark goat methi gosht, made with fresh fenugreek leaves and cinnamon. It’s the dish that does the least in terms of visuals but arguably the most in terms of Mariana Trench-deep, comforting flavour.
The only dish which felt like a sad deviation from the Jamavar formula was a slightly fussy hand-dived scallops starter, which lacked the welcoming heft of the other dishes. It was fine. But looked and tasted like it came from a different, less fun restaurant.
Jamavar is a big restaurant for big meals. Unlike some of its contemporaries that are happy to coast, this is clearly an institution not prepared to let its standards slip.
The vibe Turbo-charged Indian cuisine in a suitably splendid location.
The food A selection of eye-catching starters, curry mains, and a robust tandoor selection.
The drink Signature cocktails, an extensive wine list, luxury gin and tonics and a great collection of rare spirits.
Time Out tip There is an outrageously expensive tamarind martini that I am sorry to say was as close to being ‘worth it’ as a 50 quid drink can be.