The spice of life
Above: Shezan
Ian looks thrilled when I ring up Shezan and have an Odd Experience.
“I’d like to book a table for two for 7.30pm tonight,” I say.
“Certainly,” says the polite voice at the other end. And then there’s silence for a while. It’s a bit like that ‘not blinking’ game, but finally I give in first.
“Would you like a name or a phone number?” I ask, even though that’s technically their job and a tad confusing. (If I’m not careful, I’ll finish by asking if they’ve any special dietary requirements and thanking them for ringing.)
“No,” they reply, “that won’t be necessary.”
“Well at least that will save you writing something ridiculous about me,” Ian says, as I ponder how I’ll announce myself. (“I’m the person who booked a table... err... that’s about all I can tell you, really”). Every time Ian does something unfortunate, he’s convinced it will appear in print somewhere. Like the fact that he lost his wallet. Of course, to begin with, it was definitely my fault. I’d moved it somewhere without telling him and I ought to leave things where they were. I was exonerated on this occasion by the fact that he finally found it in the fridge at work. Even he found it hard to pin that one on me. (Apparently, it was a mix-up with his lunch, though he hasn’t revealed whether or not he tried to pay by cheese sandwich anywhere.)
Anyway, I don’t need to mention any of these things now. Back to Shezan, which is such a good name: the kind of word you’d utter to open a cave full of gold and jewels (though that’s never worked for me). The restaurant, nicely positioned in Montpellier, is clean-lined and unfussy, unadorned with the more characteristic richness (or oppressiveness, depending on how it’s done) of Indian décor.
“I’m the person who booked a table... err... that’s about all I can tell you, really.”
“Yes,” says the meeter and greeter, in a friendly but enigmatic fashion, “we had a blank space by the booking.”
The menu – which can all be served ‘take-away’ too – is divided into various sections including tandoori charcoal barbecues, Mughal house specialities, vegetarian and ‘from the sea’. It’s not small, but nor is it overwhelmingly massive – though Ian is deeply disappointed there’s no set menu. His confidence in ordering ethnic food took a battering (you’ll appreciate my wit in a moment) when he and my father once visited a Chinese restaurant in Paris. (Do stop me if I’ve told you this before, but it’s a story I’m particularly fond of.) Speaking neither French nor Cantonese, they ordered by number. They were thrilled with the first course, which turned out to be vegetables deep-fried in batter. Less so with the next course, which was pork deep-fried in batter; and resigned when the dessert arrived – bananas, deep-fried in batter.
So, to the food at Shezan. The menu emphasises the Mughal influence – one of the most vibrant periods of Indian history, which brought with it distinctive poetry, art, textiles and, of course the Taj Mahal, built by Emperor Shah Jehan: if love had physical form, this monument to Mumtaz Mahal would be its most faithful reproduction. This subtlety and skill is frequently forgotten in the Anglo view of Indian cuisine, particularly when it comes to delicate spicing. That sophistication and passion for flavours is clearly in evidence at Shezan. We chose pan-fried potato cakes, spiced, with a touch of ginger and green chillies, plus chicken tikka; then balti saag (lamb cooked with spinach, coriander, spices and ginger) and a balti hyderbadi (chicken in a coconut cream with herbs and spices). It’s good food – especially for the location and price (around the £7 or £8 mark for main courses, though you do have to add on rice and, if you want it, a side dish and bread).
It’s a busy evening for Cheltenham shoppers, admittedly, but the place is packed, with many more waiting for take-aways. It’s a classy queue, though you might be better advised not to pick a table on the ground floor if you want a bit of peace and quiet. Actually, lack of atmosphere is my big quibble with the place. If you’re eating Indian style, you tend to want a bit of local colour and a few props to get you into the mood.
The service is reasonably quick, friendly and accurate. I would add that you have to pour your drinks from the bottle yourself, but that sounds faintly ridiculous – I do have a functioning right arm. I suppose the point I’d make is that you’re not over-indulged.
Still, dessert brought a Proustian moment: the last time I ate syrupy gulab jamun was in Rajasthan, on the edge of the Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary where the Siberian crane, with its musical cry, used to overwinter... and maybe still does, though drought is blighting this area once-rich in wildlife. Still, that’s another story.
As to Shezan: if you like Indian food, you won’t be disappointed. Just don’t expect the frills.