Telephone: 0116 266 0106
Address: 154-156 Belgrave Road, Leicester
Rating: 13/20
Leicester has been in the news of late, not for the kind of publicity a city likes to get. "We were a bit surprised, I can tell you," said the taxi driver cheerfully, holding up a newspaper headline that read, Terrorists Arrested In Leicester. "Leicester isn't like that at all," he said.
It all seemed a far cry from the city of its most famous son, Joe Orton: "I arrived at Leicester at 4.30. I had a quick bit of sex in a derelict house with a labourer I picked up," his diary records for December 29, 1966, when he returned to his home town for his mother's funeral. Philbrick and I were not in town for any of that kind of business. We'd come in search of lunch and, seeing as the Leicester area has one of the country's largest Asian populations, it seemed reasonable to suppose that there might be an equally high concentration of restaurants of high quality to meet their needs.
Not that you'd guess as much from the guides, which list shamefully few Asian restaurants of any kind in the country and - with the exception of Harden's Top UK Restaurants guide - none at all in Leicester. In place of guidance or local knowledge, we chose Bobby's on the grounds that it seemed the most promising from the Harden's.
Bobby's is vegetarian - which was fine by us, because the Indian way with vegetables is superior to that of probably any other national cuisine - and has been feeding discerning mouths in and around the city for more than 20 years. It is a brisk, no-nonsense kind of place, with an extensive counter lit up with brightly coloured Indian pastries and sweetmeats to greet you as you go in, and a small, fundamental dining room (melamine-topped tables, robust chairs, lemon-yellow walls) just off it.
I find this kind of environment immensely refreshing after a mountain of meals in places where rather more thought has been given to the colour scheme than to the food. Bobby's is an eaterie where people go to eat, not to ponce and pose. It is without pretence or pretensions. It is comfortable and utilitarian.
Our greeting, too, was warm and direct - clearly, Bobby's is used to guiding ignorant strangers through the extensive menu, in which most of the dishes come from Gujerat in western India.
"You must have some dhokla," said our genial host. "Then I recommend the dhai-puri. Are you hungry?"
"We eat for England," I replied.
He raised an eyebrow. "Then why not some crispy bhagia, slices of potato in a light batter with a chutney of tomato, carrot and cucumber."
"I want some patra," I said.
"What's that?" said Philbrick.
"Malanga leaves rolled in basen cream paste, herbs and spices," I replied, "then steamed and glazed with mustard and sesame seed oil."
"Yikes," he said.
"Will you have room for a curry?" asked our host.
"Certainly," said Philbrick.
"Then why not try the chana masala - a chickpea curry - not too hot, and the akhu sambharia nu shak, which is potatoes, aubergines and chillies with crushed peanuts and a creamy tomato sauce."
"Just the ticket," I said. He obviously didn't think that we'd finish all of this.
Well, we didn't finish it - quite. I hadn't bargained for Bobby's portion control, which was generous to a fault. In fact, most of the lunchtime regulars were sticking to just a couple of first courses, or one first course and a main course. Then again, we were there to carry out serious fieldwork.
When it came to the eating, the meal was something of a swami's egg. The puris, while less delicate and explosively flavoured than those at the peerless Kastoori in Tooting, were still voluptuously pleasurable. The bhagias, the potatoes in a batter, as light and as crisp as tempura, were addictive, especially when dipped in the bright, liquid chutney. I took to the patra, too. The taste was ineffably strange, slightly wild and dill-like; fenugreek possibly.
The disappointment came with the main courses, which relied excessively on the use of chilli for their effect. There was none of that sprightly, distinctive spicing or use of herbs that distinguishes freshly made dishes. The sauces were rich and uncompromisingly monochrome, which did nothing to leaven the relentless carbohydrate base. After a while, one chilli-boosted tomato sauce tastes rather like another, so after a while we gave up on them.
We cheered ourselves up with gulab jambu - semolina balls in syrup, which sent waves of sweetness gushing down the throat - interspersed with the tonsil-coating richness of shrikand, which is made from yoghurt, saffron and pistachio nuts. All very soothing; almost as soothing as the bill, which was £26 all-in, including a couple of salted lassis and a brace of very fine chapatis. After that, it was out on to the streets, where there wasn't a terrorist in sight. But, of course, we knew that already.
· Open Tues-Sun, 12 noon-10pm. All major credit cards. Wheelchair access (no WC).
