Stop me if I have said this before, but have you ever wondered what would have happened if the British had lost the Battle of Plessey in 1757? Just in case you've forgotten, it was when Clive of India led the British forces against the French, and administered a thrashing that resulted in their being hoofed out of India for good.
Now just suppose it had gone the other way, and the French had become masters of that beautiful subcontinent. It is hard not to think that the history of French and European cooking would have been very different - lentilles du Puy jollied up with sambhar powder, a curry leaf or two in a daube auvergnat, asafoetida in cassoulet, lemongrass in bourride, the dashing use of cumin, turmeric, cardamom, mango powder, jaggery and a hint of chilli here and there, too. Really, the French have been very dull in the way they have taken to the more colourful spices. A trip to Benares for a masterclass in spicing would show them what they have missed.
The spice artist at Benares is Atul Kochar, who is the master of many other cooking skills as well. He first came to notice at Tamarind, which is no more than a chucked chapati's distance away from the new place. But while Tamarind glittered with the gilded effects formerly beloved of the decorators of Indian restaurants, Benares is a model of modern decorum, mostly black, or off-black, and white, or off-white. The potential austerity is offset by clever lighting and moulded patterns on the walls, and the overall effect is really rather soothing; meditative, even.
It certainly impressed Testazza, an Italian of immense learning, for whom this was a first contact with Indian food. The look on her face as she ran her eye over the commendably brief menu (commendable because there is a fair chance that each dish will be spiced freshly and specifically, rather than sauced from some all-purpose glop) had about it something of wild surmise. Venturing forth, she chose kekdae ki chaat aur tille ka jhinga (crab salad with vermicelli-coated prawns) and kaali aur hari mircha ka murg ("curry fry"-style chicken curry with curry leaves, onions and black pepper, red and green chillies and cashew nuts). I went for shammi kebab (ground lamb cakes with mace and cardamom) and jhinga tawa masala (king prawns with ajwain, onion and tomato sauce) and, for good measure, baigan bharta (aubergine pulp with cumin and garlic), pani singara aur faliyon (water chestnuts and french beans with onion seeds and dried mango), rice and date naan with ginger and green chilli.
There were many obvious pleasures - very fresh crab; fine, fat prawns; well-flavoured chicken; rice as airy as down; terrific breads. There were several less expected pleasures, too - the lamb had been minced to a kind of dry paste and mixed with mashed lentils, which made them very light; the crisp, spiky vermicelli coating to the prawn with the crab salad; the crunchy water chestnuts and french beans; the excellent pastry casing stuffed with mashed dates of the pudding I forgot to mention.
But it was the spicing that made the meal such a sequence of delights. Kochar's reputation was based on his mastery of the cooking of northwestern India, which could be pretty fierce. At Benares, he ranges wider and tempers his passion for chilli. Heat tended to be of the slow-burn variety, creeping up through layers of other flavours, so that I became aware of it after I had registered the subtle blends of black pepper/cumin/mace/cardamom/garlic/onion seed/fenugreek/allspice and whatever else was going on. Flavours - spices, herbs or other ingredients such as mango powder and ginger paste - were used to define each dish, so that each has its own specific identity: the rich perfume of mace in the lamb; the fragrant curry leaves and the direct warmth of black pepper in the chicken curry; the slight aniseedy ajwain with prawns. But the flavouring agents never dominated the main ingredient, instead revealing it in new colours, as it were.
God knows if it was authentic, but it was traditional, if you see what I mean. Kochar has not adopted some of the more extreme, Europeanised presentation techniques you find at the Cinnamon Club, say. The dishes arrive in rather fancy bowls from which you help yourself. I tended to help myself to rather more of Testazza's dishes than she did of mine, but then she is not a professional luncher. She was, however, pretty enthusiastic, as well she might be.
The overall sophistication and the bill, £92.20, clearly pitches Benares at the top end of the Indian restaurant market. But a close study of the bill shows that only two dishes hit double figures (the two main courses were £13 and £14.50 respectively), and we spent only £25.70 on liquids, which included a modest two glasses of an inspired pinot noir. It was the small increments of the naans, vegetables, rice and such that bumped the total. You can eat at Benares for very much less than this, particularly if you go for the fixed-price menus at lunch. But that's not really the way to explore the finesse and subtlety of the food.
· Telephone 020-7629 8886. Address 12 Berkeley House, Berkeley Square, London W1. Open Lunch, Mon-Fri, 12 noon-3pm; dinner, all week, 5.30-10.30pm. Menus Lunch, £10.50 for two courses, £11.50 for three. Wheelchair access (prior notice is required)
