3/10
Telephone 0121-212 3664.
Address 3-4 Dakota Buildings, James Street, Birmingham
Open Dinner only, Mon- Sat, 6-11pm
Price £20-£30 a head
Wheelchair access and disabled WC
If only there were an award for self-congratulation in the field of catering, Lasan would be a shoo-in. On reflection, there probably is. In the age of the Awards Awards - a prize ceremony to reward the organisers of other prize ceremonies - who's to say there is no such thing as the Golden Winkle for Onanistic Restaurant of the Year?
That this one loves itself to death, seeming to suffer the reverse of the psychiatric disorder dysmorphia, is obvious from a beautifully designed website offering such gems as, "We have transformed the way Indian dishes can be balanced and presented without compromising on taste", and much other modesty besides.
Despite all this, and hand on heart, my friend and I were keen to like Lasan. They couldn't have been sweeter when I rang to book, nor more patient when I called again for directions. They seemed thrilled to see us when we did arrive, and if the service was a shade too eager to count as impeccable, it was certainly very far from peccable. The trouble was - and in the face of swanky websites, I know how nitpicky this will seem to the purists among you - the food was barely peckable.
Before we lace up the hobnails, a confession. I don't really believe in the notion of the posh trendy Indian. There are fabulous exceptions - Amaya and The Painted Heron in London are stunners - but the general rule is that the most delicious Indian/Pakistani/Bangladeshi food is to be had in formica-laden, ultra-cheapos in Bradford, Manchester, Birmingham, Southall and other subcontinental population centres.
The ones that want to be modern British, on the other hand, tend to sacrifice authenticity in a doomed stab at chic, and serve food at twice the price and half the quality generally found in the local tandoori. Lasan is a paradigm of this. So cold and characterless is the decor (bare, white walls and huge mirrors; the only regional touch comes from over-loud modern sitar music) that you long for a bit of flock. As for the menu, there is no doubting the chef's ambition to escape the confines of the standard high-street list with fusiony flights of fancy. Yet when the first exposure to his work is poppadoms old enough to have children in higher education, and when these are replaced with their great grandparents, there is every doubting his attention to detail.
What followed ranged between the mediocre and the plain awful. For six mouthfuls of our starters, we maintained the stiff upper lip beloved of British diners determined to enjoy their supper regardless of the evidence. By the ninth, the lower lip was stiffening, too, in a forlorn bid to lock the stuff away until it gave up the ghost and disappeared down the gullet.
Alloo brie tikka (£3.95) - three deep-fried balls of brie with potato - tasted only of the latter. As for "home style lamb kebabs" with peppers and yogurt (£5.25), I've no idea whose home they were styled on, but he's no master butcher, the meat having as much taste as suburban air. Onion, spinach and lentil fritters (£3.95) were pleasant but pointless.
Main courses were abysmal. Lau chingri (£12.95) was a quintet of spongy king prawns with curried marrow, drowned in an indistinct, watery gravy that doubled as a watery grave, while "duck uri masala" (£14.95) had all the succulence and savour of "duck uri geller" (he's nothing but skin and bone, either). Without exaggeration, in a blind tasting it would have been impossible to tell them apart. Vegetable side dishes that looked so alluring on the page - green papaya in a lentil purée, chickpea curry with spiced courgettes (both £3.95) - were wretched on the plate, being overcooked as if by a vitaminophobe and sloppy to eye and tastebud.
All around us, as the place filled up, we saw people showing every sign of enjoying their food, so either the two of us are mad or Lasan is cashing in on the Emperor's New Clothes syndrome that protects the posh Indian from the critical faculties of people who'd send the lot back were it French, Italian, Thai or Chinese.
Finally, a brief word of journalistic advice to the website manager. "We have transformed the way Indian dishes can be balanced and presented without compromising on taste" needn't be cut entirely, but it could use a little deft subbing. Take out the "balanced and", remove the "comprising on", and it would sum up this charlatan to perfection.
