What do I know? No, I mean it. What exactly do I know? A bit, I suppose. I'm pretty clued up on the traditions and methods that underlie French food. I'm not bad on Italian, have a passing knowledge of Spanish and can tell a lousy Chinese meal from a good one by the way my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth afterwards.

I know my way around a Japanese menu and can tell you why the food at most British curry houses tastes the same which is to say, not very nice. I do know a lot about Jewish cuisine, which is a classic oxymoron and nothing to be proud of.

As for the rest, it's down to taste, by which I mean my taste or, if I'm handing out a bad review, my prejudice. All of which makes me wonder whether it's a good idea to invite experts, as in people who know stuff, to join me for reviews. Perhaps it just gets in the way. I'm certainly not sure it was a good idea to take Simon with me to Kasturi, an Indian restaurant on the eastern fringe of the City of London.

Simon is half Bengali, half Welsh, all critic, and he knows the regional cooking of India like a dog knows its fleas. There were lots of things he liked about Kasturi, he told me. He thought the waiters were sweet and efficient. He didn't mind the cool, blond-floor, white-wall look of the place. And he was impressed both by the availability of Sunny Beach, a funky Indian beer, and by the short and beautifully priced wine list.

But on the food, he looked like a girl who had been promised diamonds and ended up with paste. It is true that Kasturi promises great things. The manager and chef first worked together in Paris at the Tagore, which was regarded as the best Indian in the city and was awarded a 15 out of 20 in the Gault Millau Guide. Later, they moved the operation to the great metropolis that is Welling. Now, under the new name, they are here. And I don't care what Simon says. I think they are cooking up a storm.

I agree with him that the poppadoms were tired, but there was an uncommon zing and kick to the fresh lime pickle and the spiced mango chutney that came with them. A selection of kebabs for sharing - chicken, lamb, both minced and fillet - a couple of chops and some dinky caramelised chicken thighs impressed me.

He complained about raw spice mixes. I found them assertive and complex, but 'raw' suggests astringent, and these weren't. We also tried a crab massala, dry fried with spices and served with a sauce of cream that had deglazed the pan. Simon said bland; I said it showed an understanding of crab's subtlety.

For the main course we decided to share a whole leg of lamb known as a rann. Simon makes his own rann and is clear on the fundamentals. A rann should be marinated and spiced for 24 hours and then cooked for a very long time. Here we got it in 45 minutes.

So yes, it loses points on authenticity. And yes, the meat had clearly been cut away from the leg so that it could be cooked quickly. But that meat was tender and the gravy it came in had a glorious depth and pungency. It may have cost £23.95 for two, but there was more than enough for three. I liked it.

Are there better Indians? Certainly, and Simon has probably been to all of them. But Kasturi is damn good, too. So who are you going to listen to? Me or Simon? The freeloader or the guy who was paying the bill? It's your choice.

· Kasturi, 57 Aldgate High Street, London EC3 (020 7480 7402). Dinner for two, including wine and service, £70.