Thursday 9 August 2012

It Ain't half Hot Mum...


It matters not that the ‘driveway’, the only route into and out of  Sumner, is lined with a two storey wall of shipping containers and the hills overlooking the area are pockmarked with houses in various stages of ruination; the very essence of this seaside village remains undamaged and as charming as it ever was, its underlying character jubilantly intact. In the depths of winter you will almost certainly see a wetsuit-clad surfer emerging from the waves, you will always enjoy enhaling the salt seasoned air, and the eclectic slopes,smooth and jagged, steep and gentle, sheltering this almost sleepy haven provide something undeniably  special.

Indian Sumner Restaurant, resembling a modified Kiwi bach but with an almost Ghandi-esque lack of pretension, a welcome simplicity, a funkiness and the intimacy of a small space with its wooden battened exterior and rickety presence colourfully enhanced by the motifs, wall hangings and imagery sets the scene so effectively.

Even the menu jumps up at you with a joyful, spicy exuberance, its bright yellow, orange and red colours instilling an exciting sense of preprandial expectation, not unlike, I am sure, the aim of the new wave of sensory restaurants in the world, where colour, music and mood are the drivers. This popular, well managed little enterprise follows through with striking confidence by offering a strong and tempting range of very reasonably priced dishes that do not disappoint in the eating.

At $13.00 the Posht, “tender pieces of lamb cooked with poppy seeds and spices”, was earnest and earthy with the spices beautifully complementing rather than overpowering the lamb. As a table of five we shared a selection of dishes, as one does in these situations, the Roghan Josh always a favourite and well executed in this instance. The Saag, with the accent on spinach, is always one of my choices and all the elements of flavour were present, in proportion with no one ingredient overshadowing the other. Spinach in an application like this is a sure winner and worthy of your attention if you’re dining here. There was Mango Chicken and a Madras, both enjoyable additions to the collective plates, pulao rice, poppadums, mixed pickle, various Naan breads, beer and wine. What is always surprising when Indo-dining is the ability of what seem like very modest servings to satisfy quickly the pangs of hunger, leaving, more often than not, the eater seriously replete! A simply irresistible prospect on a cold winter’s evening.

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