Restaurant: Monty’s Usha
Location: Hanwell
By Boeing: 8505 miles
By Boris Bike: 9.2 miles
When Michael Palin visited the Himalayas on one of his cream chino adventures he was soon out of breath when he scaled the high and handsome plateaus of Nepal. And following in his footsteps I found myself snatching at breaths on an arctic amble in evening Ealing. For him the country’s stunning panoramas simply took his breath away while I choked on the choreographed conformity of my vista of suburban semi’s. We are like peas in a pod, Palin and I.
You would have thought these gentle, mountain dwelling people would have settled in Primrose Hill or commuted in from the Peak District. Flat like an urban fen Ealing appears so incongruous , and yet it seems it is where London’s Nepalese expatriots have chosen to settle. Walking from Boston manor I had already passed by several Nepalese restaurants before arriving at Monty’s Usha.
The contrast with Morocco was striking. There was no enticing or exotic scenes of comfort peekable through windows. The restaurant was situated almost apologetically in the corner of a municipal hotel foyer. I was relieved that no-one had joined me, especially no one that I wanted to impress. But nevertheless as I strode confidently into what appeared to all intents and purposes to be a canteen for administrative staff in a 1970’s provincial office I was optimistic.
Afterall, Nepal has a special place in my affections, inspired largely by my chino sporting arch-nemesis, but also as the subject of my first ever article. There was only enough space for six or so tables and several were filled, which augured well. I suspect most trade came in the form of takeaway customers for whom ambience does not come into the equation.
The waiter, an amiable fellow, appeared and disappeared in a seamless display of access and egress with all manner of tempting sundries through a door taken from the set of the Brittas Empire. I relaxed with a bottle Kathmandu Beer, promoted as both the ‘pride’ and ‘essence’ of Nepal and, according to the congested label, ‘served with special Himalayan essence’. The owner, a well tailored middle aged man, came over and explained that Monty’s was the first Nepalese restaurant in England but that a family spat saw the name spread across the metropolis like a fire from a bakers. A network of nephews and cousins now run their own establishments, to a familial theme and with the same distinctive font, across west London.
I took the opportunity to ask about the difference between Nepalese and Indian food. These sub continental neighbours both service our insatiable appetite for curry, but what is distinctive about Nepalese? Well, a different palette of spices for a start, but perhaps not noticeably so for a non discerning spice hound. The most commonly eaten dish is dhal with rice and vegetable curry. But dishes with a Tibetan influence are also eaten, featuring, in times of plenty, water buffalo dumplings. Preserved lemons and limes are sometimes employed.
The menu combined British curry institutions such as Tikka, Massala and Madras with the odd tantalising Nepalese speciality. As ever in curry houses the deliciously non-committal ‘special sauce’ featured liberally. Oddly Anglo-Indian dishes were listed under ‘traditional favourites’. I was reminded of the British link to Nepal in an appreciation of the alliterative ‘Ghurkha Grill’ and wondered whether these famously lithe and uncompromising soldiers would be allowed hunks of marinated lamb and chicken while on parade drill. I opted for a lighter lamb starter, delicately marinated in yoghurt and spice. It had more depth and subtly than your typical Tikka.
For the main course I ordered Chicken Kukhurni, a traditional dish served on the bone with a rich, spicy cream based sauce. Again it had more sophistication than a sugar-sodden Passanda or one of those puree based Massalas that is stodgier than Mersey mud. It was still a curry, but it was different and distinctive. If brummies are relocating to London and want to retain the authentic proximity of their adopted dish they could do worse than settle in this corner of Hanwell.
As I was served the dishes I engaged the waiter in a conversation about his cricket stars, several of whom I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing. He was astonished that I knew them. When I contacted them later that evening they were equally astonished they had a fan club in West London. It is a small world, as both Palin and I know all too well. And while Ealing isn’t formally twinned with Kathmandu there is a kinship and culinary tradition that links these two contrasting citadels.
London is the richer for all its culinary footprints and Nepalese is no exception. Monty’s provide a distinctive take on the Friday night ritual of a curry and beer, offering the odd surprise while retaining the comfort of familiarity.
