“Go to the Karachi,” they implored. “Rick Stein’s been and he loved it,” they added, like he’s some kind of curry expert who’s done a series on the subject that resulted in a best-selling book about… oh…
Off we tootled.
Like some other Curry Institutions in this fair city, décor is best described as ‘authentic’, ‘dated’ or ‘reminiscent of the flat in Bottom’, dependent on if you’re trying to be polite, accurate, or funny. Some may say there’s a case of Faded Grandeur going on, but that’d be to suggest there was once some Grandeur present that could be Faded. We have our doubts.
You’ll agree it’d be hard to resist anything from such a handsome looking menu, so starters of the kebab variety were ordered and dispatched to whet the appetite.
In the interests of public decency we’ll refrain from posting the photo, (we’ve entitled it “Two Kebabs, One Plate”, which should give you a clue,) but our tip would be to eschew the Seekh in favour of the Shami, which was all charred outside and smooth, pink, middle. At a quid each it’d be churlish not to.
When Ricky rocked up he had the chicken and spinach karahi, so we do too. We’ve got moist meat, which is always welcome, but the whole thing’s a bit bland and someone forgot to pick up the salt from the cash and carry.
Asbestos Tongue requests a “vindaloo hot” jalfrezi.
With its sharp, red-peppery sauce it’s got more about it than the karahi, but chilli-induced perspiration is not forthcoming. Both need a kick up the arse to be honest. Having since consulted Hector, we appear to be on the same wavelength when, after his visit, he states: “there was not the usual Bradford herb taste”. Wise words, Hec.
That Stein enthused about the place so much led us to ponder that his visit possibly came after an all-nighter at the now defunct, but once famed ‘Livingstones’ down the road.
All in all, a hum drum affair, where the “yeah but it’s cheap” retort starts to wear a bit thin.
£16.50, chapattis chucked in, gratis.
Eating The North 