Restaurant Review

East India Company

349 York Ave

Winnipeg, MB

204-947-3097

www.eastindiaco.com

Crossing the threshold of a whole new world to engage in a complete sensory and cultural experience occurs the moment one enters East India Company.

Authentic East Indian artifacts such as beautiful ceramics, delicate wooden carvings, intricate paintings, and stunningly coloured tapestries, adorn the dining room. Middle Eastern rhythms court spicy aromas, precursors to gastronomic delights.

My culinary adventure began after encountering an idol of Hindu god Ganesh, a five-headed, ceramic elephant who sits at the entrance, bestowing good fortune on customers. Sitting beside Ganesh was sharply dressed owner, Mr. ? Mehra, engrossed on the phone, oblivious to my presence. A woman wearing traditional clothing led me through an exquisite East-Indian gazebo to a beautifully arranged table wrought with iron chairs. Her deep sigh conveyed how inconvenient this was for her, and she promptly vanished, surfacing again moments later, smiling and serving another customer.

I was seated near the kitchen, where a stoic-faced chef molded dough into shapes, smacked them in tandoor pots, and perfected them by poking them with a skewer.

A scowling waitress slapped the menu on the table and disappeared. Her replacement, a twitching wreck, stumbled over his words and feet.

The menu’s simple design seems out of place in such elegant surroundings. As inviting as the choices are, the buffet ($17.95) is by far the best value, because it includes most menu items for nearly the same price.

I started with appetizers. The channa masala (curried chickpeas) were soupy, but my dancing taste buds couldn’t get enough navratan (nine vegetables smothered in sauce). The palak panner (spinach with cheese) was excessively cheesy, and I waited hopelessly for the spinach to show up. The kadi pakora (fritters in yogurt sauce), overly soaked, had a squelchy texture. It was impossible to pass up spiced tomatoes, an East Indian tradition. Mixing them with fresh cucumbers, chutney, and fusion sprouts was a dramatic enhancement.

I was stuffed but had not yet had any entrees. When I told the customer beside me, she laughed.

“You must be a virgin. Experienced people go straight to the main course.”

Marble statues beckoned me to dishes where customers gathered, peered inquisitively into them, and hemmed and hawed over each discovery. Nine choices tempted me, but lack of room in my stomach restricted my selections.

Miniature samosas packed a powerful punch. The tender pastries could hardly contain the treasures within. An explosion of vegetables and spices burst over my salivating tongue. The pakora was delicious. I’m no vegetarian, but these vegan spinach and potato cauli fritters nearly converted me on the spot. The tandoor chicken looked aged, so I abandoned it. Nehari gosht (Manitoba lamb simmered in spices) was gamey, and I’ll still be chewing months later. The fat substances attached to the lamb camouflaged themselves in the sauce, and it took me four tries before I found any meat. Fortunately, murg bahar (boneless chicken in companas sauce), succulent meat cooked to perfection, compensated this.

I saved just enough room for dessert. Gulab-jamuni (sponge cake smothered in sugar, deep-fried) was too sweet, but the galebi (deep-fried caramelized flour and sugar) was delectable. There were more desserts, but I ran out of room. I capped my encounter in this stimulating world the ideal way: with a cup of bona fide Chai tea.

The East Indian Company is a world where sensory experiences conflict. While the environment remains culturally inspiring, the inconsistency in the astounding varieties of food and the contradictions in customer treatment convince me that each visit will result in a new, subjective encounter.