And sumptuous sauces so toothsome and tangy
Mark Laba
Province
Roy of Atithi restaurant with Mumbai Bhel and the Rack of Lamb, a veritable morass of satisfying flavours. Photograph by: Nick Procaylo, The Province
Atithi
Where: 2445 Burrard St.,
Payment/reservations: Major credit cards, 604-731-0221
Drinks: Fully licensed
Hours: Lunch buffet, 11:30 a.m.-2:30 p.m., Mon.-Fri.; brunch, 11:30 a.m.-3 p.m., Sat.-Sun.
If one were to believe in reincarnation — as I’m wont to do on those days when I bounce a cheque, get athlete’s foot from too many walks to the 7-11 for snack foods, or ride a rush-hour bus unaware that my fly is open the entire trip — then I would wish to return to this mortal coil as a butter chicken.
Even though I know that’s not really a species of poultry, a guy can dream anyway. I mean what could be finer than to strut around the barnyard, lording it over my fellow chicken folk, clucking “I’m going to be part of a magnificent dish, the favourite of Mughal kings while you, unfortunately, are going to end up as some poorly breaded monstrosity stuck inside a bucket of KFC and dripping grease like a Vancouver Special eavestrough during the winter rains.
It’s a dish that’s been done to death so to speak, but in the event of my death I will gladly steer toward the light that will lead me to that great chicken coop in the sky where a pot of makhani sauce is burbling in the afterlife, beckoning me to my destiny, the steam enveloping me in the comforting aromas of coriander, turmeric, cumin, garam masala and fenugreek. What better way for a foodie to meet his destiny although to complete this dream I’d then want my reincarnated chicken body to be served up at a Jessica Biel slumber party.
But enough about me, how about this restaurant that started me on this rant in the first place. Almost brand spanking new and with a chef/owner formally of Maurya, which is known for its exquisite cuisine, I was anxious to try the food.
Took Peaches along for this humble soiree because in this present economy you have to know which side your bread, or in this case poultry, is buttered on and act smartly. So decent pricing and generous portions are the rule of the thumb these days and this joint filled the bill in more ways than one. As sumptuous as the food is here the décor is the antithesis, relying on tasteful simplicity that borders on the nondescript. But the small touches are appreciated and a dash of colour here and there stands out like a sore thumb whacked repeatedly with a hammer.
Began with a house specialty, the Frankie ($5.95), which is kind of like a Punjab version of a soft taco, except with paratha bread instead of a tortilla and filled with spiced chicken. Alongside arrived one of the finest hot sauces I’ve ever tasted with a heat that builds like a suspense novel and ends with an explosive finale.
Also sampled the Chilli Gobi ($3.95), cauliflower deep-fried and finished with a soya garlic sauce that was delicious. Truly the only way to give the cauliflower’s docile personality a wee kick in the pants.
We moved on to our main dishes-the aforementioned butter chicken ($12.95) with a sauce as sumptuous as a big budget Bollywood musical and delectably tender chicken. The Lamb Palak ($12.95) with it spinach curry sauce was a vegetative morass of flavour marred only by the odd tough piece of baby sheep.
Chana masala and aloo gobi (both $9.95), two fine vegetarian dishes rounded out the feast, the chana masala perhaps a bit more liquid than my preferred chickpea viscosity but the aloo gobi was perfect from the ‘tater texture to the saucing. There’s also a wonderful bagara bengan that makes me actually want to eat eggplant, and a savoury coconut-infused prawn curry. All in all, this place covers it all from the Bay of Bengal to the Kashmiri foothills and after the meal, gazing at the reasonable bill I felt like the slumdog millionaire of Burrard Street.
THE BOTTOM LINE:
Spanning the spice box of the Indian subcontinent.
RATINGS: Food: B+ Service: B+ Atmosphere: B
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