A hint of old spice

Gosh, this is gorgeous. And I mean gorgeous in the gaudy, bedizened, bling-bling sense of the word. The clever bunch behind some of London's most interesting Indian restaurants (Amaya, Chutney Mary and Masala Zone) have taken Veeraswamy, the oldest Indian restaurant in Britain, and turned it into what has to be - sorry for the repetition - one of the most gorgeous joints in town. Not bad for an 80-year-old.

I found myself coming over all provincial in the face of this visual onslaught, boggling like a tourist. Everything oozes sexiness: the semi-hidden entrance in newly fabulous Swallow Street; the brief whisk upstairs in the private lift; the jewelled glitter of seemingly hundreds of coloured glass lanterns and the twinkle of frosted glass chandeliers; the coat hooks sprouting turbans of richest, sugared-almond silks; the silver ceiling; the striking windows framing Regent Street. It all conspired to make me feel very badly dressed.

The surprising scale of the place, its many rooms and nooks and crannies, gives you the sense that there might be someone as ravishing as the surroundings just around the corner. (There wasn't: to the deep suspicion of the staff I had a good nose round and found only business chaps and Americans.)

Anyway, the fizzy thrill did not quite extend to the food. The menu reads really well, a fashionably short, greatest hits package of dishes from the length of the subcontinent: seafood and appams from Kerala, dal from Mumbai, lamb biryani from Hyderabad - first appearance on Veeraswamy's menu: 1926 - or northern dishes such as rogan josh. These are boosted by intriguing oddities and meanderings off the beaten track: 'crumpled' bread with ajwain, or bishop's weed; chorchori (mishmash) of vegetables.

It sounded just as seductive as the decor. Sadly, it didn't have the gumption to follow through. Everything we ate had an emasculated quality as though the spice had been neutered for the moneyed, international crowd.

Nizami murgh - from the royal kitchens of Hyderabad, apparently, a dish partnering chicken breast and minced chicken koftas with pine nuts, lemon and rose petal - had about as much personality as Traci Bingham. It was bland, creamy, homogenised - pap for people without teeth. If Campbell's made concentrated cream of chicken curry soup it would taste just like this.

Elsewhere, things were perkier. Despite its tinned chunks appearance, we enjoyed the spikiness of a pineapple curry with curry leaves and mustard. It did immense favours to a whole tandoori lobster: a fibrous brute whose masala remained mostly on the shell, which we resorted to sucking for a spark of spice. Good look, especially with lipstick.

Raj kachori, described as 'regal street food', was a brittle gourdshaped pastry case (a 'wheat puri') exploding with potatoes, mung beans, thick yoghurt sweetened with tamarind, bits of lentil patty and pomegranate seeds. It initially delighted but rapidly started to overwhelm - too much for a starter - and left a car-crash on the plate. I'd love to see them attempting to eat it elegantly on the streets of Rajasthan.

Breads, one of my favourite things about any Indian meal, were - despite their mouthwatering descriptions ('a buttery bread stuffed with spicy potato mix'; how could you resist?) - a let-down. Not pillowy enough, with the air of overworked dough.

Sisters Namita and Camellia Panjabi who, with Ranjit Mathrani, are the brains behind the operation, have the wherewithal to deliver food that's every bit as lovely as the restaurant.

Look at their drop-dead glamorous Amaya, which was recently awarded a Michelin star. But they haven't quite got there yet with Veeraswamy. Shame, because - did I mention? - it's gorgeous.

A meal for two with wine, water and service costs about £110. Victory House, 99 Regent Street W1. Tel: 020 7734 1401. www.veeraswamy.com. Tube: Piccadilly Circus

Veeraswamy
99 Regent Street (entrance in Swallow Street), W1R 7HB