Hitting new heights

There's a widespread view that we critics are all incapable of practising what we preach. That's why, before I first became a restaurant reviewer, I spent a year studying cuisines from around the world, and trying out dozens of the most complex recipes, with varying degrees of success.

From Larousse Gastronomique, I learned to make ravioli, which takes four hours to prepare, and four seconds for the parcels to separate in the water, with the filling rising to the surface like scum.

And on a Thai cookery course in Bangkok, I was taught how to use an oriental knife to carve vegetables into elegant shapes, and managed to turn a carrot not into a lotus flower (as instructed) but into a pig's ear.

If the Great Nepalese restaurant ever starts offering kukri lessons, I'll sign up for those, too. Run by the Manandhar family, it's one of London's hidden gems, specialising in Himalayan dishes whose authenticity was enthusiastically confirmed by my guest (who'd spent some time there). I'm told it's Willie Russell's favourite Asian restaurant, and it's rapidly becoming one of mine too, even though the view cannot rival The Heights'.

But what does that matter, because there's a wonderfully relaxed atmosphere inside, with Nepalese music playing through the speakers, as all your city-generated tensions vanish like the morning mist over Kathmandu.

Both of us concentrated on the genuine Nepalese specialities, our starters including masco-bara (black lentil pancakes) and kalezo ra chyau (mildly spiced chicken livers with mushrooms and onions). But my favourite starter is the meaty momo - juicy, gingery, Tibetan half- moon steamed dumplings, served with a soft Asian gravy, and anything but so-so.

The smell resembles what I imagine post-war Britain was like before deodorants caught on (all onions and underarms), but the texture is exquisitely light, with an explosion of taste in every bite. Served with a plate of chopped chillies (I've been there so often, it now arrives unasked) and hot lime relish, a dish of momo is a wondrous experience.

My main-course chicken bhutuwa (with ginger, garlic, spices and fresh green herbs) may have looked like the contents of a garden mower disgorged into a pot with coriander, but it packed a punch of the highest quality.

Cumin, turmeric, mustard oil, cinnamon and fenugreek were all readily identifiable, as were (unusually for this dish) tomatoes, and it was perfectly accompanied by the exquisite aloo kerauko achar, a cold dish of potatoes, peas, green chilli and ground sesame seeds.

This extraordinary side dish balances the fiery main dishes, fulfilling the function that a raita performs in Indian cuisine. But it's much more powerful than raita, with a grittiness and crunchiness quite unlike any food I've encountered before.