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Cock
Restaurants
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London,
Evening Standard rating
Reader rating
Description: "Seriously good" Indian food -- "nothing fancy or trendy", mind -- has long made this "reliable" curry house an Earl's Court institution; its Bayswater spin-off is less known, but even better.
Food: 
Service:
Ambience: 
Phone: 020 7373 6522
Open: Mon - Sun 12pm - 2:45pm & 6pm - 11:45pm
Dress code: Smart
Good for: Good food, Ambience.
Payment options: All major credit cards accepted
Familiar: Nural Islam has been the manager of Noor Jahan for 20 years
There's a reason why the Royal Family love to do their own washing up - and it has nothing to do with donning a squeaky pair of Marigolds. And why the rich dress like tramps whenever they're on holiday (seen those recent beach photos of Paul McCartney?). It's wanting what you no longer have, or maybe never did. It's called being ordinary. Or pretending to be.
Two of the biggest proponents of ordinary-folk culture are the ubiquitous (and fabulous) Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Seeing their carefully cultivated raggle-taggle appearance as they sweep through airports, you'd never guess that they were Hollywood royalty - megastars earning megabucks who transform themselves into gorgeous, glittering creatures on the red carpet - whose fans would expect them to patronise Michelin-starred restaurants everywhere they go. Yet where do the Jolie-Pitts choose to eat when they're visiting London? Not, it seems, at The Dorchester, where they were staying, but at a small and unassuming curry house that is tucked away just off Old Brompton Road.
Noor Jahan means 'light of the world', which is a slightly ironic name for a restaurant so gloomy by night that you're hard-pushed to read the menu (though rather fitting if you happen to be a Hollywood luminary). The room is small, the walls a deep coral featuring Indian prints that are pleasant, if uninspiring. A couple of haphazardly placed pot plants provide colour, as do the vases of flowers on each table. Waiters view you rather disappointedly upon arrival; you sense that their heads have been turned by the smiles of more famous customers.
As it was post-BAFTAs and pre-Oscars, I had taken a film producer friend who was visiting, hoping that he'd give me inside news about what surprises might be in store. I'd made it to the BAFTAs this year (a fantastic experience, despite the rain and the bitter cold), but my normal visit to the Golden Globes didn't happen, so I was feeling insufficiently transatlantic in my appreciation of the ceremonies. Settling down for a gossip, we ordered a plate of poppadoms. They came with an interesting coconut relish, which had the consistency of couscous.
Indian restaurants are not known for inventive menus and Noor Jahan is no exception, though there were tandoori lamb chops on the list of starters. These were a little bit spicy and a little bit dry - like something your Australian friend might produce from the BBQ after a long drinking session. The onion bhajis, on the other hand, were absolutely delicious. Crispy, plump, moist and moreish, they were possibly the best I have ever eaten. Be warned, the starters are huge: in order to do the main courses justice you have to be very hungry or very greedy - we were both.
Usually I order exactly the same fare whenever I eat Indian food, but given our upmarket South Ken location, I decided to plump for lamb passanda (if it's good enough for Brad and Angie, it's good enough for me). Plump, indeed. Slices of lamb coated in a thick beige blanket of cream - the dish tasted exactly like korma and although nice, it was so calorie-laden that I doubt more than a mouthful passed ¸ber-slim Angelina's lips.
My film producer friend played dangerously with his garlic chicken, which was delicious and studded with enough cloves to scare away any vampire. Someone should make a contemporary horror film with the denouement taking place in a curry house and the undead screaming over a plate of garlic chicken. Our side dish of ladyfingers (which also sound as if they've been plucked from the horror film prop box) were faultless. Perfectly cooked - there wasn't a trace of the excess oil that can so often mar Indian cuisine.
Other diners were those smug enough to be able to afford to live close by, a group of Americans and a woman with a man who was her toyboy, or her son (I can never tell). I also spotted a blonde soap star, but since she doesn't appear in Coronation Street or Dallas, I couldn't remember her name.
Noor Jahan could have been transplanted from any suburban high street into this valuable piece of real estate. Its ordinariness is part of its charm --and the owners should ensure they don't ever lose that by pandering too much to the starry elite. That would be the pits.
Details are correct at the time of publication - please check with venue before booking.
