In my twenties, I practically lived on Indian food, the one cuisine that can be reproduced in numerous countries without causing too much harm.

Recently though, the appetite for those great steaming plates of ghee-enriched spicy slop and that calorific monster the nan bread has waned. “What I want,” I would moan, dispatching my other half to the local Tandoori, “is healthy Indian.” In despair, he would return clutching chicken tikka with steamed rice and some sad spinach gloop. So we went a year or so without going Indian.

Then the Standard reported the opening of Indali Lounge, promising a menu with all our favourite subcontinental hits and none of the rubbish. It’s run by Kartar Lalvani, a septugenarian elder of a major Indian business dynasty. His niece Divia helped set up Zuma and there’s the same
feeling of smart but relaxed décor: it’s also nice and airy, a relief after those smoggy local Tandooris.

Indali Lounge sits usefully en plein Baker Street — where Gerry Rafferty found himself winding his way, probably because he couldn’t find anywhere decent to eat among the Sherlock Holmes memorabilia and recliner chair shops.

We gathered for the healthy curryfest, with an Indian-born friend. Tensions start to emerge. Should we not be drinking lassi and tea and generally purging all impure thoughts of alcohol? That discussion was short. Red wine with curry is an acquired taste but the list is strong and it’s worth asking the very attentive waiters to advise on what wines can cope with which dishes.

What this place does well is perk up those old favourites — there’s a modern edge to the menu: “black lentils and red kidney beans simmered on a low flame and finished with probiotic yoghurt”. The nans are made with wholewheat flour, the only oils are sunflower and olive — but rest assured, it’s not too goody-goody.

I went for a low-fat lamb biryani mala: very satisfying but approach only if you have a huge appetite. Everyone else was happy with their more traditional curries. Top marks for the classics, like the lamb sheesh kebab and the Goan fish curry (which can be absolutely hidesous if it goes wrong but was tender and aromatic).

They use a lot more herbs and fresh spices to compensate for removing the solidified fats. The effect is cumulative: at first things taste a little less satisfying than the enriched equivalents then you come to appreciate the flavours more as the meal goes on (one criticism: every­one found the starter crab a bit gritty. I don’t know how to take grit out of a crab but they might like to work on it).

Indali is such a simple idea but a very good one. I grazed from everyone else’s plates and without that awful feeling of heaviness and “Did I really eat that?” sensation when I went to bed.

It’s also very well priced for a smart restaurant in central London at around £4-£9 for starters and £9-£12 for a main course, plus good-value set and children’s meals. Our bill for four came to £140 but you could certainly economise or share one of those biryanis and get out for a lot less.

“Without cream and ghee?” said the natural-born Indian expert among us. “My grandmother would be turning in her grave.” But at least our arteries were kept hale and hearty.

But dear Mr Lalvani, please do open on Sundays.