I have a confession to make. I have never been the biggest fan of Indian food.
Not in a dramatic, table-flipping way. More in the quiet, slightly shameful way of someone who knows everyone else is having a marvellous time and can’t quite work out why she isn’t. People speak about Indian food with devotion. Cravings. Favourite dishes. Family orders. Regional loyalties. I smiled, nodded and suspected I was missing a gene.
Then I went to Jamavar.
Set on Mount Street in Mayfair, Jamavar is the sort of restaurant that could easily coast on its Michelin star and elegant postcode. Instead, it feels assured, considered and deeply serious about flavour. Co-founded by Dinesh and Samyukta Nair, with Culinary Director and Executive Chef Surender Mohan leading the kitchen, Jamavar celebrates the breadth of Indian cooking through a refined fine-dining lens, drawing from the royal kitchens of the north to the coastal cuisines of the south.
The restaurant takes its name from the intricate Jamavar shawls of Kashmir, once woven for royalty, and there is a similar sense of detail in the room. Dark timber, marble, brass and Indian artwork create a space that feels glamorous without being stiff. It is Mayfair, yes, but not the sort that makes you afraid to use your napkin.
We had the tasting menu with wine pairing, as recommended by the restaurant, and I am now convinced this should be the official route for anyone who claims they “don’t really do Indian food.” It is not a meal so much as delicious corrective therapy.
We began with Tellicherry Pepper and Garlic Soft Shell Crab, served with plum chutney, garlic chips and homemade garlic pickle. It was crisp, fragrant and immediately disarming. The garlic did not shout. The pepper did not attack. Instead, the dish was bright, balanced and dangerously snackable, with the plum chutney bringing sweetness and the pickle adding just enough mischief.
Next came Malai Stone Bass Tikka with mace, green cardamom, sweet potato salli, avocado and mint. This was the dish that made me sit up properly. The fish was delicate and creamy, the spicing elegant rather than heavy-handed. It was refined, but still comforting, which is a much harder trick than it sounds.
The Murgh Tikka Sholey followed, with sun-dried chillies, caramelised garlic, pickled radish and yoghurt, paired with a Tempranillo Crianza from Finca Antigua in La Mancha. Suddenly, the wine pairing made perfect sense. The chicken had smoke, heat and depth, while the wine gave it structure without flattening the spice. Left to my own devices, I would have ordered something painfully safe. Jamavar knew better.
Then came the Adraki Lamb Chop with royal cumin, fennel, ginger and carrot salad. This was the moment my previous indifference officially packed a bag and left. The lamb was tender, charred and deeply spiced, with ginger cutting through the richness and fennel adding warmth. Conversation briefly stopped, which is always the sign of a serious dish.
The main courses arrived as a generous spread: Malvani Prawn Curry, Old Delhi Butter Chicken, Dal Jamavar, Palak Paneer, Pulao Rice and Mixed Breads. This is where Jamavar gets especially clever. The food is polished enough for Mayfair, but never becomes precious. It still understands the pleasure of tearing bread, scooping sauce and lying to yourself that you are “just having one more bit.”
The Malvani Prawn Curry, with king prawns, coconut milk, tamarind and traditional Malvan spice, was bright, warm and coastal. The Old Delhi Butter Chicken, made with Suffolk corn-fed char-grilled pulled chicken, tomato and fenugreek, was richer and deeper, but never cloying. The Dal Jamavar was glossy, slow and comforting, while the Palak Paneer brought softness and earthiness. Every dish had its own voice, but nothing competed for attention.
By dessert, I was full enough to know better, and happy enough not to care. Pistachio Milk Cake with cream cheese, vanilla and rose petals was light and fragrant, while the Kesar Mango Rasmalai with Alphonso mango cream, wheat biscuit and berry chutney ended the meal on something bright rather than heavy.
What impressed me most about Jamavar was not simply that the food was excellent. It was that it made me understand a cuisine I had kept at arm’s length. Surender Mohan’s cooking has confidence without arrogance. Spice is used with precision, not force. Luxury is present, but flavour comes first.
Jamavar did not just serve me a beautiful meal. It changed my mind, which is far harder.
Apparently, I do like Indian food. I just needed one unforgettable lamb chop to make the point impossible to ignore.
@jamavarlondon | jamavarrestaurants.com
8 Mount St, London W1K 3NF
