Thank you India

>> Maison Indian Curry keeps it authentic with dishes from all corners of the subcontinent

by MATHILDE RABBAT

Lucky for us, the Indian diaspora represents, without doubt, one of the sparkly jewels in the crown of our urban cultural mosaic.

Parc Ex’s Maison Indian Curry, on Jean-Talon, twinkles therein, as the Greek establishments of yesterday have given way to a burgeoning Little India.

The pan-Indian menu showcases meals from both the North and South of the subcontinent, including veggie and non-veggie selections and a slew of chicken and lamb dishes in tandoori and non-tandoori formats. A (physically) weathered menu also features specials that include plain, masala or chicken dosas ($5–$7) and a couple of South-Indian sambars ($3).

To start things off, I recommend the delightful dahi vada ($3), deep-fried lentil dumplings wading in a refreshing pool of yogurt spiked with chili and cumin with a drizzle of mint sauce.

Strong lemon overtones add a tangy twist to the sweetness of the dumplings and the sourness of the yogurt—a must-have on my next visit.

Two bucks will get you a pair of lopsided crispy and tasty vegetarian samosas with the requisite pea, potato and onion filling, as well as a few coriander seeds and cumin thrown in for posterity. Sauce them up with a choice of minty or sweet sauces, or dunk it like a donut in the leftover puddle of dahi from the yummy vada.

Main dishes are precipitated to the table soon after appetizers, providing barely enough time to savour the latter. A thali platter for lunch ($5) will set you back a loonie less than the thali dinner platter ($6), and come in veggie or carnivore options, the latter of which is graced by a tandoori chicken drumstick.

The sectioned rectangular metal platter—a treat for those who enjoy compartmentalized dining—covers a large surface area, at least on an intimate table à deux that cannot accommodate more than one course per nosher. Tight spaces prove to be the mother of invention as the server ingeniously employs adjacent napkin holders as a perch for a basket of naan.

Vegetarian thali slots hold a small undressed iceberg salad, basmati grains, some mutter paneer (unripened cheese in a creamy curry sauce), soupy dahl (lentils), aloo baingan (curried potato and eggplant with green pepper), naan and a spicy papadum half-moon.

Compared with its tasty neighbouring compartments bathing in appropriately spiced tomato- or cream-based sauce, I found the dahl to be rather uneventful.

One of the highlights of my visit was the baingan bharta ($6), a main dish of ochre tinted roasted eggplant, which incorporated tomato, onion and green peas—proving that the tandoori oven can be used to cook something other than meat.

You’re going to need something with which to slop up this soft smoky aubergine, the one-buck naan’s raison d’être, as it were. The naan is not the best I’ve ever had, but it got the job done.

If, like me, your eyes are bigger than your belly, you can pack your leftovers yourself in a simple D.I.Y. doggy bag kit, a non-environmentally friendly Styrofoam box, with compartments of course, and a matching white plastic bag.

One thing the casual space, which seats roughly two dozen, definitely contains is atmosphere. Judging by the clientele, this saucy joint satisfies both ex-pat and non-Indian palates—always a good sign.

Taking my cue from the sticker on the kitchen door that reads “What Everyone Needs Is Love,” I’d say what Indian food lovers need is a visit to this curry house.