Today, Sam Sifton gives a much deserved two-star review to Tamarind Tribeca, and you get the sense they were whiskers away from three:
So, have a drink and consider some curry-laced crab cakes and crisp pomegranate samosas, and the promise beyond them of a menu that can take diners across India in the name of flavor, and represent that nation’s varied cuisine with pride and great skill. . . . it is shaping up to be the best thing to happen to Indian food since Hemant Mathur and Suvir Saran opened Devi in 2004.
Unfortunately, this review marked the return of Sam the Incoherent, blessedly absent the last two weeks:
Here, too, is Gary Walia, the restaurant’s manager (nephew to Avtar Walia, the owner), directing his well-trained and helpful staff as if he were conducting an orchestra, greeting guests in the manner of a subcontinental Julian Niccolini, of the Four Seasons restaurant in Midtown.
The bar serves an excellent gin and tonic, cold and tall.
Wow! What an accomplishment that is!
In London, where marvelous Indian food is as much a part of the culinary landscape as French restaurants or steakhouses are here, Tamarind Tribeca might rate a pleasant shrug.
Families are scarce in the dining room — dates, friendships, too. Pressed shirts abound, and wide English ties. Suit jackets are thrown over the backs of chairs and bar stools.
So glad you told us that. You never see suit jackets thrown over the backs of chairs anywhere else. That’s so unusual. Just like those cold gin and tonics you’ve been drinking.