Vatavaran, Knightsbridge

It was Trishna in Marlebone, all the way back in something like 2009, that opened many Londoners' eyes - not least my own - to the possibilities of modern Indian fine dining. Now, I'm sure Vivek Singh (Cinnamon Club, 2001), Sriram Aylur (Quilon, 1999) and Cyrus Todiwala (Café Spice Namasté, 1995) will each have something to say about that, and clearly these places are just as much of a part of the journey of this cuisine (or rather, cuisines - India is a big country) as anything that has come since, but there was something about Trishna, the way it wore its fine dining credentials so lightly in favour of being so accessible and bright and fun - the effect was irresistible. I had more than one birthday party there, safe in the knowledge that there would be something on the menu for everyone, and everyone would have a fantastic time.

Head chef at Trisnha at the time was Rohit Ghai, a man who immediately jumped to the top of my good list for having a particular fondness for game. Tandoori pheasant, pigeon, grouse and guinea fowl all appeared over the years, both at the Gymkhana group, the wonderful Jamavar and at his later solo ventures Kutir and Manthan, and in all that time across all those venues I never had anything less than an excellent time. Especially in game season.

Vatavaran, barely a month old, already feels solid and settled in its swanky Knightsbridge location, and has clearly found an appreciative audience. As far as I can tell, every table in this sprawling three-floor restaurant was taken on a cold Monday night in December, quite an achievement for any other new venue but perhaps not quite as much of a surprise given the pedigree of the kitchen. Alongside a worryingly drinkable tequila-based cocktail "Sehar", involving tamarind, passion fruit and ginger, came the selection of baked and fried papads that have become such an important part (to me, at least) of the London Indian fine dining experience, alongside some intelligent house chutneys. We were particularly impressed with the gooseberry one which married the best of British winter produce with South Asian sensibilities.

Ghati masala prawns kicked off the meal proper and turned out to be lightly battered and deep fried (though still nicely plump and fresh inside) then topped with a mix of spices originally from Maharashtra in western India. They were, as you might expect, lovely, although in the interests of a bit of honest feedback we had in fact ordered - on advice from the chef, no less - the grilled wild prawns with chickpeas and curry leaf, from the 'Grills' section. Which I'm sure would have been very nice too. Still as I say, they're only a month old so a few service niggles are to be expected.

Guinea fowl Balchao (a Goan dish, this one - with Portuguese roots) came as a giant chop, slathered in beguiling spices and expertly touched by the chargrill. Again, there's that enthusiasm for the best British produce matched with perfectly-judged and intelligent, complex spicing, creating something entirely new and entirely brilliant.

There was one dish we didn't completely love, but even now I can't decide whether it was objectively not as good as the others or whether it wasn't quite what we expected. I think part of the problem is that when you advertise something in the 'Rotisserie' section of a menu, that tends to suggest a crisp skin, bronzed by dripping hot fat, encasing soft yielding flesh - textures a rotisserie setup does so well. This strange, shapeless seabass had a soft, flabby skin and a rather mushy flesh inside, and although you have to admire the skill and patience to bone an entire fish, I have to wonder whether just grilling the thing over coals might have produced a better result. Still, maybe I'm missing something.

The final courses, as is traditional in such places, arrived together alongside fluffy naans straight from the tandoor and a couple of tasteful sides. The main event, butter chicken, was a knockout - darker and richer than some examples, with giant chunks of expertly grilled poultry that still gave a crunch from a char under the superb sauce. Black daal was equally impressive, thick and buttery and moreish, and what I'm pretty sure was a courgette masala providing a nice light counterpoint to the other dishes but still packing a flavour punch.

So despite there being one or two things I wouldn't order next time (or rather, one thing I wouldn't order next time and one other thing I wouldn't let them order for me next time) I still left Vatavaran more than happy. It might not quite be up there with the flagships of the group like Kutir or Manthan, but then this is a slightly different operation aimed at a slightly different crowd - the difference, without putting too fine a point on it, between the post-Harrod's crowd and the post-Peter Jones'. I was shown round a very glam cocktail bar soon to open on the 3rd floor which will go down an absolute treat I'm sure - this is a place, as I say, that really knows its audience.

It's worth repeating just how much London owes the astonishing variety and quality of its high-end Indian food to all the names I've mentioned previously but from my perspective in particular, Rohit Ghai and the rest of the JKS group who transformed this naive food blogger's attitude on just how good Indian food could be with countless brilliant meals over the years. So consider this post as a protracted 'thank you' for the last 15 or so years, and here's to another brilliant 15 more. Oh, and bring on game season 2025.

7/10

I was invited to Vatavaran and didn't see a bill, but expect to pay £100/head with booze, pretty much bang on for this quality in this part of town.