With business partner Abhi Sangwan, he’s chosen Beauchamp Place for Vatavaran, one of those Knightsbridge streets that’s both famous (shopping these days; used to be chock-a-block with brothels) and surprisingly annoying to get to. Not that this matters in SW1, the only part of London where black cabs still hunt in packs. It’s not the most Himalayan setting. But then the Himalayan thing is muted. How muted? No one mentioned it at all. The menu says nada. It’s all online: whoever persuaded Ghai to do the mountain sell there did him a disservice, and diners too: the expectations it sets will not be met. Besides, the website is a compendium of guff. Reads one emetic line: “Each dish is crafted with ingredients that speak to the bounty of the land, charred to perfection to evoke the rugged yet fertile spirit of the Himalayan ranges.” What, butter chicken? Behave.
Vatavaran: The name means atmosphere. If only it had any
