Mughli review

My favourite ever typo? When I was working at a beloved little magazine called City Life some years ago, and the town of Knutsford was listed as Kuntsford.

Never was our sub-editor so revered. He drank out on that one for months. Not that this review is going to be a needless tirade of Cheshire-bashing. Oh no – there’s too much of that kind of thing about, if you ask me.

What it's about is inconsistency. True, any restaurant will always have its pros and cons – I bet even the Fat Duck struggles to be perfect – but Indian restaurant Mughli is so wildly up and down that you feel like giving it a good shake because you can see what it’s capable of. Really it’s a shame there isn’t a ‘Randomness’ category down there in the scores, because that’s where Mughli would get full marks. Almighty, italicised Ed – can we add one, just this once? No? Ah, you’re no fun. (So true Emma – Ed)

First things first: location.

There are two Mughlis: one in Rusholme and a second in Knutsford. On this occasion the latter was up for review, so my friend Rebecca and I took a train through the rainstorms to see how the other half live. After negotiating the post-work crush of Piccadilly Station, we stood for 40 minutes, our coats gently steaming, on one of those trains that feel a lot like a Blackpool tram.

But not even the cramped transport or inclement weather could dampen our spirits as Knutsford Station and the prospect of curry approached. After a five-minute canter down the main street from the station, we dived into Mughli – an exotic outpost amidst the freaky little clothes boutiques and bijou wine bars.

The name refers to the Mughals, Muslims from Central Asia who invaded India during the 16th century. Like most invaders, the Mughals were influential types, the charismatic gatecrashers at the party – if you’re a language geek like me you’ll be interested to know that an alternative spelling of the word ‘Mughal’ is ‘Mogul’ – such is their enterprising legacy – which also means a great or wealthy person, hence business mogul.

On a somewhat smaller scale, the Mughli restaurant empire has been a family business since 1991. There are touches of long-established quality in the proud service and considered wine list, but this attention to detail is riddled with the flipside: careless corner-cutting. Take the décor, for example. For every plus point, there was an equally affecting negative one. Exposed brickwork; plastic plants. Dark-stained bamboo ‘poles’; tacky pink lighting. White banquette seating; cheap-looking prints.

Service was a definite plus, being fast and friendly, and we were soon perusing the menu over poppadoms and chutneys. The chutney tray had all the staples: runny mango chutney, slightly spicy thin yoghurt, chopped raw onions in a sweet gooey sauce... with one surprising addition. Our eyes lit up when we saw the metal dish filled with sweetcorn and cabbage… only for our hearts to sink when we tasted: Heinz Salad Cream or maybe a very similar substitute. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Mughli had either stirred in some of that 20th century lunchbox favourite, or they’d stumbled upon the secret recipe.

The tableware, like the décor, was a rollercoaster ride of success and failure. Thick-bottomed glasses felt satisfyingly heavy in our hands; thin paper napkins disintegrated into turmeric-tinged sludge on our chins. The restaurant itself, however, was pretty much full by 8pm on a Thursday evening.

To soak up the Petit Chablis (£18.90), we started with Tikka fish (£6.90) and Murghi pakora (£4.50). The fish was sea bass and – damn it – slightly dry, probably due to the fact it was served on a sizzling platter. All you need to do is show a fish an oven and it wilts into submission – this needs to be taken into account with theatrics such as sizzle plates. A lemon and cumin marinade cheered it up, but it was disappointing nonetheless. (NB If spicy fish is your bag, head to Nila on Bacup Road in Rawtenstall, where they do the most phenomenal tandoori trout, plus the pickle tray to end all pickle trays.)

The chicken pakora fared better. Long strips of battered white breast meat reared up off the plate in beckoning tendrils. The chicken was perfectly cooked, while the batter’s subtle afterburn was enhanced by the accompanying sweet chilli sauce. I commented that the batter was slightly soggy, only to be corrected by Rebecca, who said that pakora was meant to be that way. I took a moment to flick through my back catalogue of previous pakora experiences, and decided she might be right – although my Top Two deep-fried Indian-style starters (Great Kathmandu’s aloo tikka, and Shimla Pinks’ vegetable pakora) are crisper than an autumn dawn, and just as colourful.

The mains menu jostled with speciality, signature and traditional sauces – and the impressively large selection of curry components includes unusual options like tikka cutlets (chicken or lamb), mixed meats, keema (minced meat), kofta (meatballs), paneer cheese and okra.

We ordered Chicken Mughlai Karahi (£9.50), a signature dish, which again proved to be a victim of the sizzle plate. The sauce was good – thick and rich with tomatoes, onion and ginger – but there wasn’t enough of it, and the chunks of chicken were on the dry side of tender.

The best sauce was that in a side of Matter paneer (£4.90) – which was small for a side, but hot and fruity. The arid heat of chilli powder rather than the bright heat of fresh chilli was a marked feature of all the dishes we tried. I found that this induced a coughing fit at one point – a total faux pas in an Indian, as everyone around you presumes you can’t take the heat.

As for sundries, the pilau rice (£2) was oily and the naan (£3) and chappati (£2) each flawed in their own dry, flaky, average way. Meanwhile the second main was nothing short of catastrophic – for Rebecca at least. A reform vegetarian, there’s one thing that will never pass her lips. Mushrooms. When asked what she hates about them, she says it’s the look, the texture and the taste she can’t stand. They are utterly irredeemable in her eyes.

“If someone put a gun to my head, I could eat the white bit of a raw one,” she concedes.

Anyway, when ordering a Mixed vegetable samber (£9), Rebecca made a point of expressing as politely as she possibly could that if a single mushroom found its way into her curry, it would ruin her evening. Guess what? Samber arrives full of shrooms. The waiter, to his credit, was very apologetic and offered to replace the dish, but we were already pretty stuffed, so we asked for Shroomgate to be wrapped up and took it home for breakfast.

Desserts and hot drinks were another bizarrely mixed bag. The Matka Kulfi (£3.90) pistachio ice cream was unpleasantly greasy, although the waiter – obviously still feeling bad about the mushroom incident – did say we could keep the little frozen ceramic pot the kulfi was served in. Ah, nothing so generous as a guilty conscience.

Then the mint teas landed. We’d ordered Mint mélange (£2), not knowing what to expect. As soon as the saucers hit the table, our nostrils were filled with the most incredible fragrance. The tea bags looked beautiful, too – packed with sizeable pieces of visible mint leaves, hemmed with golden thread like expensive knickers. The taste was blissfully un-powdery, a ‘close your eyes and you’re in Mumbai’ moment. Rebecca, a daily mint tea drinker, said it was the best she’d ever had and wrote down the brand name (www.mightyleaf.com) to order a box later.

But as soon as we were up, we were down. When the bill arrived, it came with three softmints. Not only that. Snide softmints. Yes, Mughli giveth, and Mughli taketh away, but one thing’s for sure – they need to up their game to have any hope of competing with the best of our subcontinental cooking.

Rating:	13/20
Breakdown:	6/10 food 3/5 décor 4/5 ambience
Address:	Mughli 44-46 King Street Knutsford WA16 6DT 01565 631 010 www.mughli.com Also at: 28-32 Wilmslow Road Rusholme Manchester M14 5TQ 0161 248 0900

Venues are rated against the best examples of their kind: fine dining against the best fine dining, cafes against the best cafes. Following on from this the scores represent: 1-5 saw your leg off and eat it, 6-9 get a DVD, 10-11 if you must, 12-13 if you’re passing,14-15 worth a trip,16-17 very good, 17-18 exceptional, 19 pure quality, 20 perfect. More than 20: Gordo gets carried away