If, like Metro, you still have a soft spot for Little Chefs (those iconic roadside diners of our childhoods), you may be slightly miffed when they transform into other businesses – even a gourmet curry house, for instance. That’s what’s happened at the Red Hill roundabout (a few miles north of the city centre up Mansfield Road), which now houses The Banyan Tree.
Ever since it opened last year, we’ve heard good things about the food there. But, as confirmed urbanites, we’ve always whizzed past on our way to the big, bad city. This time, however, we turned off the A60 and taxied through the Texaco petrol station forecourt to arrive at the familiarly box-shaped one-storey building.
The car-park was already packed, but there was still space for ours. And, of course, that’s probably one of the Banyan Tree’s major attractions for many punters. Never mind the soulless location, there’s free and ample parking! A rather depressing thought, nonetheless.
As we entered the fray, already hot and heaving with a mature crowd of local couples and families, we didn’t mind waiting a while on a white leather sofa as they took our orders. They’ve certainly made a decent job of the interiors – all muted tones and trendy wallpaper.
According to the promo blurb, The Banyan Tree is “No ordinary tree, no ordinary restaurant” And as we’ve read so often, they promised the freshest of ingredients – “all our spices and sauces are skilfully prepared from primary ingredients which naturally yield flavours that are distinct in taste and quality.”
More interestingly, the Executive Chef Mr Himmat Singh Nathawat apparently honed his skills and unique style at The Cinnamon Club, one of London’s top contemporary Indian eateries – so our expectations were high.
The menu looked solid; nicely balanced between the usual classic faves, and some particularly intriguing options on the chef’s signature dish list, including starters of Pakhandi Kebab (£4.50) ‘chicken wings coated in corn flower with crushed black pepper seasoning – deep fried and dipped in a special spicy sweet and sour sauce’, and mains of Aachari Palak (£10.95) – ‘lamp chops tenderised in mustard oil and pickling spice marinade, then slow cooked in a Bhuna-style sauce with spinach, garlic and pickled onions; and Duck Sizzler (£13.95) – ‘Gressingham duck breast marinated in green herbs and tandoori spices, served on a sizzling platter with juliennes of onions and pepper’.
To do the menu justice, we decided to try a combination of the chef’s specials and traditional dishes. First up were starters of Harayli tikka (£4.75) and shabzi pakora (£3.50). My tikka featured three smallish cubes of succulent chicken breast which had been marinated in herbs and yoghurt, then grilled in the tandoori. Although the unique smoky flavour of the tandoori was rather muted, it allowed the delicate freshness of the herbs, particularly mint, to shine. Meanwhile, the pakora comprised a naughty-but-nice selection of deep-fried vegetables, including aubergine, cauliflower and potato.
It was a promising start. But any goodwill gradually evaporated during the seemingly endless wait for our main courses – a disappointing 45 minutes. When they did arrive, things perked up again: my friend relished her mixed vegetable massala (£6.95) with pilau rice (£2.75) – the richness of the sauce given authority by the pureed plumb tomatoes and an edge of fresh garlic and ginger. My Malabari prawns (£13.95) also didn’t disappoint – although, to justify almost 14 quid for three prawns, they needed to be quality! Fortunately, these gigantic juicy specimens were exquisitely infused in a creamy sauce of ground mustard, fennel seeds, coconut milk and fresh herbs and combined fabulously with the tangy lemon rice (£3.25).
The restaurant was beginning to empty by 10pm (this is definitely not a late-night curry stop) as we shared a dessert from one of those familiar lamented menus. We quite enjoyed our lemon and lime cheesecake (even if it was newly defrosted); followed by the guilty retro pleasure of the complimentary After 8s.
According to the menu, “in India, the Banyan tree is revered for its mystical properties and provides a focal point for village folk to meet, take shade and watch the day go by. We take our inspiration from the organic yet mystical properties of this special tree and endeavour to grow our business in the same way.” Well, the owners here (who are also in partnership with Mansfield’s Monsoon Restaurant) seem to have a blossoming business – the overheads of an out-of-town place like this must surely be quite low, while the prioes are easily the equivalent of a city centre venue (around fifty quid for two) and trade certainly appears healthy.
No doubt about it, The Banyan Tree offers superior food to your average suburban Notts Indian restaurant. So, if hassle-free parking is important to your Saturday night curry experience and you don’t mind the highly un-exotic view of an NG5 petrol forecourt, set your SatNav for the A60/A614 Intersection… David Sandhu
The Banyan Tree, Former Little Chef, Red hill Roundabout A60/A614 Intersection, 520 Mansfield Road, Redhill, Nottingham. Open Mon-Thurs (5.30pm-11pm), Fri-Sat (5.30-11.30) and Sun (5.30pm-10pm). Tel: 0115 920 3080.
