Clay-oven cooking, curries built from spices we grind ourselves, and a bar that treats cardamom and tamarind as seriously as it treats bourbon. Five minutes from Green Valley Ranch, twenty from the Strip.
Clay-oven cooking, curries built from spices ground in our own kitchen, and a bar that treats cardamom and tamarind as seriously as it treats bourbon. Five minutes from Green Valley Ranch, twenty from the Strip, and worth the drive from either.
Our tandoor is lit at ten in the morning and never allowed to cool. Charcoal, not gas — which is why the chicken comes out charred at the edge and still wet at the bone, and the naan is on your table thirty seconds after it hits the clay.
Sixteen to eighteen rotating dishes from eleven o’clock: a tandoor selection, two vegetarian curries, biryani, dal, chutneys and dessert — with naan pulled fresh to your table rather than left sitting under a lamp.
Whole spices are dry-roasted and ground here every morning — no pre-mixed masala, no shortcuts from a jar. The lentils for our dal makhani go on the flame the day before they are served. Paneer is pressed in-house. Breads are slapped onto the wall of a live-coal tandoor and pulled thirty seconds later.
It is the way this food is cooked in Bombay homes and Punjabi dhabas, transplanted to a strip on Warm Springs Road — which is why the mild dishes still taste of something and the hot ones are balanced rather than a dare.
Clay and charcoal, not a convection oven with a marketing name. It holds 900°F from open to close, and it is the reason a piece of chicken comes out charred at the edge and still wet at the bone.
Coriander, cumin, fennel, black cardamom and Kashmiri chili, dry-roasted and ground in our own kitchen. A masala loses its top notes within days — which is why pre-mixed powder tastes flat and ours does not.
Roughly half the kitchen is vegetarian and most of it can be made vegan on request. None of it is an afterthought, and every curry is built in its own pan at the heat you ask for.
Office lunches, birthdays, Diwali parties and full weddings — twenty guests to five hundred, delivered hot across Henderson, Summerlin, Downtown and the Strip corridor.
Flaky pastry, cumin-spiced potato and sweet pea, tamarind and mint chutneys.
Sweet onion ribbons in chickpea batter, fried crisp, curry-leaf salt.
Crisp wafers, chickpeas, whipped yogurt, tamarind, pomegranate, sev.
House paneer in yogurt and ajwain, charred in the tandoor, mint chutney.
Chettinad-style fried chicken, dried red chili and curry leaf.
Hand-minced lamb, ginger, green chili and mint, over live coals.
Tandoori chicken folded into tomato, fenugreek and white butter.
Overnight yogurt and Kashmiri chili, straight off the live coals.
Bone-in chicken, saffron and fried shallot, sealed under dough.
Kashmiri lamb shoulder, ratan jot, fennel and dried ginger.
Spinach puréed with garlic and green chili, soft house paneer.
Coconut milk, kokum, green chili and toasted coriander.
Warm milk-solid dumplings in cardamom and rose syrup.
Poached cheese discs, saffron milk, crushed pistachio.
Slow-cooked rice pudding, green cardamom and almond.
Carrot, ghee and khoya, served warm.
Pistachio kulfi, rose syrup, vermicelli and basil seed.
Set cream, rose water and crushed pistachio.
Thursday through Saturday after six, a reservation is worth having. Parties of eight
or more, please call the restaurant so we can seat you together.
Tell us the date and the head count and we will come back within one business day.
Tell us the date and the head count and we will come back within one business day.
Word travels fast in this valley. These are the three we hear most often —
usually somewhere between the second naan and the last of the gravy.
The butter chicken is the benchmark now. Everything else
in the valley gets measured against it, and most of it
comes up short. We are here twice a month, easily.
We booked them for a 120-person office lunch. Live tandoor
station, arrived early, nothing left over at the end.
We have used them twice since.
Ask for Indian-hot and mean it. The vindaloo is the real
thing, not the tourist version — and the mild dishes
still actually taste of something.
