Himmi reviews Madam Chutney, Munich

You know it's something special when Asian ladies dress up for dinner.

In my experience that amount of bling: heavy gold necklace, sparkly-spangly earrings and the double-bracelet whammy, are usually reserved for the really big events. A small Indian restaurant in the residential homegeneity of Munich's Schwabing-Freimann district was not the place I expected to find Asian-wedding level jewellery. But find it I did, which meant the family occupying the large table at the back of Madam Chutney were either celebrating something special (which judging by the winter colours of the rest of the party was not the case) or the matriarch thought the restaurant worthy of the family jewels.

My expectations of the food rose.

For judging by the outside of the restaurant, my expectations were modest. Madam Chutney inhabited one room of a single-storey building, its windows fogged up against the drizzle of a September Saturday afternoon. Opening the door to the restaurant I was confronted by three packed tables with its occupants steaming off their rainy trips. It was like walking into someone's front room directly from the street and I almost apologised for barging in. In the confined premises, their was no question of having a table to ourselves. There were a set number of seats and like the children's game of musical chairs, when they were all taken you had to sit out. Having arrived early in the restaurant's business hours our party of four nestled at a corner of one of the tables. Later-comers would not be so lucky.

The smell was promising. In the muggy environment, the aroma of spices became concentrated and like all the best experiences, it reminded me of happy times past. In this case I flashed back to the meal preparations for the religious events of my childhood. These communal dos would often involve days of cooking on my mother's part and for a whole week the kitchen would become a spiced sauna from vats of delicious, bubbling curries. My positive associations were justified when the proprietress and sole waiter brought out glasses of scented, sweet chai. This was the real stuff; this was the stuff of home.

Our starters continued in that tradition with a selection of sour and spicy dishes. Whilst it was hard to differentiate between the puffed rice and potatoes of the bhel puri (the moist air must have softened their respective textures), the dilli ki paapri chaat stayed crisp, despite its discs of fried wheat dough being submerged under chutney-swirled yoghurt. The highlight for me, however, was the fried railway samosas - two plump, generous triangles filled with curried potatoes and a flash of fiery chilli that left my German companions desperately ordering more mango lassi.

As you can imagine, the mango lassi was sublime. Served in the now dated trend of Mason jars, the lassi rose above its pop culture container. The drink was fragrant and identifiably fresh, its creamy volume underscored by a note of cardamom, the unifying flavour of all dishes and drinks at Madam Chutney. It proved to be a necessary filler, however, as our group made the mistake of ordering mains after (not with) the starters, thus further burdening a stretched staff with our late request.

By this time more groups had started to fill the remaining floorspace in Madam Chutney, the rain forcing them to wait inside. Feeling rather intimidated by the side-eye of these hungry customers, we snuffled down our kathi rolls when they came, slightly cooled and slightly delayed from a overloaded kitchen. Making up for the damp egg paratha was the beautifully flavoured meat. I enjoyed a wodge of lamb sheekh, whilst also nabbing a bite of my partner's malai chicken tikka, both of which were herby and subtly sour.

Wanting us to have the full experience our table's lead ignored the increasingly fed-up people waiting and ordered a final round of paan ice cream. With the requisite delay, a bowl of ash coloured ice cream arrived at our table, soused in red syrup. Whilst not to everyone's taste the subtle flavours of betel leaves, rosewater and of course, cardamom, made for a memorable finale. Downing the last remnants of chai, we paid up and exited post haste as the next group of people eagerly took our seats.

Madam Chutney certainly offered the authentic Asian-subcontinent experience with delicious food and a busy, if not slightly chaotic atmosphere. At least on a popular Saturday afternoon it goes against the German ideals of efficiency in having limited seating space and one member of staff to serve all the tables, but if you are prepared to wait, you will be rewarded with some truly yummy fare.

Despite its shortcomings, I can see why you might want to dress up for dinner.