Ayush Joshi
Google
After a long day of travel, stomachs grumbling and hearts set on comfort food, we stepped into The Himalayan Restaurant. The ambience was warm, and the staff — truly lovely people — greeted us with such gentle humility, we immediately felt at ease. We sat down, hopeful. Hungry. Ready.
We ordered masala chai, malai kofta with rice and garlic naan, and a samosa to get things started.
The chai arrived first. One sip, and the illusion broke. Watery, weak, and unmistakably made with dip tea bags — the kind of chai that feels more like hot disappointment than a warm embrace. We looked at each other, trying to brush it off. Maybe the food would redeem it.
The samosa — hot and freshly made. A crispy shell, decent filling. It was okay. Not memorable, but at least it felt like a real attempt. We were still hopeful.
But the malai kofta? It was the final blow. No salt. No flavor. Not even the creamy sweetness or spice you’d expect from the name. Just bland kofta balls in a flat, forgettable sauce. It didn’t taste unfinished — it tasted untouched by seasoning. Like the chef was afraid to offend… anyone.
The garlic naan? It was… okay. The kind of naan that doesn’t disappoint, but doesn’t excite either. Just there. Existing. Much like our hopes at that point.
We left the restaurant full, but only because hunger won. Emotionally, we walked out empty.
And yet, it hurts to write this — because the staff were so gracious, so humble, so kind. You want to love the place because of them. But food speaks louder than service, and this meal had nothing to say.
To the team: your hospitality shines. But your food needs a voice — and a lot of flavor.