As we entered the cosy, cluttered space of an eatery in Sanepa, we were led to sofas fronted by tables of heavy wood, on which thick slices of home-made pate and bread awaited. Our Le Cordon Bleu-trained chef appeared in the kitchen doorway, and greeted us with plates of steaming…bhatmas! No crunchy, deep-fried Newari tidbits these, but whole pods seasoned with white sesame seed and soy, that we were instructed to suck the bhatmas out of. Delicious, we grinned, as we accepted raspberry mojitos. These cool little numbers were as exciting to drink as they were to scoop out and chomp on, with the help of daring fingers. And this wasn’t even on the menu. We shivered in gluttonous anticipation.
The soup arrived, served to us in cute little bowls, and was slurped down to cries of appreciation. Mustang Bean Soup with Basil Chilli Oil, creamy, yummy, exotically Nepali. It evoked the Mustang mini-mart in Sanepa Chok, where packs of Mustangi products – millet and barley flour, dried apple, and an assortment of unidenti fied vegetable and cereal material – beckon to the adventurous, indigenously minded cook.
Now we were ushered to the dining table, where twists of soft choc-chip cookies to go suggested we’d be complimenting the chef some time after we left.
Asparagus (in) Cups in a citrus dressing were passed around, then slightly sweet mini-Corn Muffins. An unusual combination, but whyever not? With the rich Nepali Cheese Risotto with Chipotle Paneer, served with Onion Sticks at hand, our chef showed just how adept she was at blending the continental with the Nepali, with whatever ingredients she could coax out of the local markets. Another glass of wine, thank you, and even the more modest amongst us couldn’t hold back from the Chocolate Pecan Pie with Vanilla Crème. There are times to watch what you eat; in the absence of fried, oily meat, this was not one of those disposable occasions.
Tempted? I’d tell you where I dined that night, if I could. Alas, this was the restaurant that never was.