Aab India
Columbus eatery rivals Queen City Indian cuisine
By Eric Pacella |
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Photo by Chris Casella Fans of great northern Indian food may find themselves in Cincinnati less often these days. Since I moved to Columbus three years ago, I have met countless curry consumers who would settle for nothing less than a 100-mile trek to Ludlow Avenue for Ambar India's scrumptious samosas, palatable paneer cubes, and glorious garlic nan. Well, times have changed, my friends, and Ambar has come to us in the form of Grandview's Aab India.
In the building that formerly housed Thom's on Grandview, owner Sobha Dhillon has brought his Indian-Cincinnatian flair to the Columbus area. Nervous that the food - or the prices - might change, Dhillon reassured me that he was bringing the head chef of Ambar along with him to run Aab India for its first year.
"Same menu, same prices, same chef," he told me in a phone interview. I giggled like a schoolgirl, eager to find out if his claim was true.
Entering the dining room, I found myself surrounded by white and light. A relaxing atmosphere, candles adorning each table, and plenty of ambient light from the huge windows gave the room a spacious, comfortable feel. As the weather was nice, I opted for a seat on Aab's smallish, quiet patio. My glass of water was never less than half-full, the host was bright and friendly, and everything I ordered came out exactly as asked.
I started my journey with the assorted vegetable platter ($5.99), which included a vegetable samosa, a pair of aloo tikki, and a few paneer and vegetable pakora, with a trio of chutneys. The aloo tikki was the highlight, with its light crispy shell and rich potato filling. The tomato and onion salad ($2.25), was a lighthearted dish of the aforementioned veggies, seasoned and served with a dressing of lemon, vinegar and spices. This pleasantly thin, acidic sauce cut the raw onion's strong flavor, creating a lovely combination.
I decided to start off my meal with the mushroom mater ($9.99) and garlic nan ($2.99). The tomato sauce was nicely executed with a rich flavor, enhanced by the dark notes of mushroom and green peas. The nan was light and fluffy, and nicely foldable for use as an alternative eating utensil.
Up to this point, I was merely flirting with Aab's menu. I decided to go for the kill, my favorite dish at Ambar. Would it be up to my standards, to the bar set unreasonably high by Aab's southern-Ohio cousin? I furrowed my brow, looked my server square in the eye, and uttered two words: "Lamb curry."
The whole room dropped to a dead silence as my server matched my tone: "How hot would you like it?" she asked, attempting to mask the tremble in her voice.
"Out of six?" I asked, pausing. "How about a four." Now I'm not afraid of heat, but I do like to taste my food, and not just the cayenne hotspice. Nevertheless, the room was stunned. Women clutched toddlers closer to their sides, their husbands clenching their fists in anticipation; a stray dog yelped in the street as a middle-aged couple dove for safety under their table.
"A bit more water, sir?"
Steely-eyed, I slowly held my glass out to be filled.
About seven minutes later, the dish was in front of me, accompanied by a hauntingly fragrant vessel, filled with basmati rice. We stared at each other, the lamb and I, envisioning the battle that was about to unfold.
Suddenly, a bubble burst atop the lamb's red curry surface, setting off my hair-trigger spoon arm. The crowd gave a collective gasp, as in one smooth motion, I topped my garlic nan with a bit of rice and a chunk of lamb, and popped it into my mouth. They sat silently again as tears began to stream down my face. The lamb curry ($11.99) was at once sweet and savory, as tender as any fuzzy farm frolicker's little legs could be. The curry itself, at a spice level of four, was just the right amount of heat for maximum flavor enjoyment, but not quite enough to impress a group of burly truck drivers.
Feeling like a beached whale, I opted for something to settle my stomach. Not a shot of liquor - though Aab offers a full bar - but a mango lassi ($2.99), sweetened with rose water. Aab's version of this 3,000-year-old smoothie drink was sweet, cold and filled with acidophilus: the perfect combination of dessert and digestive aid.
Ultimately, Dhillon's restaurant delivered just what I expected and just what he said he would: the same menu, the same prices, and the same chef as my beloved Ambar India. It's just that now, it doesn't take an hour and a half to get there.
Originally Published: July 1, 2010
