My experience with Indian cuisine is admittedly relatively limited. It first came to the fore in London, England in a complete and utter desperation move after engrossing ourselves (accent on “gross”) in the British version of food. It’s not really fit for human consumption. But… their Indian food — despite it really being my first experience — was absolutely delicious. Now, many years later, I have delved into this lovely Eastern grub, but it has hardly changed in terms of its approach, taste profiles or preparation from what I had in London decades ago. But here comes Jalwa, which boasts a “modern” dining experience. Thing is, it’s the same, this food. Maybe they mean the dining room is modern? Which I suppose it is — at least in comparison to other more old-school joints I’ve frequented. But, no, the food isn’t in and of itself any different than my past experiences with the same.
I’m not sure this needs to be reiterated, but I am a white person. I’m a little more ethnic than I look, but I present as super white. So, it is not at all outside of my expectation that when I walk through the door, folks who work at restaurants that serve spicy food automatically assume I can’t handle the heat. I get the white person treatment when it comes to spice levels. I imagine it’s for my own good, but sometimes they take it a bit too far. White person “medium” is like Indian person nothing. Indian person medium is probably white person super-hot. I don’t know if the servers make a discreet mark on their pad to indicate white-person versus Indian person “medium,” but Jalwa certainly followed the usual tack of giving us next to no heat with our medium order. If there was actually another Indian person in the restaurant who wasn’t part of the waitstaff, I would have gone over and just asked for one quick inhalation of their grub to test my theory. Sadly, there was not anyone there who could be my guinea pig. But I still suspect I’m right, nonetheless. Thus ends my stupid comedy routine from 1997.
Now, we were here for Ms. Hipster’s birthday. Not because it’s a fancy-pants place or anything, but it is within walking distance of Casa de Hipster and we’ve been Indian food starved since we decided blowing up our metabolisms once a week like we used to wasn’t doing either of us any favors in the health department. Plus, it was mid-week and, after commuting back and forth to work, it seemed like a lot to go somewhere that was going to make a big to-do of things. Turns out, this was just the casual place we needed. Small, a little weird (if I’m being honest) and available. I’d been in this dining room once before prior to its change over to Jalwa. I recall it being somewhat cold and not particularly comfortable. While they’ve definitely put in better seating and spruced the place up with some generic 3-D wall art and a mural of a sexy Indian lady giving all the diners eyes, it’s still a somewhat awkward space. It’s skinny and there are walls jutting out in places where there doesn’t seem like there should be walls. All the surfaces are hard. And the waiters seem to appear from nowhere — the kitchen not where you’d expect it to be. Several times food came from behind me and my paranoia with being approached unawares almost made me smack it out of the server’s hand. But, once settled in and used to the surroundings, it became a little less strange. But, still, not exactly a space that says, hey come hang out and stay for a long while.
We normally will do samosas. Because we’re basic. But, hey, this was a special occasion, so we started with aloo tikki & pindi cholley instead. Which were basically little fried potato cakes in a chickpea mixture with a chutney and a bunch of spices. I gotta say, they were super-tasty. The texture was also pretty great, the cakes cooked well and the chickpeas (or garbanzo beans as we call them on the West Coast) not mushy, but also not too firm. It was a real win — though I did miss my samosas a little anyway. And then, as usual, we ordered exactly what you would expect two Gen-X losers to order: chicken tikka masala and shahi murgh korma (which is just a fancy way of saying chicken korma). With a couple orders of butter naan and raita. Because, as Ms. Hipster is fond of saying, why would we not order something we know we already love? Despite there being specials and other things on the menu that I debated over, but ultimately ordered what I almost always order. And, you know what? Ms. Hipster was right, as usual. It was exactly what I wanted. The korma wasn’t overly flavorful, but the chicken itself was well cooked and the sauce smooth, hearty and consistent. I’d give our “medium” about a two out of ten on the heat scale, which makes it like a white-person four. So, I definitely could have used some more spice all around. The naan was terrific. Nice and fluffy and soft and plenty of it. The raita was even well done, on the thicker end of the consistency scale, which I happen to like in my yogurt sides. None of that weak, watery stuff for me!
We did notice quite a few to-go orders being picked up or taken by Uber Eats and whatnot, but the restaurant crowd itself was pretty sparse for a Thursday evening. Granted, there aren’t that many seats in the place to begin with, so I imagine a sell-out is hardly what one would call a crowd. There was a time — probably before or in the midst of COVID — when I walked by Jalwa, looked at their menu in the window and determined it was too expensive for what it was. But I think $25 for a main has just become the norm these days. Even if it just appears to be some indistinguishable chunks of chicken simmering in a sauce in a little pot. Yes, there are cheaper Indian options in the area, but those all feel like a different dining experience. Not… modern. Oh, there it is! You pay an extra $7 an entree for the modern experience. And, you know what, that’s fine because I’m a modern man and this is my modern life.
215 Glenridge Ave. – Montclair
973/250-6364
jalwaindianrestaurant.com
