Badam

What should we know about Badam?

Open since 2021, there's been a gentle Northside hum about the restaurant under the railway tracks in Clontarf, but with only 14 seats you might not know anyone who's been there - and it's fair to say locals will be happy to keep it that way. Badam say their ambition is "to serve high quality Indian and Nepalese cuisine with the wonderful potent flavours of Indian and Nepal", while mixing, roasting and grinding their spices and herbs daily; and making their sauces and chutneys in small batches to keep them fresh.

Apart from knowing it was founded by someone called D.N. Upreti, and that "Badam" means almond, we weren't able to get much more information out of them, with emails going unanswered, but one look at the rapturous reviews online from utterly thrilled customers, and it's fair to say they're probably busy in the kitchen.

Where should we sit?

The tiny dining room only seats 14, with one long banquette and a single booth for four on the other side of the room. There are two seatings each night, the first from 17:00 - 19:30, and the second from 20:00 - 23:00, but they did allow us to arrive at 18:30 after we assured them we'd be gone by 20:00, so they are flexible.

It's a warm, inviting room, with leather seats, rich wood panelling and soft lighting, and it feels intimate and cosy. We wouldn't plan on divulging your darkest secrets though, unless you're happy for your neighbours to hear. There's one outside table too which would fit three at a squeeze - we imagine it's more likely used as a holding area for the next seating or anyone waiting for takeaway, but you could certainly request it.

What should we eat?

Based off our visit, absolutely anything. While the menu skews Northern India and it's neighbour Nepal, a quick scan will tell you you're onto something different here. The right at the back "ethnic all time favourites" section complies with the regulation Korma, Jalfrezi and Tikka Masala, but it's clear that's not what they're here to cook.

A basket of poppadoms is your welcome gift, the exhuberent mango and tomato chutneys uplifting in the way that only homemade food chopped and mixed and seasoned with love and care can be. How will we ever look at a jarred version again.

There's a huge amount of vegetarian dishes on offer here, and the Laal Bhajie (€7.50) is a multi-vegetable version of the widely known deep-fried onion starter. The crispest of crisp batter houses softly spiced veg, with creamy yoghurt and tamarind sauces generously poured on top. If you've chosen to share this you might find yourself accidentally slapping people's hands away.

The "pepper fry" is a dish that appears across the menu, and while it would generally describe a dry, stir-fry style dish found in Southern Indian cooking, Badam's Paneer Pepper Fry (€7.25) comes bathed in a coconut milk and cream sauce, tempering all that black pepper and spice. It reminded us of a creamy peppercorn sauce we might serve with steak or pork chops, and it's hard to imagine grilled paneer and just cooked veg tasting better than when bathed in this sauce.

Another starter of Sherpa Lamb Pepper (€10.95) is more what we would have expected from a Pepper Fry - deep-fried slices of tender lamb tossed in dry roasted spices with crunchy peppers and onions and a yoghurt sauce hiding underneath. There is absolutely nothing to dislike here.

With 33 main courses (and endless variations on them) you might want to study the menu in advance of arriving, but for our money the Tandoor Mix Grill (€25.95) must be on your order sheet. How many times have you had a plate like this that's been an underwhelming whomp of unmemorable meat - this one will wipe any bad experiences from your memory. Arriving loudly sizzling and piled high with beautiful lamb chops, seek kebab, chicken tikka chunks and a single giant King Prawn, the spices hit you in the face in the most wonderful way - be sure to order a raita for contrast.

It's very hard to make bowls of brown things look good, so you'll have to trust us when we say the Baruchi Lamb and Goan Prawn curries were yet more highlights of one of our most memorable meals in ages. The lamb (€20.95) comes in a sauce made from grated coconut, spicy red peppers, tamarind, fresh coriander and mustard seeds, and every bite brings a taste of something different. It's listed on the menu as "hot", but that must be hot for Irish palates, not Indian.

The Goan Prawn Curry (€22.95) is milder and but no less full of fragrant spices like coriander, turmeric, garlic and ginger, finished with coconut milk and vinegar. There wasn't a scraping of sauce left in either bowl once we were done.

Garlic and peshwari naans were as pillowy and chewy as you could have hoped for, perfect flavour-packed vessels for scooping and cleaning plates and bowls with. No complaints on the pilau rice either.

Desserts are a mish mash of Western and Indian, with a chocolate brownie alongside mango kulfi (€6.99), and it's obviously not their strongest point, but it would be hard to follow what came before regardless. A mango kulfi was so hard our server had to bring us a fork to dig into it - nice flavour, but the texture wouldn't leave you wanting more. The rainbow sprinkles on top (or hundreds and thousands as any self-respecting Irish person calls them) were a strange addition.

Two "honey balls" (€6.99) looked and tasted like Gulab Jamun - the deep-fried, milk-based dough balls soaked in syrup - and while they veered on the side of overcooked, they were rich, satisfying and filling alongside the scoop of vanilla ice-cream (and more unexplainable sprinkles).

What about drinks?

God loves a trier, but the wine list here was not devised by someone with a love for God's great grape juice. It reads like a supermarket selection, and a couple of spenny bottles of Bordeaux and Châteauneuf-du-Pape aren't enough to up the overall interest. Gun to head we'd go for one of the organic bottles, but it's all big name commercial stuff. If you're sticking to beer it's Cobra or Cobra.

How was the service?

One server was overtly lovely, full of smiles and enquiries as to whether everything was okay. Food was timed perfectly, and additional requests were dealt with smoothly and swiftly. We would have loved to see the chef come out to the dining room at some point, to bring out a dish and say hi. It felt a bit like the Wizard of Oz (the Wizard of food?) was behind the curtain, catering for this tiny group of diners, and in such an intimate setting we would have loved a peek behind it.

What did the bill come to?

€40 a head with no alcohol. Add on half a bottle of organic Verdejo each and you'll be up to €56 per person before tip. You won't find us complaining about those numbers, for this food. There's also an Early Bird menu from Monday - Thursday until 19:30 with three courses for €25.95 (a little more pedestrian on choice), and a Sunday lunch thali for €24.99. They won't be accused of not providing good value food options.

What's the verdict on Badam?

Eating in Badam feels less like you're a number on someone's P&L sheet, and more like you can't believe you've scored an invite to this person's house for dinner. There's so much copy and paste Indian food in Dublin that finding somewhere like this feels like a window into another region, and if you're someone who explores the world through food, you will love this place. We've been low key obsessing about going back ever since floating out onto the Howth Road on a balmy summer's evening, and a takeaway (around 30% cheaper than dine in) will most definitely be happening in our very near future. Sorry Clontarf, the Badam word is out.