Moenjo

What’s the story with Moenjo?

It takes us a minute to clock it. These aren’t snare drum remixes of Bollywood classics we’re hearing over the stereo, but the hit originals up against the backing track of spice grinders in full flow. On a day we later learn didn’t quite top the record heat for Ireland (but sure felt like it), there’s not much appetite out there for the heavily spiced meats that make up Moenjo’s menu, so this quiet kitchen is making masala while the sun shines. That little touch is our first hint that something special’s afoot in this recent Rathmines arrival paying tribute to the Indus Valley civilisation.

The who?

It’s an ancient civilisation that was centred in modern-day Pakistan, active at around the same time as those better-remembered Egyptian folks. Their unearthed capital of Mohenjo Daro, from which the name and an awful lot of the wall décor in here comes from, is a marvel of early urban planning and especially plumbing infrastructure, but it isn’t the WC we’ve come here to check out.

What are they cooking?

Already a distinctly carnivorous cuisine compared to neighbouring India, Pakistani food doubles down on meat in the Sindh province that Mohenjo Daro sits in – think thickly-marinated chunks and slow-cooked curries. Versus Dublin’s more common catch-all menus that compress the world’s fifth-most populous country’s varied cuisines into familiar favourites, they’re leaning into regional heritage here with a focus on Karahi BBQ and Sindhi specials.

On-the-way-to-stale poppadoms puncture the promise until the waitress gets wind and whisks out a shatteringly crisp fresh batch, far more worthy of these interest-piquing chutneys and raita. Syrupy-sweet mango and pungent red chilli hit all the marks, but it’s the green that has a note none of us can quite place, buried amongst the mint freshness and green chilli kick. Our server’s chipper skip to the kitchen to find out yields to a sad trudge back – the chef won’t tell. Secrets of Fatima would be easier extracted than these ingredients - if not for empty tables all round, we’d be tempted to think competitor restaurants were sending in spies. A second helping is sent out by way of appeasement -we gladly give in.

The handsome wooden partition that’s gone up to block off the kitchen since we first poked a head in soon after featuring the place in our Ramadan roundup is presumably in answer to customer feedback on smoke levels, but it hides any sight of the charcoal grill and tandoor.

Tasting does for believing - a shared platter for one (€24, ask them to swap out chicken wings for malai boti) is how you should kick-start things, with a quick-stop tour of the kitchen’s marinades and masalas. Here the yogurt tang and fresh-cracked peppercorn complexity of the boti, there the caraway-flecked warmth of seekh kebab, everywhere rendered fat floods as charcoal-charred edges give way to soft, sweet meat beneath. Expect to argue over the soaked sliced onion bed beneath, ripe for piling atop torn shreds of wholewheat roti.

This is a hands-on affair, the only cutlery needed being the silver serving spoon you’ll practically snatch out of each others’ greedy mitts. Watch how it ladles up the Nihari (€16.50), the national dish of Pakistan and one rarely done justice in Ireland when it turns up at all (even Daata doesn’t do it). This is a dish that needs hours at low-and-slow, and the gelatinous gravy speaks for itself, melted fibre of mutton chunks and marrow fat as clear to see as they are to taste – rich isn’t the half of it. It’s only the bittersweet complexity of birista onions, like crisper caramelised, and slow-build spice layers that keep this from comatose territory.

Sindhi Karahi with chicken (€20) is sharper still, the most spice-forward of the three takes on Karahi that they offer here. Sautéed onions and the thick tang of added yogurt set the regional variant apart, with extra oil infused with whole spice flavour – the more pillowy roghni naan is the choice to make with this one (most mains come with a choice of rice or any of the various breads). Staff are trigger-happy with a spiel on the trio’s varied flavour profiles, an education in itself ever before the full-flavoured dish is dropped down before you.

They’ll just as eagerly extoll where Sindhi Biryani (€19.50) differs from the others you’re likely to have tried, namely yet more yogurt tang to offset the slight sweetness of dried plum. Steaming leaves the lamb more meltingly tender here than in the Nihari, practically puddled in the saffron and turmeric-scented rice - you can’t but slow and savour.

On so meaty a menu you’d be forgiven for thinking the slim veggie section just a token touch – lifting the lid on the daal fry (€14.45) puts paid to that. Stewed split pigeon peas put up the lightest level of resistance to the bite in a sauce that’s creamy and complex from the tadka’s spice. Get a garlicky ghee-brushed naan from the tandoor to scoop it all up, with sharpness and structure to tease out its tasty layers.

Anything to drink?

Only on the N/A front – it's wholly halal in here. You'd be in need of some reprieve from such steadfast assault on spice tolerance even in the depths of winter. Muddling through as muggy a day as it gets, we practically inhaled our lassi (€4) in one gulp. Few won’t be all-in on the mango, ripe and refreshing with real fruit flavour, but braver sorts should try salt, with a savoury character that’s as much a complement to the curries as the coldness is a fresh foil.

How’s the service?

About as good as we’ve had all year – it’s easy to lavish attention with only one table to cover, but we felt utterly spoiled from the second we sat down. Deep-dive questions on recipes and regional variants were answered with as much enthusiasm as they were asked (by the floor staff if not the chef), and from subbing on the shared platter to the spread of spice levels across choices, we had the sense of a real keenness to share Sindhi cuisine.

What’ll it cost us?

Not much. Sharing a platter and doing your level best to keep others’ forks out of your main with a lassi in hand will see you spend less than €30. And even if outside isn't a sweltering summer's night, that'll be food enough to send you out the door sweating.

What’s the verdict?

The let down look on our server’s face as we assured her we couldn’t conceivably manage even free tea with the heat that was in it sums up the sense of hospitality here - they really want to share a comprehensive experience. In the sound of spice grinders going, in the scents they send sailing through the air, in the deeply-flavoured fruits of that labour, there’s an exceptional one waiting. Archaeologists at Mohenjo-Daro haven’t yet unearthed what it was that brought the Indus Valley civilisation down. After one evening’s indulgence we have to think they ate themselves to death.