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Dishoom Carnaby

NOVEMBER. 1967. Heathrow airport. A young man leans against the Oceanic terminal’s high windows, waiting for the final call for BOAC flight 774 to Bombay. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and stares into the heavy rain driving down onto the tarmac.

The passing travellers are openly curious to see a tall, striking Indian (actually, an Irani – not that they’d understand the distinction) dressed in stylish clothes. The women’s eyes linger on him. They look away. Look again. Smile a little when he catches them. Today he doesn’t smile back.

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    Reservations

    Groups of any size may book during the day. After 6pm, only groups of 6 or more may book. Walk-ins always welcome.

    NOVEMBER. 1967. Heathrow airport. A young man leans against the Oceanic terminal’s high windows, waiting for the final call for BOAC flight 774 to Bombay. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and stares into the heavy rain driving down onto the tarmac.

    The passing travellers are openly curious to see a tall, striking Indian (actually, an Irani – not that they’d understand the distinction) dressed in stylish clothes. The women’s eyes linger on him. They look away. Look again. Smile a little when he catches them. Today he doesn’t smile back. In his breast pocket sits a folded telegram. He can feel it there like a weight, a palm-print of heavy sadness on his chest. It arrived three days earlier with the news that would send him into a tail-spin of grief, guilt and confusion. “Your father has passed. Come home. We need you.”

    It has been several years since he first came to London from Bombay. Since his family waved him off, their pride and joy, gone to study in England. Only for him to be seduced by the city, first making excuses to extend his stay and then breaking the news that he could not, would not, return. His mother had begged him to come back. Most painful of all, his father had stopped communicating with him.

    But how could he have walked away from this whirlwind of excitement? The music that gave him the chills… The parties, the clubs, the cocktails, the beautiful uninhibited girls, even (occasionally) the drugs… He had found himself drawn into a world where anything was possible. Heady discussions into the early hours about changing the world, music and revolution, dancing in Ad-Lib next to David Bailey and Jean Shrimpton, tripping at sunrise on Primrose Hill…

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Food & Drink at Dishoom Carnaby

BEGIN YOUR DAY AT DISHOOM with breakfast, which might be a Bacon Naan Roll, a Kejriwal or a Big Bombay. Then lunch lightly on Roomali Rolls and Salad Plates, or linger with a feast. Refresh your afternoon with a drop of Chai and a small plate or two. Dine early or dine late. Or just join us for a tipple - perhaps an East India Gimlet, a Viceroy’s Old Fashioned, or our very good Dishoom IPA?

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Menu

Bombay breakfast, lunch, afternoon chai, dinner and late tipples.

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Welcome to Dishoom Carnaby

Welcome to Dishoom Carnaby

IT'S 1968. IMAGINE YOURSELF lounging in a stylish Irani café-bar in Churchgate, Bombay.

Late night, low lights... Nearby, the young café owner is holding court with a group with friends. They are smoking Simla cigarettes and sharing an illicit bottle of Old Monk while discussing the recent victory of the Savages at the Sound Trophy Contest, and the record they are now due to cut with Asha Puthli. Their English is accented but their threads might not be out of place on Carnaby Street. The jukebox is playing a track by the Stones; for the most part, the singer hits the right notes. For a moment, you ask yourself – is this Bombay, or London, or somewhere in between?

Contact Details

22 Kingly Street
London
W1B 5QP

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Tel: 0207 420 9322

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Opening Times

Monday – Thursday
8am to 11pm
Friday
8am to Midnight
Saturday
9am to midnight
Sunday
9am to 11pm
Christmas and New Year's opening-closing
We will be closed Christmas Day, Boxing Day, New Year's Day and January 2nd