"It's an oasis, it's Dishoom"

Towards the end of last year a real live bona fide poet came to Dishoom and loved it so much he wrote a poem about it! We were truly touched.

The poet happens also to be the father of one of our staff (Prerna) whom you may remember from her lovely peacock Diwali chalk rangoli. Joe, the poet in question, lived in Bengal for many years and has written one of the authoritative translations of Tagore’s famous Gitanjali (which is an incredibly beautiful work). He’s also a fantastic chap.

TO A NEW RESTAURANT

It’s Covent Garden’s latest bloom,
a new jewel in St Martin’s Lane.
It’s an oasis. It’s Dishoom.

It could be London’s ritziest room.
Sit in splendour and rest your brain.
It’s Covent Garden’s latest bloom.

It’s something else. From India’s loom
an offering to drive you insane.
It’s an oasis. It’s Dishoom.

Oh man, the food. A bride and groom
each couple will become again.
It’s Covent Garden’s latest bloom.

A red wine in the cunning gloom
downstairs . . . you have not lived in vain.
It’s an oasis. It’s Dishoom.

Ganesh, observe a café boom,
from where upon the wall you reign.
It’s Covent Garden’s latest bloom.
It’s an oasis. It’s Dishoom!

Joe Winter
November 2010

Read the café stories

Suggested Reading

See the journal

Goodbye 2019. Hello 2020.

These are the last few days, the dregs of 2019. It’s my habit to sit here in the Permit Room at this time. I am the be-stubbled and dishevelled regular, cherishing his precious drink at the end of the bar. Weary, I sit here pondering the year, attempting to figure out what it was trying to teach me. What wisdom can I glean from it?

Haleem – a slow-cooked delicacy

I love to truly understand and appreciate the origins of a dish, and learn how communities have adapted a recipe over time to make that dish unique to them.

Dishoom_Kings_cross_quiet

Closing our doors to coronavirus

We have arrived at a very sad, but inevitable and clear choice. As of now, all Dishooms are now closed to diners.

The Dishoom Covent Garden Story

BOMBAY, 1949. A sultry June evening. Lights glow golden. Candles flicker in the warm breeze that arrives gently through the large open windows of the café.