Hema’s Kitchen
New review
Miss Whiplash, you’ve met your match. And she’s not carrying a switch; she’s wearing a sari.
Hema (pronounced with a short “e,” like henna) is the world’s least conspicuous dominatrix. She’s a plump five-foot-nothing, and presides over her packed Little India restaurant, Hema’s Kitchen, with a grandmotherly generosity–an attitude which infects all the patrons of her charmingly unpretentious dining room. And wherefore this blissed-out ambience, this selfless sense of familial communality?
Possibly, it’s because everyone here knows that Hema serves up what, to my mind at least, is the best Indian cuisine in the country.
I’ve arrived here on a mission, and its code-name is vindaloo. I’ve trawled curry houses coast-to-coast, searching for that elusive fusion of nuclear heat and rounded lusciousness that I’ve only truly tasted, in all its glory, in Brick Lane, London’s East End “curry row.”
Dash around the corner for a sixer of Kingfisher (Hema’s is BYOB). Prep with an appetizer of vegetarian pakoras. The yogurt-mint sauce is breathtakingly fresh. Then settle back–the chicken vindaloo is worth the wait, and wonderfully inexpensive (there’s hardly an entrée over $8 here). Your first taste will be deceptively mild, a delightful chamber music of ginger, garlic and cayenne. That’s only to sensitize your mucous membranes for the searing fugue of fire alarms to follow. Suck down a mango lassi, then charge back into the Valley of Death with your Light Brigade, and revel in a culinary masochist’s heaven. You have my leave to sweat profusely. The post-scourge endorphin rush could compete with a heroin high.
Anglophiles, British expats, curry aficionados and spiceheads everywhere: your home away from home is Hema’s Kitchen. Just remember: the later you get there, the longer the wait, but the hotter the curry.
6406 North Oakley, (773)338-1627. Mon-Sun 11am-11pm. $/All major CCs.
(2004-02-25)
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