Since opening in 2013 Gymkhana has been charming London restaurant-goers with higher-than-high-quality Indian cuisine and slicker-than-slick Mayfair magnetism. Its name rings out, seductive music to the ears of everyone from solicitors to soap stars, footballers to food snobs.
Gymkhana’s reputation was earned at a time when places like Hoppers, Kricket and Gunpowder didn't yet exist. Indian restaurants generally came in two varieties: cosy but bog-standard curry houses and incredibly stuffy, stultifying luxury dining rooms. Gymkhana pioneered the concept of an elevated Indian experience in London, one that was stylish and vibesy (dark wood floor and ceiling) as well as posh. These days the ceiling fans and tasteful clubhouse lighting doesn’t feel so unique, although Gymkhana’s prices do remain uncompromisingly high. Which begs the question: if the food’s twice as expensive as Dishoom, is the experience twice as good?
A dark and sexy pork cheek vindaloo created a lasting impression, looking like an alluring velvet puddle
The food is, of course, good. It’s so good. The kid goat keema, served with salli (enlightened shoestring fries), diced onion and miniature buns, remains one of London’s great dishes, a colossus rooted both in comprehensible cooking, and also in the kind of alchemical spice-and-seasoning genius that only great chefs can accomplish. Also effective were the tandoori prawns (meaty, zingy) and the frankly startling tiger-striped aloo chat. The latter was a beautifully textured combination of smashed potato, tamarind and crispy noodles which whiplashed (pleasurably) between sweet and spicy.
A dark and sexy pork cheek vindaloo also created a lasting impression, looking like an alluring velvet puddle, and possessing an aura both magical and sinister. Butter chicken on the other hand, the mild and agreeable Will Smith (pre slap) of the curry world, was given a subtle but effective mean streak, thanks to judicious use of kashmir chilli. Lamb chops, eaten on a separate visit, served with a walnut chutney, are some of the most succulent in the city.
As I say: good.
But Gymkhana knows it's good. Like some kind of high-achieving, Ivy League polymath that’s read up on microgestures and neuro-linguistic programming, it’s so keen to impress (and good at impressing) that you want to tell it to chill out a bit. Arguably it’s the fault of all those well-deserved Michelin stars piling up in Gymkhana’s kitchen. You can’t really play it cool once all the fine-dining Michelin aficionados have turned up to joylessly grade you on how relentlessly attentive your waiters are. Unfortunately, for most people playing it cool is part of what makes a great restaurant great.
Gymkhana’s food is every bit as good as it ever was. Which is to say exceptional. But for those of us that need something more soulful when parting with hundreds of quid (the lambchops alone are 66 quid), it can make for an icy and distracted dance partner.
The vibe Oak panels, rattan trims and the sexy, foreboding atmosphere of a place mainly frequented by the rich.
The food London fine-dining interpretation of Indian cuisine, complete with curries spiced by the hand of God.
The drink A fantastic range of wines and cocktails. If you have a taste for more, there’s even a cocktail bar upstairs called 42.
Time Out tip The basement area (built after a massive fire back in 2019) is a triumph of refurbishment. Plush, red and banquete-ish. Like if Angus Steakhouse won the National Lottery.