At Kiran’s, fresh sass, quirkiness
“Shrimp and grits” is not a dish you expect to see on an Indian menu. Yet there it is at Kiran’s, chef Kiran Verma’s posh new Upper Kirby location: the plump Gulf shellfish glossed red with masala spices, propped against a molded cylinder of upma, the dry-roasted semolina grains often used as a breakfast porridge on the subcontinent. Angled across the top fly two long pods of pickled okra, green bridges between two worlds.
Threaded with mustard seeds and curry leaves, the upma read as magical super-grits while the shrimp sang of the smoky tandoor and the okra snapped with a sweet-sour tang. At 20 bucks, the appetizer was pricey, but it delivered.
So does much of the food at 8-month-old Kiran’s, where the Delhi-born chef who introduced upscale contemporary Indian food to Houstonians — at Ashiana in the mid-1990s — has partnered with talented young New Orleans import Dominick Lee in a match that could happen only in latter-day Houston.
The unusual pairing has brought new polish, soul and humor to the Indian fine-dining repertoire that Verma established at the original Kiran’s Highland Village location. (That space closed last year when the center was demolished for new development.)
That old warhorse chicken tikka masala, reworked as spunky fried chicken in the lightest cloak of spicy red gravy? Check. A lamb-belly appetizer, the fatty little rashers cooked sous-vide and crisped like bacon, then given a frisky garbanzo bean “succotash,” a dash of roasted cumin yogurt and an electric charge of candied jalapeño? Double check.
Over and over as I tasted such dishes, I thought, “these two people are having a lot of fun.”
But then, Verma has never sat still in the food and beverage department. Though Kiran’s always had a notably smart wine list, over the years she moved into craft cocktails with style, and the big, hospitable bar at the new location — in a mixed-use midrise beside Levy Park — turns out meticulous, thoughtful drinks on an Indian theme. Even the Colonial-era gin and
tonic has been reimagined with green cardamom syrup and fresh basil, resulting in one of the best modern G&Ts in town.
Even better, Verma introduced her own zippy versions of Indian street-food classics in recent years, along with a dazzling variety of stuffed naan loaves and lesserknown flatbreads.
Today, in the comfortable new Gensler-designed space that seats almost twice the number of guests as the original, the appetizer-size streetfood dishes rock hard. The traditional curries and vegetable dishes that, to my mind, have always been the restaurant’s greatest strength are more resonant and detailed than ever.
Even the tandoori-cooked luxury proteins that have long been a Kiran’s calling card — the lobster, the sea bass, the duck and the like — are showing up with interesting tweaks.
Such dishes befit the restaurant’s wildly diverse country-clubby crowd, but I’ve never cared too much for the big-ticket items. I’m not here for multicourse lobster tastings or a whopping $46 rack of tandoori-roasted venison that stymied me with its damp, mealy texture some months back.
Nor am I even here for the nicely conceived Duck Two Ways, lovely rare Moulard breast meat and a not-quite-confited-enough leg quarter crisped in the tandoor. I appreciated its little fried duck egg, its delicate apricot biryani, its sprightly “cherries Jubilee” chutney. But it’s Kiran’s more traditional dishes that stir my soul.
The meaty curries (most priced in the $20s, with a few darting into the $34 zone) and the vegetable “sides” ($18) cost enough to give palpitations to anyone convinced that “ethnic food” — which translates as “any international cuisine not rooted in the American/ North European tradition” — should be cheap.
It shouldn’t. Not when excellent ingredients are brought to bear, when they are handled with unusual finesse and served with care, in comfortable or even plush surroundings. Everything from the attentive service to the usually good wine list, curated by Verma’s family friend Dr. Jagdish Sharma, adds value to the experience. So, for a certain subset of diners, does the ability to have a fully audible conversation with one’s tablemates.
Personally, I’m happy to pony up for such stunning dishes as slowcooked lamb shank in a profound, shiny mesh of caramelized onion, garlic, ginger, tomato and red chile. Or tender bison meatballs cooked in the tandoor, then moored in a burnished rogan josh-style gravy, red-tinted by chiles and smoothed with a bit of yogurt.
I actively crave Kiran’s cushiony malai kofta, the vegetable-and-farmers-cheese dumplings adrift in a creamy, cumin-scented sauce of ground almonds and cashews. Ditto the bhindi masala, springy little okra pods given a sweet/sour treatment livened by resilient threads of fresh coconut. And for someone who adores adroitly handled bitter flavors of all kinds (that would be me), Kiran’s sarson kaa saag is the stuff of dreams: a rich, dizzying blend of mustard greens, kale and chard softened with warm spices.
I could go on in the same vein about my other favorites: the begare bengan of glazed, soft baby eggplant laced with sesame and peanut; its even richer tandoori-roasted and twice-cooked cousin, bengan bartha; the irresistible lengths of spongy farmers cheese in mild tomato gravy that is paneer makhni, which is my idea of baby food.
And do not get me started on the fascinating bitter melon dish jolted with pickling spices; or the besan kadi dumplings in spiced yogurt; or, or, or. I love to pick and choose via the vegetarian feast, which at $40 for one (or $65 for two) allows you to specify four of the vegetable dishes, which come with a lovely cucumber raita, immaculate saffron Basmati rice pulao flecked with seeds and nuts; and a hank of paratha flatbread.
Said vegetarian feast is a great way to acquaint yourself with Kiran’s somewhat bewildering-at-first-look menu, four pages of multicourse tastings, appetizers, street foods, classic curries, up-ticket tandoori items and flatbreads.
Another short course: Sit at the bar. Order a good glass of wine or a cocktail, perhaps the ginger-shot margarita variant edged — gently — with serrano. Treat yourself to some pappadums (at 4 bucks, these airy crisps are the cheapest thing on the menu) and proceed to marvel not only over the textures of both the lentil-flour-cumin version or the more fragile rice-flour iteration. Get to know the superlative chutneys: the tart-and-sweet tamarind lifted by green apple; or the verdant, finespun cilantro-and-mint emulsion.
Then you might opt for one of the street-food dishes in the $12-$14 range. I adore the semifiery chili tikka of paneer (housemade cheese) or cod; and the glorious lentil dumplings, raj katori, housed in a brittle pastry shell with rampant drizzles of yogurt, mint and tamarind chutneys, not to mention stray pomegranate seeds and cashew.
But then you’d have to miss the Delhi chaat, with its spiced potato cakes holding down the fort; or the mirchi pakoras, whole-shishito-pepper fritters served with a vibrant, tart carrot emulsion that is nothing short of brilliant. (I was tempted to pick up the cup and drink it like soup.)
The bar actually feels livelier and more comfortable than the subdued, earth-toned dining rooms, which have the air of a restaurant in a good hotel. I may miss the cozy, vintage railcar feel of the old Kiran’s. But that doesn’t stop me from welcoming the cuisine’s increased sass and quirky Houstonian style at the new.