Cassia restaurant, Sky City, Auckland. Photo / Sylvie Whinray
In their own words: “Modern Indian.”
First impressions: Check out the door handles. They’re carved to look like giant quills of cassia. Actually, the whole place smells like cassia. Am I imagining this? Sid Sahrawat comes out of the kitchen to investigate. Oh, I finally realise - that smoky, cinnamony heat is emanating from the cocktail side of the business. I am so glad we cleared that up before I actually sniffed the door handles.
In the kitchen: Aforementioned Sahrawat is a legend of a chef and a very busy man. With wife Chand, he has established Sid at the French Cafe (fine dining), Kol (fire-food-Ponsonby) and Cassia (both the restaurant and the take-home sauce brand). One man can’t be everywhere but, quite early on a freezing Tuesday, I am happy he is here. No matter how brilliantly competent the team, there is something reassuring about spotting the big boss in the first weeks of a new (old) operation.
On the floor: Speaking of brilliantly competent! Everything about the service was stellar but it takes a special kind of confidence to tell a funny story about the diner who thought the chicken came with a canine sauce. (For the record, “lababdar” is a rich, tomato-onion butter chicken-style gravy.)
The neighbourhood: I know SkyCity has a giant PR budget and this is possibly the hospo equivalent of pretending the Anchor family is real, but only the hardest of hearts would not have been moved when Nic Watt (Masu) and Al Brown (Depot and Fed Deli) posted social media welcomes to their new neighbour.
The menu: Two serious floods prompted Cassia’s shift from subterranean Fort St and into the space previously occupied by The Grill. Plush teal velvet has replaced the brown leather, there are fish in the cabinets that used to hold steak and Sean Connolly’s famous Grandma’s carrots have given way to Sahrawat’s vindaloo version. Cassia’s a la carte option is hard to resist (beef short rib, Delhi duck, cauliflower korma, et al) but the $95 “journey” menu is a highly recommended multi-course chef’s choice overview of all things modern Indian. (If the Goan lamb chops with spiced cream cheese don’t make the cut, ask for your money back.)
Best bite #1: “The spiced beef croquettes were an oral kaleidoscope; an odyssey in a small bite.” I’d like to take credit for that delicious bit of prose (from Canvas editor Sarah Daniell) but I was too busy eating. This soft-crispy-meaty mouthful is, I concur, a must-have. It had the comfort of a homemade mince curry, circa 1979, with the texture and technique you’d expect from professionals working with actual cuts of meat and no sultanas.
Best bite #2: “By this stage,” reflected a post-dinner Sarah, “the mind was willing and open but the stomach was closed for business. I have thought about this all day and I have restraint regret.” She was talking about the tandoor-cooked chicken dunked in that lababdar sauce but might also have been referring to a multiplicity of mushrooms that burned green chilli-bright. I already knew it was all going to be fabulous. Earlier, while Sarah was in the bathroom (it’s quite a trek), the couple at the table next to us had gestured helplessly at their overflowing plates and asked if we too had ordered the “journey” menu. Yes, I said. We should have shared with you, they said.
The jury’s still out: The Te Matuku oyster pakora ($8) was on our wish list, though not, I suspect, the regular journey menu. Thanks to the kitchen for sending it out anyway - and apologies for complaining that I tasted zero oyster under the zip of mustard seeds and a classy sorrel wrap.
On the side: Pani puri are crispy shells filled with flavoured water that must be eaten immediately and all at once. I’ve never really understood them in a restaurant context, but there we were, scoffing and laughing. This single-bite snack is not ideally suited to a world where everything must pause for a photo, but it is an excellent (and delicately tangy-minty) icebreaker.
Dessert: Speaking of Insta-food. The journey menu’s pudding demanded photos AND video. A smashing good time, filled with chocolate, hokey pokey and raspberry. Chewy and saucy, cake and mousse, a Jelly Tip meets a Crunchie bar. I loved it.
Perfect for: Jaded and/or adventurous palates. From its food to the cocktails (and door handles) Cassia skimps on neither spice nor innovation.
How much: Bites $4-$20; small dishes $27-$36; to share $37-$48; sweet $24. The multi-course journey menu was $95pp, with an optional $85 drinks match.
Cassia, Federal St (SkyCity), Auckland. Ph (09) 363 6000
by Yvonne Lorkin
Cassia’s drinks selection is epic but naming all the highlights here in 250 words is impossible. I will say, for an Indian restaurant of this calibre to boast no fewer than 13 syrah/shiraz, 14 “other” reds and 11 Bordeaux-style reds on the list and only one gewurztraminer (Lawsons Pioneer) is a bit of a headscratcher, however. Why so many huge reds when they risk nuking those gloriously delicate, spicy flavours in the dishes? Gewurz is ideal. If you must go down the red route, a plush, soothing pinot noir is the better option, yet just two are available by the glass. From a list of 15. Prepare to pay at least $18 for a glass of wine here. Most sit between $20-$23. Is that normal? Clearly I need to get out more. And retrain as a cardiologist, a dentist or actually any high-earning “ist”. The bottle’s trade price is being covered by each glass sold and there are five 150ml glasses in a bottle so that’s a chunky margin. Your maths skills will dictate whether a bottle is better value. Bottles run from $80 (Cable Bay Reserve Pinot Gris) to $6200 (Ch. Petrus). I wouldn’t say the Vega Sicilia Unico Tempranillo is a bargain at $770 but it’s $950 at Movida. Lovers of gin and tonic will froth over the extensive G&T menu. Drumshanbo Gunpowder Irish Gin and grapefruit tonic ($24)? To be sure! It’d be great if more Indian beers other than just Kingfisher were available to enjoy though.
New York Times: Koloniträdgårdar provide city dwellers access to nature and fresh produce.