HONESTLY, straight up, no kidding, the whole crusty and unvarnished truth?
For the very first 15 minutes or so that I am in the Khyber Grill I can feel my life draining away, make that pouring away.
Two people standing in front of me (way too close to the door meaning everyone that comes in bumps), two people now squeezing in behind. Uncomfortable.
Every single booth in the whole bloody place completely full.
Condensation running down the windows, flames flashing from the grill, caramelising wafts filing the air, and nobody is leaving their table: not a single person.
Hellooo, people waiting here. Hungry.
Nobody is stirring, not even the four dopey dudes at that big booth right in front of us, playing on their phones, no conversation with each other, finished eating so long ago their plates have been cleared, their table wiped, finished even before I came in. Sigh.
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But that’s not the thing. The thing is the two people out front serving.
They’ve not come near me, not once, or anyone else waiting here, or rousted those damn kids out the door.
I would leave. I should leave. I bloody will leave.
Except I need to get on a plane to Italia at 6am and, well, I do know the food in here – though this is my first actual on-the-premises visit.
At home we’ve become weirdly addicted to their chicken tikka with onion rice, delivered, say, four times now, £7.50 all in.
I mean chicken tikka, a culinary joke, chalky chicken, usually dry as hell, but not from here – moist, marinated, sprinkled with black spicing.
Ooft. Let's fast forward. The dudes eventually get up. As one. We all bolt to the table. As one.
A singleton (moi), a couple at the wall, another couple squeezed in the middle. Packed in this one six-seater booth.
Now, I’ve been in this movie before. Of course, they’re all introducing themselves. Making new friends.
Me? Zero eye contact. Nada. Scanning the menu. Waving at the waiter. Ordering. Any Special Lahore Masala Fish (whole spiced marinated and deep fried seabass) mate?
Sorry, he says, glancing down the room where even I can see seabass on plates everywhere, then looking back at the chill counter (obviously empty).
Ugh. Ordering anyway. Qaubli Pilau, a steaming lamb shank draped in spices, buried in proper rice is arriving on the table while my neighbours are still talking about, eh, New Zealand.
And here comes that chicken tikka with rice (gotta see what it’s like straight off the grill), and a big puffy wheel of nan bread, a Lahori Channa too, sauces and dips, a bowl of pickled veg.
“You’re hungry, “ the stranger sitting right next to me says as my order marches way outta my allotted space and starts spreading right under their noses.
And they’re still looking at the menus. I would share, but you know, it would only take the edge off their appetites. The lamb shank then? We know the lamb shank now, course we do, a feature of every pub menu, Markies even do one: but not like this.
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So moist, so tender, so full of flavour and drenched in a light, puffy even, flavoured pilau that carries its own little plip-plops of spicing. I mean just try it. Get the big picture for you folks at home.
But it’s impossible to resist. Interspersed with mouthfuls then of that chicken. I can report that whatever they do to the tikka they deliver to my home, they also do in here.
It’s charred, yet sweet, fresh yet there’s a definite undercurrent of marinade.
I’m now dipping into the channa, crumbly chickpeas draped in a gravy that occasionally zings with ginger. Strangely, well I think it’s strange anyway, everyone at this table has ordered a Quabli Pilau. Two more zoom in and land further up. Maybe it’s the go-to dish when there’s no seabass?
There are Payas and Mantus (9-piece home-made Afghan dumplings), Palaks and Karahis on the menu.
Anyway, I have to give up some of my excessive real estate when the rest of my neighbours' food arrives. No problem. We shuffle the nan onto a spare seat, the sauces get pushed in a corner, the pickled veg ditto: Hey with all this? who needs them?
Menu: Qaubli Pilau, Special Lahore Masala Fish, plus some of the usual stuff. Interesting, Pakistani and Afghan menu: 4/5
Service: Hmm, they do things a bit different here. There’s clearly takeaway action, a lot going on, out front when busy you seem to fend for yourself but they’re fast and very pleasant. 3/5
Price: That mountain of Qaubli Pilau comes in at just under £11, everything else is priced to make it seem like a bargain. 5/5
Atmosphere: Bustly, Hustly. Grab a booth by the wall if you can, it was all action when I was in: but there’s a great community vibe. 5/5
Food: What do they do with the rice? Probably cook it in a proper stock. It’s fabulous anyway. The chicken tikka will reorientate your views, the lamb qaubli’s a real dish. Simple but great cooking. 9/10
Score: 26/30
Original Khyber
69 Kilmarnock Road,
Shawlands, Glasgow
0141 632 8716
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