Metro Pulse/Restaruant Rover/Sitar

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Sitar
6004 Kingston Pike
588-1828

by Les DuLunch

Recently, I read the most remarkable book, Interpreter of Maladies, by Jhumpa Lapiri. Halfway through the luminous collection of Indian-culture short stories, I began to crave a heaping plate of saag gosht, which is quite simply my favorite food. Ever.

Savory saag gosht is so good that it makes me long for an extra set of arms and forks for all four hands. In this Lakshmi-like persona, I would recline, bejeweled and turbaned, on a divan with plate-bearing servants at each corner so that none of my arms need ever travel far from the sumptuous food to my mouth. I'd be good and kind enough to ensure that I earned enough points on the karma scale to come back in human form and devour even more in my next life.

There's nothing more succulent than lamb, and it's the ideal meat for a country that's half cow-revering Hindu and half non-pork-eating Muslim. In saag gosht, grilled chunks of it are buried like treasure beneath a mound of tender cooked and shredded spinach that's mixed with cumin, coriander, and turmeric to add earthen, nutty flavors, and paprika, ginger, and ground red pepper to contribute varying degrees of heat and depth. Sometimes, chalky chick peas or oily pine nuts are included in the mix. But here at recently-opened Sitar, Knoxville's second Indian eating establishment, it's simply extra creamy spiced spinach and lamb over rough-textured basmati rice ($10.95). Add an order of naan ($1.95), the soft, light, and bubbly flatbread that's cooked by slapping dough onto the side of the tandoor (a wood-fired clay oven), and dive in hands first, as is customary in India. (Forks are provided for those less authentically inclined, though.)

See, there's much more to Indian eating than curry. In fact, in India, the word "curry" generally refers first to a variety of sauces, and secondly to the mustard-colored, catch-all spice that flavors some (but not all, by a long shot) of the country's foods. And there are plenty of them to choose from—lentils swimming in a luscious brown gravy that's made from wheat flour and toned with date-flavored tamarind or peas and potatoes in a warm, tomato-based sauce.

Indian dishes are heavily spiced and release a Gangetic torrent of taste. Customizable heat is measured in four categories: mild, medium, hot, and searing Indian hot. Diners with delicate constitutions will want to pile on heaping helpings of cooling elements like the raita ($1.00), a creamy blend of cucumbers and yogurt, or Sitar's delicate and particularly expert mint and coriander chutney.

A buffet is an ideal way for folks foreign to the cuisine to sample it. On a typical Sitar weekday lunch or Sunday brunchtime spread ($5.95), you might find beautifully red, clove-rubbed tandoori chicken, a couple of curries, a hearty dal (bean) or aloo (potato) dish, and stacks of naan. Paneer, a curdled milk staple that's sort of a mix between tofu and firm cottage cheese, did a double feature on the day I visited for lunch by appearing both as a curry done up in Jalfrezi style with lots of moist green peppers, and as rasmalai, a wonderful dessert in which sweet little cardamom flavored paneer patties are set afloat in milk. Oh, and of course there's also a giant mound of nutty basmati rice to pile a little bit of everything on top of. The only amendment I'd make to Sitar's buffet is the consistent use of name cards. Some dishes have them, and some don't. A brief description would be even better and would help overcome any first-time trepidation.

If you're ordering off the menu, try one of the remarkable tandoori dishes of tender meats marinated in different aromatic spice combinations or, my favorite, the lamb biryani ($11.95), a gentle but complex dish made with curried chunks of lamb, solar saffron rice mixed with firm, slightly astringent pine nuts and sweet, plump golden raisins.

The only disappointment I've encountered at Sitar to date are the samosas ($2.95 for two). These lumpen, lamb and pea or vegetable stuffed pastries just seem dull by comparison to the vibrant flavors available elsewhere on the menu. Even a dose of the fiery hot pepper sauce or soothing raita doesn't help much because the samosa just recedes to the background. Skip it and select one of the crispy, fritter-like pakora appetizers instead; some are made with spicy hot veggies and others with sweet seafood.

Indian desserts are delightfully subtle. In addition to the previously-mentioned rasmalai, there's also gulab jamun, little rounded lumps of paneer soaked in a thin honey syrup, a gentle cardamom and rose-flavored rice pudding with cashews, and chewy, crunchy, highly sweet jalebi, described by one friend as small, sub-continental funnel cakes. (They're basically sugar and flour swirls fried in ghee, or clarified butter.)

If there is an underdog cuisine in America, it's Indian. Chinese, Mexican, and Italian are ubiquitous—practically fast food. Mediterranean and near-eastern enjoy popular status, and even former fringe cuisines like Thai are gaining popular status thanks to fusion food restaurants and people far and wide learning to appreciate the power of peanut sauce. Indian: it's the next big thing. And if the 20-minute wait my friends and I encountered last Sunday is any indication, Knoxville's palate is warming right up to this wonderful cuisine. Kashmir Indian Restaurant on the Strip needn't worry; there's plenty of room for two, or more.

So, will I be back? More times than Shirley MacClaine.