RESTAURANT REVIEW : Salomi’s Tandoori Oven a Magic Box

When our first dinner arrives at the Salomi Indian and Bangladesh Restaurant in North Hollywood, my heart sinks at the two small bowls of curry and mere monkey dish of raita . By the looks of things, my friend Ed and I will have to fill up on rice and dal and chutney and chapatis. Appearances, however, are deceiving; we’ve underestimated the richness and fire of the shrimp vindaloo , and how much spinach actually is condensed in a good sag bhaji . Soon enough, we’re perfectly happy, deliriously full, and there’s enough food left for one more hearty eater or two daintier ones. This gives me an idea.

For my next visit to Salomi, I assemble a party of five old friends, including two crackerjack Indian cooks. In our salad days, we used to put on Indian feasts (we never called them dinners) for one another. “I could fix an eight-course meal for 10 bucks,” Robin recalls.

“These days, lime-pickle alone costs $7 a jar,” Michele Z. says.

The truth is, now that we’re in our entree days and can afford an occasional jar of lime-pickle, nobody has the time for the required muss and fuss. It’s been a long time since we’ve assembled for the express purpose of breaking chapatis together.

I think--or at least hope--that Salomi can rekindle those good bygone spirits, although I do wonder if it’s fair to submit any restaurant to the scrutiny of these two cooks, especially Michele Z., who spent two years in India, and is a stickler for authenticity.

Salomi is a cozy, well-appointed restaurant, with red upholstered chairs, pink linens, and wine glasses on the table. A handsome horseshoe-shaped bar juts out in the dining room, and a long alcove of private tables sits behind scalloped arches. Future archeologists may well be confounded by the traces of Mogul architectural styles at this North Hollywood location, and heaven knows what they’ll make of the particularly wonderful illuminated scale model of the Taj Mahal that sits on the bar.

We start with big bottles of Taj Mahal beer, a lassi (yogurt and rosewater which, in this case, tastes more like buttermilk and rosewater), and soon enough, we’re divvying up acceptable samosas , deep-fried pastries filled with spicy meat or spicy vegetables, and sublime onion bhajis , which are deep-fried lentil-and-onion dumplings--a kind of Indian hush puppy. We dunk both appetizers into a dark sweet chutney sauce.

For information purposes only, Michele points out that the onion bhaji is not a bhaji , or dry curry, but actually a pakura , a fried item. While this makes little or no difference to most of us, this misnomer and several others are among Salomi’s few inaccuracies or “Americanizations.” The India tea, for example, is not the spicy brew boiled with milk available throughout the subcontinent, but something resembling Constant Comment and served without milk. And all of us miss the taste of good, long-grained basmati rice. We realize that it’s more expensive, but the aromatic nuttiness truly could have complemented these curries.

We do, however, appreciate the fact that the heat factor of the food is negotiable: from faint whiffs of chili to authentic eat-it-and-weep Indian doses. Also, contrary to more traditional Indian recipes, Salomi’s vegetables are not cooked to the usual generic mushiness, but retain shape and texture, not to mention vitamins.

We’re roused from a relaxed post-appetizer lull by the hissing and sputtering of chicken from the tandoori oven. Not even Michele Z. can tell me what herb or substance makes tandoori red so I continue to believe that the tandoori oven’s simply a magic box: insert perfectly normal foodstuffs, remove rosy, succulent, sizzling dreaminess. As proof, I offer up Salomi’s yogurt- and spice-marinated lamb and chicken, and chewy naan bread: Each will convince you that magic’s afoot in the kitchen.

We unilaterally endorse the sag ghost (a lime-drizzled spinach and lamb curry), and the bhinji bhaji , a 100% slime-free, cumin-rich okra curry that could convert many to the often and wrongly maligned pod.

The chicken dupiaja is very hot, the way we ordered it, and we might have made a mistake--the chili effectively beats out the more delicate sweetness of cooked onions. While gasping in pain, we reach for more. “HOT!” I cry.

“I know,” Robin says. She rubs her forehead. “I think I can feel my third eye opening.”

Between bites we cool off with good, basic raita (yogurt and cucumbers), a refreshing onion chutney, and decide that the chef here is a genius with the common onion: Every onion dish stands out.

The chef is also handy with spices; each dish we try is spiced distinctively, appropriately. The most scandalous moment of the evening occurs when Michele’s husband Mark blithely announces that the dal , seasoned with cardamom and chili and loaded with shreds of darkly caramelized onion, is absolutely the best he’s tasted.

“It tastes so good and rich only because it’s loaded with ghee,” Michele says.

We agree it’s rich, but I notice nobody jumps to contradict Mark’s initial statement.

Salomi, 5225 Lankershim Blvd., North Hollywood; (818) 506-0130. Open for lunch Monday to Friday, for dinner seven nights. Major credit cards accepted. Beer and wine. Dinner for two, food only, $20 to $40.