Restaurant review: Tanjore, 6 - 8 Clerk St, Edinburgh

What do they care if people aren’t into chitterlings and crackling? Anyway, the worst offender, Gordon Ramsay, was almost converted to the ways of the herbivore (well, not really, but he stopped protesting, briefly), when he stayed on an ashram in Delhi, as part of last year’s Gordon’s Great Escape television series.

Still, I’m not sure if Newington would ever be a port of call on a visit to the capital. The area has become a vegetarian triangle, with Indian restaurants, Anna Purna, Kalpna and the newest addition, Southern Indian eatery, Tanjore, to complete the isosceles. Perhaps if you strayed into the centre (somewhere in the middle of Clerk Street), you’d turn into a giant butternut squash.

Anyway, I digress, because Tanjore, which is named after an ancient city in Tamil Nadu and owned by Boon Ganeshram – who used to run a stall at Edinburgh’s Mela – is only predominantly vegetarian, with a few meaty offerings if you are so inclined.

The decor is spit and sawdust, with marble-effect walls that are vegetable-oil-resistant souvenirs from this venue’s last incarnation as a chippie, as well as a few decorative objets that look as if they’ve been filched from someone’s living room.

But, hey, if you want a menu where the main courses are around the £7 mark, as they are here, you’re daft to expect white linen.

From the selection of starters, I ordered the idli (£3.50), but was brought vegetable paniyaram (£3.95) instead. However, this blunder didn’t matter, as the six puffy dumplings of golden batter (made from ground lentils and pulses), dotted with green peas, were good, with a tattie scone/crumpety texture and a malty taste.

These came with two ramekins of very subtly flavoured coconut and tomato chutney, plus a lettucey side salad with a fresh minty dressing.

My dining partner, Rolf, found his first course of masala vadai (£3.95) a bit tired and chewy round the edges. But the flavour of this pair of lentil and pulse patties was pleasantly nutty and gently spiced, with a mild curry leaf, fennel seed and ginger flavour. However, we both became instantly rather addicted to the accompaniment of coarse mint chutney, with its hint of lemon.

For mains, we had to try one of this eatery’s signature dosai, of which they have 16 varieties. Rolf is a big fan of this dish, so swithered over their monster-sized family dosai (£13.95).

However, I’ve stumbled upon a picture of this on Tanjore’s Facebook page. Think of a rolled-up carpet and you’re not far off the actual size.

Thankfully, he managed to resist, and went for the Tanjore special version (£7.25) instead. This fox-coloured, table leg-sized tube of ground lentil and rice batter was packed with diced potato, carrot, onion and green beans, which were blended with mustard seeds and just a hint of green chilli. It came with more of the same dips that we’d had earlier, but also a bowl of sambar – a vegetable-soupy gravy, which featured notes of sour and citrusy tamarind.

It was a homely, filling dish, as was my choice of mixed veg uthappam (£6.95). This turned out to be a fluffy pancake disc topped with shredded carrot and dot-sized pieces of chopped tomato and onion, with yet more of the same dips. Not the most exciting course in the world, but wholesome.

I wish I didn’t have to mention Rolf’s pudding, but here goes. His six sweet paniyaram (£3) dumplings were completely inedible. At times like this, I think that chefs should just say that a dish is off the menu, rather than trying to present something that tastes like it’s been half-inched off a bird table.

My banana dosai (£3) was better. It was a pleasant crepey mixture that contained chopped banana and was topped with a sprinkling of cinnamon and a scoop of strawberry ice-cream. Fine, though the toddler in me needs to get over the fact that it didn’t come with chocolate sauce and nuts, as billed.

Still, it’s cheap as chips here, and the authentic offerings should scratch your comfort food itch.

Tanjore is definitely a welcome addition to the vegetarian triangle.