You don’t want to go near Vatan unless you have fasted for an entire day and have some hardcore willpower to pace yourself through a meal. This Curry Hill spot offers a $31 prix fixe all-you-can eat gujarati Indian dinner consisting of about a dozen small vegetarian plates with accompanying rice and sauces, plus dessert. That’s right, you can ask for more of anything and nothing gets added to your tab. But even if you don’t have room for seconds, the price, while not an incredible deal, isn’t bad for what you get.

Dinner is reservation-only, but reserving a table for the same evening on a Saturday night was no problem. We were lead through the neon blue-flooded dining room, which was pure Bollywood kitsch. A baby-elephant-sized statue of Ganesh overlooked an imitation temple courtyard, complete with thatched-roof booths and fake trees. Our host finally seated us in what must have been the temple basement, a cave-like downstairs area, which while cozy, felt like a punishment for calling an hour ahead, since there were empty tables upstairs. The menu, our waiter informed us, was purely for informational purposes since the dinner comes with everything listed.

The first course consisted of six appetizers arranged on a silver serving platter, with a second platter holding five sauces ranging from spicy to sweet. Stand-outs included the samosas, battered triangles of spicy potatoes and peas, and chana masala, garbanzo beans with chutney and coriander. After eating a few deep-fried peppers a low heat began filling my mouth, and I found myself gulping water and sev puri, cooling, yogurt-filled bread. When the waiter asked how spicy I’d like my dinner, I requested mild.

Dinner was served similarly, but the dishes came accompanied by two kinds of rice, as well as kadhi, a yogurt and chickpea soup meant to be ladled in the middle of your dish. The puri–fried, puffed whole-wheat bread–nicely complemented the toor dal (spiced boiled lentils), and bhaji (sauteed spinach). The bataanu sak–potatoes in “mild” red gravy–caused another minor sweat attack, which I countered with more water and rice pudding. Dessert was a light course consisting of chai tea and mango ice cream–thank god, because the rest of my carb-and-salt loaded dinner was rapidly expanding in my tummy. Everything had been pretty tasty, but even though I didn’t finish my meal, I walked out feeling like I was steering a giant stomach on spindly legs, sweat drying on my brow like I’d seriously exerted myself. This is a good place to test the limits of your appetite with your vegetarian buddies, but due to price and the fullness factor I’ll be strictly limiting repeat visits.

Vatan
409 Third Avenue between 28th and 29th St.
Sun, Tue-Thu 5:30pm-10pm. Fri-Sat, 5:30pm-10:30pm. Closed Mon.
Call for reservations (212) 689-5666

Perhaps the most eagerly-anticipated fruit export in years, boxes of Indian mangoes have started cropping up in a few city delis, after a 20-year ban. Most Americans have only tasted Mexican or Guatemalan mangoes, whose stringy flesh and faint sweetness pales next to the Indian variety, kinda the way that canned fruit cocktail stacks up to fresh produce. The FDA’s concern over pesticides used by Indian farmers halted the mango trade until George W Bush lifted the ban in 2006, as part of larger trade and nuclear cooperation agreements. Currently, only 2 of the 1500 varieties grown in India (which produces 50% of the world’s supply) are allowed in the US, under condition that they be treated with irradiation to eliminate seed weevils: the alphonso and the kesar.

I tried an alphonso, fondly known as the king of fruits, after my snacking associate spotted some in a box at Dual Specialty Store, an Indian deli on First Avenue. The mango’s flesh was firm but more creamy than pulpy, and the outer layers had, in addition to an intense mango taste, notes of floral and spice. Towards the middle the mango turned sweeter, more honey-and-vanilla, dribbling juice that ran down my wrists. Eating mangoes is a messy business, best enjoyed with someone you love.

So of course, it was back to Dual for more mangoes. I picked out two green ones, wrapped in styrofoam nets, hoping that they will ripen to golden yellow. Since they were an exorbitant $3.50 each, I also picked up a more reasonably-priced $1.50 Mexican mango, which was bigger and promisingly shaded vivid red and gold. Compared to the Alphonso it fell flat. There was no complexity, little flavor, and pulpy bits. The man at the counter said they were running low on the alphonsos, but they would be getting some kesars in soon (sure enough, the first sea shipment left Mumbai on June 12 and is due this week). And then, since mango season ends in June, and there are still few importers, there will likely be no more til next year. For now, Patel Brothers in Jackson Heights might be another likely source. Get them while you can, because mango fanatics will be snapping them up.

Dual Specialty Store
91 First Avenue between 5th st. and 6t st.
11am-midnight

A near-constant tummyache sent me to the doctor recently, whose advice was to change my diet, specifically, eliminate meat. “Try it as an experiment,” she said. Doomed to gastric distress or life without sliders, pork buns, and meatloaf, I sought comfort at Madras Cafe. Just around the corner from Indian Row’s hecklers and chintzy glitz, Madras is in a different league–quiet and welcoming with warm rust-colored walls, and a veggie-vegan-kosher-friendly menu that clearly marks dairy content and spice level. You might see one of the rare lone diner species, or even actual Indian people, eating here.

Highlights are the dosas: thin, non-greasy rice crepes wrapped around savory fillings like potato masala, peas and onions, and served with a side of spicy tomato sambar, and a grits-like, tongue-scorching chutney. At $9, it’s pricier than a visit to the Dosa Man in Washington Square, but reasonable for a nicer sit-down place. The samosas ($5) are two crisp vegetable turnovers filled with potato, nuts and spices, perfect for sharing. For a main dish, the Kofta Curry ($10–pictured) arrives as three falafel-like veggie meatballs covered in a buttery tomato sauce. I can’t resist a decent mango lassi, a sweet yogurt drink that doubles as dessert, although I prefer the tartness of Lassi’s. Beware of the lentil donuts, which were leathery and weirdly resisted soaking up their bath of creamy curry sauce.

Will I stay a vegetarian? I doubt it. But I do like experimenting.

Madras Cafe, 79 Second Avenue Mon-Sat noon-11pm, Sun noon-10pm

Indian Bread Co. Vs. Kati Roll Company, Inc.

Kati Rolls are Indian mini-burritos, or the hungry pub-crawler’s holy grail, depending on how you look at it. They’re fast, “cheap,” portable, and greasily filling, unleashing a spiciness on your tastebuds that penetrates even the most drinky numbness. Since I live near two contenders (literally around the corner from each other), I decided that the only way to settle which would satisfy my kati jones would be a head-to-head battle. I purchased one aloo (potato) masala from each joint, ate them immediately, and judged them as follows:

Price: Indian Bread Co. ($3.50) Kati Roll Company ($4.00)

Size: Roughly the same

Sit-Down Atmosphere: Indian Bread Co. wins hands-down for spaciousness (nine tables!) and its wall-length bar ideal for the solitary diner. Kati Roll Company by contrast (three or four tables, maybe), feels somewhat claustrophobia-inducing.

Portability: Kati Roll was the winner here–the rolls were easy to unwrap and travelled well in insulated bags. Indian Bread Co.’s roll was bundled in several confounding layers of aluminum foil.

Points off: Indian Bread Co. had a random open trap door to the left of the register that had me worried I’d somehow theatrically trip and disappear forever. At Kati Roll, the counterperson placed my dollar change on TOP of another diner’s food. Even though they were partially wrapped in wax paper, this poor man’s exposed kati roll tips were in imminent danger of touching my filthy money. Be ready to grab your food as soon as it’s called.

Tastiness: While the rolls at Kati Roll seemed slightly greasier, the paratha had a pleasing flakey crispness on the outside and the potato filling was milder and more delicately spiced. The sweetness and crunch of red onions added a nice contrast. Indian Bread Co. was the spicier of the two, but the filling was a uniform mush and offered less complexity.

Winner: Kati Roll. But at Indian Bread Co. I did have a decent chicken naanini (naan filled with tandoor chicken, lettuce, slathered with peppery mayo and toasted on a press - $6.50). I’d probably check out more of their menu - after all, it’s just too much fun to say “naanini.”

Indian Bread Co. 194 Bleecker Street, Sun-Thu noon-midnight, Fri-Sat noon-5am
Kati Roll 99 MacDougal Street, Sun-Thu 11am-midnight, Fri-Sat 11am-5am

Update: closed 8/27/09. But the owner is shopping for a new location. There are just a few places worth trekking through a 98-degree haze for. Lassi, a closet-sized West Village takeout shop, is worth checking out if only for its signature beverage. Lassi (the drink) is a cold silky mix of yogurt, water, and salt, in flavors ranging from mango to cardamom ($5 for large). It’s deliciously rich even as the tartness makes your eyes squinch. But don’t miss the parathas as well–hearty naan griddled and folded crepe-style over delicately-spiced fillings of your choice–potato, daikon, cauliflower, or cheese; and served with boondi raita, a chilled, mint-flavored dipping sauce flecked with little doughy balls ($4-$5). The entrees, including shahi chicken with pistachio, almonds and cashews ($14.75) and vegan Shakkar-Kandi Saag (sweet potatoes in spinach - 12.95) are uniformly excellent. The challenge: try not to suck down your lassi before the food arrives.

Lassi, 28 Greenwich Ave. at 6th Ave.