Delhi Highway stands tall on a busy arterial road, its royal façade almost daring you to step inside. Valet takes care of the scarce parking, and the entrance gives the impression of walking into a durbar of Delhi’s past kings. Inside, the interiors only elevate this illusion. The chandeliers, the carved designs, the regal air of the space whisper of grandeur and promise. One would expect food and service to rise to that same level. Sadly, what followed was a descent from palace to parody.
Seated and promptly forgotten, we were handed menus only to be left watching the staff stroll about in the manner of courtiers with no emperor to please. A complimentary drink arrived, a liquid of alarming green, looking more like something from a comic book villain’s lab than a restaurant glass. It turned out to be kiwi juice, if one could call that syrupy, cloying mess by such a name. Alongside it came cut onion, pickle, and green chutney, though served as an afterthought. The chutney tasted artificial, the pickle passable, and the onion mercifully unspoiled.
We began with the chaats. The Dahi Papdi came slick with oil, papdis gleaming like they had been varnished. The curd was thick but too sweet, as if trying to cover sins better left unearthed, and the odd addition of green gram did little except weigh it down. Sharing was made awkward with spoons in short supply. The Palak Patta Chaat followed, better than the former yet still falling short of the many versions I have enjoyed elsewhere. The palak felt oily, the sizes of the leaves unpredictable, forcing us into the oddest acrobatics of bite and spoon. Both were more about the curd than the crunch, with plating that failed to inspire appetite.
The Veg Cheese Chaska arrived as oversized green orbs, lukewarm at best, with cheese that tasted cheap and unworthy of the name. The chutney accompanying it somehow made the situation worse. If only they had been smaller, hotter, or seasoned with care, they might have lived up to their playful name.
Then came the thali, which promised to be the crown jewel but instead became the heaviest burden. It began with a soggy masala papad that must be the first one I have ever abandoned unfinished. The pani puri was an assault in green, a pani so unpleasant that I would have gladly spat it out had there been a bin nearby. Service became the true villain of the evening. Starters trickled in like afterthoughts, most of them bland enough to be instantly forgotten. The wait for the main course stretched into an eternity, interrupted only by our repeated requests, which were ignored until the manager’s shadow loomed near.
When the main course finally deigned to arrive, it was cold. Rotis and naans had turned chewy, the chole was mushy, the rajma slimy, and only the malai kofta offered some grace with its creamy gravy. Desserts attempted a final act but failed too. The kheer was thick yet hollow in richness, tasting only of sugar, while the jalebi was so tiny and cold it felt more like a token than a sweet. As if this weren’t enough, a sizzling platter ordered by another table filled the entire room with smoke, reducing whatever pleasure remained.
Delhi Highway is a restaurant dressed like a king but with the service of a disinterested court and food that would not pass even in a village fair. Its ambience may dazzle, but once seated, the shine fades quickly. Food falters, service fails, and the promise of royalty collapses into mediocrity.
4/10