Whenever I visit London, I try and see if I can find Indian food. Indian food in Paris is curated to the local taste, stripping it away of happiness and masalas. Last time I entered “Dosa” in the Google Maps app, trying to find something in Mayfair, but did not have luck. This time, I just wrote “Thali”.

I walked 10 minutes from my hotel, hoping that place would have space for a lonely traveler. Strangely the place was rated 4.9 on Google Maps, which is usually not a good sign.

Seating myself at a table, one could see that all the curries were kept in a buffet display. Now that is not what one may expect of an expensive place (the Indian eateries at Gare du Nord do that, serving folks looking for 10 Euro meals, so I immediately started to dread what was a about to come.

The (Indian) waitress came and explained the menu to me, totally ignoring my obvious Indianness (a thali includes), but she did that to all customers, so at least it was consistent.

It took a fair time to get a veg thali, something I expected would land in 2 minutes. Now this is where something curious occurred - the chef, a gentleman in an apron, hat and a serene expression started carefully “plating” the thali. Now I have had my fair share of thalis, and most are passable fare giving the diner a little bit of everything, satiating hunger and usually being forgotten as the last bite of gulab jamun is washed away. It is trends to be a standard affair all over India - a large round steel plate with a vertical lip like a saucepan, 4 or 6 bowls of the various curries and a something sweet, and rice in the middle, perhaps with a papad. Boring but dependable.

It takes a touch of genius to take something as boring as a thali and innovate - and this is what the team at Mona’s did. A square plate with 3 curries, a heap of rice and a gujarati home style thepla parantha with sesame, a generous helping of biryanis style rice and (what I realized on my first bite) kebab style salad (crudités with slices olives and some yogurt sauce), and some pickles made by the propritors mother. With it some colorful fryums of my childhood.

There was no gulab jamun. Thank heavens - in its place, there was a baklava piece.

The whole set up was so unexpected it was schocking. It does take a Michaelangelo to look at a block of marble and imagine the Pieta. I sat in stunned silence, and I had yet to take a bite.