Gifto's Lahore Karahi, Southall

Telephone: 020 8813 8669

Address: Gifto's Lahore Karahi, 162-164 The Broadway, Southall, Middlesex.

Dinner for two, including service, 30 - but only if you try very hard.

You know when you've reached Southall. The lights go on again. It sits in the middle of arguably the dullest, greyest, blankest stretch of suburbia London has to offer, a cacophony of pebble dash and crazy paving. Believe me, no one will ever write poems about Greenford or Hayes unless, like Betjeman's ode to Slough, it involves the dropping of friendly bombs. (A quick joke: what's the difference between Hayes and a pot of yogurt? Left alone the yogurt will develop a culture of its own. It's OK. I can say these things. I grew up near Hayes.)

And then, suddenly, the Uxbridge Road becomes The Broadway in Southall, and it's as if the world has gone from monochrome to blessed Technicolor. Reds and golds and blues of gorgeous silks burst forth from the sari shop windows that stretch along both sides of the road, and bright sparkling lights shine out from the cluttered emporia, with their stacked collections or brass and copper houseware, or their sculptures of Hindu deities for the home. On a chill November evening, with the Diwali lights blinking from the lampposts and the Indian sweet-meat shops still open and crowded, it can be an intoxicating experience to arrive there out of the London gloom.

There are at least two dozen Indian restaurants on this stretch of the high street. Unfortunately, non-Asians can't fall back on the old ruse of choosing which to try by identifying the one being patronised by Asian customers - this being Southall, they are all full of Asian customers. The only thing I can say is that Gifto's Lahore Karahi, which had been recommended to me, is definitely worth the trip. It sits at the western end of The Broadway and is marked by a distinctly modernist look.

Until recently it was hung with over-engineered chandeliers and decorated with vast and vivid murals. Now it is more of an up-market canteen, and on a Saturday night, a furiously busy one at that. It's a raucous place for large extended families or couples or crowds of teenage mates escaping their parents for the evening. Along one wall is the hectic, equally crowded open kitchen, and at the heart of it are the massed ranks of tandoor ovens, glassed off from the rest of the room to save customers nearby from being seared along with the punchily marinated meats. The temperatures in that part of the kitchen do not bear thinking about, though the chefs, wielding long, meat-heavy skewers like Samurai swords, all looked very jolly.

Although the room is large, they do like to pack them in, up to 250 people at a time. As a result you can find yourself tucked in quite closely against your fellow diners, as we were. It meant we were able to hear every whinge, fury and complaint, every stinging rebuke and insult to the waiters, from the party next to us. There is a general assumption, I think, that the people who insult the waiters in Indian restaurants tend to be young white Britons. These were young Asian Britons, although there was still a culture clash involved. They were all down from Liverpool for the weekend, a place where nan breads come buttered, apparently, unlike here, where they do not. Ideally, they will have all returned to Liverpool by now.

To be fair, they did have one legitimate complaint, which was that on the Saturday night we were there, the service was what might be called amiably chaotic. The important thing to do on such a night is keep your eyes open as the dishes arrive at your long, refectory style table. The many waiters are not brilliant at differentiating between the various groups occupying the same stretch, and your dishes just might end up with the next lot down, as ours did.

They were worth fighting for. I would never claim that what is delivered here would shock or surprise you. Most of the dishes listed, save perhaps for the curried lamb's trotter, will be familiar to anybody who has worked over a few Indian menus. But it is done with rather more zip and swing than usual. I think it has something to do, not just with the recipes, but with the sheer volume and intensity with which the dishes are produced. Most kitchens, Indian or otherwise, work best under pressure.

We started with a plate of delicate pani puri - crispy, light puffs - which came with a sweet tamarind dipping sauce, and one of bhel puri, which are tiny puffs, like crisped rice, mixed with chick peas, toasted peanuts and potatoes, dressed with the same tamarind sauce. It was a light, delicate way in to what followed.

A main course dish of karahi chicken was a sharp and spicy tomato-based stew, which boasted some incredibly lean and tender pieces of chicken fillet. Alongside that we ordered the assault course which is the tandoori mixed grill. My companion thought it just a little too spicy for her tastes. Personally, I would cross town for this one dish alone: there were crisp, yet tender lamb chops, chunks of lamb and chicken tikka, aromatic kebabs made from minced lamb and chicken, as well as a bunch of melting chicken wings. It was the most expensive thing on the menu, by a long chalk. It cost 10.90. Gifto's is not a lavish night out.

A dish of dhal, rather than being the calming influence I had expected, was quite salty and brutal with chilli, but the pilau rice was light and fluffy. The breads were grand, particularly the flaky paratha, which was simply the best I've ever had. This, unsurprisingly, was all far more than we could eat, and we had no room for puddings - the usual collections of kulfis and gulab jamans - but passing by us on their way to other tables, they looked good.

Gifto's doesn't serve alcohol, but they don't mind if you bring your own. However, there is a great fresh juice bar.

Next to us the scouse whingers were getting their main courses boxed-up to take away, to the relief of the staff. We carried our meals out the conventional way, in our grateful stomachs, and later watched mournfully as the bright lights of Southall receded in the car's rear-view mirror.