Local restaurants, if you think about it, are the beating hearts of their neighbourhoods; the quiet confidantes of birthdays, first dates, and Friday-night salvations; where gossip is traded, regulars are known by name, and one’s usual order is anticipated with humble nod. To locals, they are sanctuaries, reliable retreats. To outsiders, however, they’re often invisible — unassuming facades passed without notice — but, as I’ve learned more than once, to ignore them is to miss something quietly marvellous.
So, in an effort to broaden my south-of-the-river horizons, I ventured deeper into the SE postcodes than my Oyster card usually dares — to East Dulwich, a storied enclave populated by those who wear selvedge denim and know their natural wines. And, amid the hipsters and NCT couples, lives one besuited fish-out-of-water, yet very much at home here, my guide for the evening: our occasional correspondent and culinary sherpa from Rajasthan, Mr Rahman Pachry.
“If you live here — and I’m just round the corner — we already know and love it,” he warns as we approach Kokum, a sleek corner restaurant whose decked terrace and soft lighting already signal that this is not your standard high-street curry house. “But I’d prefer to keep it a secret, so be careful who you tell, Lawrence. I don’t want any of your entitled riff-raff defiling my second home, thank you very much.”
Inside, the first thing I notice, past the bar, is its cavernous interior. It requires people to give it ambiance (we’re there mid-week, and early), but there’s an ease to it; a sense of belonging that only true neighbourhood restaurants possess. As we sit, Pachry orders an Old Fashioned with a house twist of pink peppercorn and cardamom; I a Negroni, likewise tampered with by a ‘chocolate orange’ spin. Both are excellent companions to the poppadums and dips — the usual mango chutney and a rather surprising mustard number that commands attention.
The menu is extensive — unexpectedly so — and I’m told that in summer the terrace becomes one of East Dulwich’s most in-demand barbecues. “Your local curry house, this is not,” Pachry murmurs, scanning the room like a proud landlord. I comment on the soundtrack, as Taylor Swift wails about a recent break-up. “We don’t exclusively listen to Carnatic music, Lawrence,” he admonishes, “besides, we not here for the atmosphere. This is all about the food…”.
He’s not wrong. Sanjay Gour, co-founder and executive chef, has pedigree, teaming up with Angela Hartnett and steering the ship at Gymkhana, among his credits. We start with the chicken chops and ribs. The chops are exemplary — tender, aromatic, enlivened by clove and a delicate pickling spice that makes them positively sing. The ribs, meanwhile, are a surprise. Sticky, smoky, and unapologetically moreish, they feel like something between Goa and Memphis. I, naively, remark on their unorthodox presence. “Ribs, in an Indian restaurant?” I ask. Pachry sighs, deeply. “Does your ignorance know no bounds? Indo-Chinese fusion is everywhere in India. Kokum is simply introducing your ill-informed palate to civilisation.”
I stand corrected. Happily.
When it comes to the mains, it’s the sauces that steal the show. The lamb rogan josh — a house speciality — is outstanding: rich, unctuous, and layered with spice that develops rather than dominates. The chicken Kolhapuri is equally impressive, with a coconut creaminess that tempers the fire of the masala. Between them, a buttery naan makes short work of any remnants.
But the surprise is in the sides, a tandoor-roasted aubergine mash — something I’ve never seen on an Indian menu — lands on the table. Smoky, mellow, and faintly sweet, it feels like a cousin to baba ghanoush, but with unmistakably subcontinental roots. It’s a clever, comforting dish that rounds out the meal beautifully.
Dessert, Pachry insists, is non-negotiable. “The gulab jamun here,” he says gravely, “is the stuff of legend.” He’s right. Each syrup-soaked sphere is small enough to justify, yet so sweet it could fell a rhino — and still, we can’t resist another. The kulfi, pistachio and proudly Iranian, arrives next. “Too hard, not sweet enough,” Pachry decrees, shaking his head. “Stick with the gulab, Lawrence.” And, for once, I don’t argue.
As we drain the last of our lagers, I look around at the other tables, the warmth in the room, the quiet satisfaction of diners who clearly know they’ve something special. Kokum may look and feel like a high-end restaurant, but it’s got the heartbeat of a neighbourhood joint — familiar, effortless, and just a little bit proud of being under the radar.
“Write about it if you must,” Pachry says as we step into the cool Dulwich air, “but don’t go shouting. Let the riff-raff find their own kebab house.” I smirk as I shake his hand farewell. Some secrets, after all, are best whispered.
Kokum, 58-60 East Dulwich Road, Southwark, London, SE22 9AX. For more information, including details of events and special chef’s evenings, and for bookings, please visit www.kokumlondon.com.
