Planet Bukhara.

The bar area.

We decided to visit Bukhara after friends exclaimed “What do you mean the Bombay Brasserie is great?? Wait ’till you try Bukhara!” .  

So with an open mind and certain expectations I trekked, on a warm Sunday night, into the CBD, near Greenmarket Square, to eat there.  

Planet Bukhara was found down a dark side street. After a bit of checking we found the front door. Unlit tea lights ran up the side of the stairs. A half filled bucket caught dripping drops of water inside the wine cave under the turn of the stairs.  

Upstairs in the empty but pretty bar our arrival went unnoticed. Deciding against an aperitif we entered the restaurant to me met by a blank faced unsmiling hostess who pored over a clipboard to find our reservation. Eventually locating it, she herded to our table.  

The waitron arrived.   

“So there are only three of you tonight? Then I must take away the extra setting”  

Confused, we wondered if this was a typical Planet Bukhara welcome. We had booked, so it was in “in the system” that we were three  

Chicken wings.

people.  

I’m not sure what went wrong next. In hindsight, it was a case of a waitron not listening to us, and trying to satisfy our needs.  

She asked us three or four times if we had eaten there before. What did that have to do with the price of buttered chicken?  

Starters arrived. Mine was a bowl of dahl. Over spiced and unsubtle, I closed my eyes and dreamed of the sensational dahl in the Bombay Brasserie.  

No plate, no rice, no bread to accompany it. Why not? as I had ordered them.  

“We normally only serve those with main courses” was the feedback. Hmmmm…funny ways here, on Planet Bukhara.  

So I had to sit there and eat it on its own, with a spoon. I begged for some cucumber and yogurt to ease my numbed lips. The waitron agreed to bring them. How nice.  

I don’t know of anywhere in the world you would be expected to eat a bowl of dahl without bread or rice. So I challenge Bukhara to tell me why they thought it was acceptable for me to have this experience.  

Chicken wings looked promising, but were charred to a cinder on the underside. A Streetfood choice of Pap de Chat (chicpea salad) was delicious but very spicy.  

Lamb curry.

I was so brow beaten by the waitron that I did not order mains. I was put off the crayfish choice because “It would take 45 minutes”. My second choice was “Unavailable”.  No smiles, no sorrys, no nothing. I was made to feel the guilty one.  

After a long delay my guests mains arrived. The restaurant was, by this stage, very loud and noisy.  

The lamb curry was tough and stringy. A veritable hoard of breads and one bowl of rice arrived. These were the ones that wouldn’t come with starters. We shared the curry. The naan breads were delicious, thin with the right balance of crisp and doughiness.  

A few glasses of Haute Cabriere Chardonnay/Pinot Noir made me feel better. But I couldn’t wait to get out.  

The waitron ruined my visit. She acted like a ward sister, determined to dispense her medicines and that was that.   She fussed and clattered around the table all evening, being inappropriate.  

I wondered to myself; why am I here in this second rate, honky tonk, tourist outfit, when I could be up the road in the Bombay Brasserie?  

Bukhara claims on their website that they serve “arguably the finest Indian cuisine on planet Earth”.  

They mean Planet Bukhara, don’t they?  

Bukhara, 33 Church Street, 021 424 0000, capetown@bukhara.com