1450 rue Crescent, Montreal | Tel. (514) 286-0303 | Metro Guy-Concordia

t's tough being an Indian in Montreal. Tough, when you're surrounded by 10,000 Bangladeshis. Okay, rough estimate, but when it comes to restaurants, that seems to be about the status quo.

See, "Indian cuisine" isn't really anything to do with India; it's just a convenient blanket term for what we Westerners will invariably describe as "curry." The origin of the word is buried in the mists of time; some say it comes from the Tamil word "kari," meaning "sauce." Others say it comes from the cooking vessel called a kadhai.

The Brahmins of Tamil Nadu , strict vegetarians, call a vegetable dish cooked with spices and coconut "Kaari." The British colonialists, ever the pragmatists, dumbed it down to the word "curry."

In reality, though, the cuisines of the sub-continent of Indo-Pakistan-Bangladesh are as distinct from one another as are, say the cuisines of Liguria and Calabria, or Provence and Languedoc.

Which brings us to Devi, a truly Indian restaurant – as opposed to Bangladeshi or Pakistani – buried right here in the throbbing center of Montreal, the place where some would argue that all things Montreal converge: Crescent Street.

The Strip. Formula One. Winnie's. Newtown. Hard Rock Café. Tourists like army ants, swarming the terrasses and quaffing their Boréale Blondes with red-faced enthusiasm.

Who would ever want to put an Indian restaurant down here? But someone did, and it's named Devi, which is the Sanskrit word for goddess. That someone not only created the restaurant; he bought the whole building.

The interior is wood-luxe and spacious. Bay windows look upon the summer mayhem that is Crescent Street on a warm evening.

One look at the menu and you know you're not in a London curry house any more. While some familiar staples remain: Chicken Tikka Masala, (the "National Dish of Britain,") and Butter Chicken, unfamiliar ones pop out at you. What on earth is Chicken Chettinad Korma? Why, chicken curry cooked with onion, tomato, coconut, tamarind and curry leaves, silly. (Chettinad is a district of the southernmost region of India.) And Nihari?

Never heard of it? Lamb curry made with onion, gram flour, garam masala and other arcane Indian spices. I defy you to find it on 99% of the other "Indian" restaurants in Montreal. Can't be done.

Navrattan Korma: assorted vegetables and cocktail fruits in a creamy white sauce made with onion, yogurt, cashew and almond paste and flavored with cardamom. Cocktail fruits? Namasté, my friends, namasté.

The menu is not sprawling and is not organised like the formulaic hacks of most "indian" restaurants in Montreal. There are familiar faces – we have the naan, the saag paneer, the seekh kebab, after all – but there are many strangers, namely, Manchurian Cauliflower (crispy corn flour-coated cauliflower tossed in tangy tomato sauce, flavored with garlic curry leaf and mustard seeds – okay, not going to be reproducing that in my kitchen any time soon), Raj Kachor (semolina puff filled with potatoes, chick peas and sprouts topped with yogurt and chutney) or Mushroom Gilawati Kebab (minced mushrooms, oil, cumin, red chili powder, garam masala and butter).

Seen that at your neighborhood Tikka joint lately? I thought not.

Best tread lightly, we thought, and started off with the Lamb Seekh Kebab and Pepper Shrimp. The lamb was in six-inch skewers of highly spiced ground meat, grilled to a turn; meaty, moist and delicious. The shrimp were jumbos, rolled up tightly, tails on, marinated with a mixture of what seemed to be ginger and garlic and chilies with a heavy dose of black pepper in a sour-cream-based sauce. I would go back every night just for that crunch-squish-meaty-shrimpy taste implosion, if circumstances permitted. Both were accompanied with a side of baby greens bathed in an unearthly vinaigrette slammed with a hefty dose of spice.

Seeking an Xtreme Indian experience is always a chore for me, because I'm what some might call a "Chile-head," and I know that chefs (especially in Montreal – better watch what you ask for in San Francisco, as you might just get it) tend to take pity on the customer and halve the heat he requests, just in case the guy is a roving braggart out to impress his friends; wouldn't want to embarrass the poor guy after all. So I ordered the Chicken Tikka Masala "extra hot" and my companion ordered the Chicken Korma. I know, safe bets, but we wanted to see how the kitchen handled the basics.

As expected, the Tikka was not even approaching 10 on my Scoville meter, but was nonetheless unctuously insinuating, moist and earthy in a rich brown spice-studded sauce that wedded with the fluffy saffron basmati rice most satisfactorily. My companion opted for the naan, he being of a Northern persuasion, and he happily plucked up his Korma – chicken in a creamy white sauce made of onion, yogurt, cashew, almond paste and cardamom – with gusto.

The service, it might be mentioned, was attentive – one might even say overly attentive, but it's what one might expect from a nervous restaurant open only one month.

There's no telling how this little Indian jewel will fare in this sea of sub-continental competition, and no telling how it will prosper while surrounded by a sea of unabashed consumerism, but we certainly wish it well. Namasté. – Reviewed by Chef Nick (June/07)