It looks full and we haven't booked so will we get a table?

My wife nips in smartly in front of a party of four as they navigate the two sets of doors which act like an airlock and is waved to a table by the window.

The place has had a makeover since our last visit (we remember ruched curtains, now there are none) and is bigger with space, in two interconnecting rooms, for 100 diners.

Most are white, in parties or families, and are tucking in with relish. You don't even have to know the Mangla's reputation to realise that it must be doing something right.

There's still an open kitchen, stuffed to the gills with cooks, which adds a theatrical air to the place.

Waiters constantly emerge to weave precariously through the long, narrow rooms. The decor is modern: white walls with modern prints, the occasional splash of aubergine, bare tables, leather chairs and spotlights in the ceiling.

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"The authentic taste of Kashmir cuisine" it says on the menu which goes on to give a long rollcall of dishes under different styles. You can get a curry for around £4.

But you can't get a veggie samosa. Run out, says the waiter who brings us two complimentary poppadoms and a pickle tray, as good as you get anywhere.

I have the meat samosa, although it would be hard to find any in it, or flavour. There's just one but as it only costs 70p I suppose I mustn't grumble.

A couple of days later boss Habib Hussain agrees with me. He's changed his supplier.

Most of the rest they seem to make themselves. My wife is more than happy with her chicken tikka. There's a very generous amount and this is probably the fullest, sparkiest flavoured tikka we've had in yonks.

It's busy and the main courses take a while to arrive so we can look at the entertainment the Manga supplies.

The best is watching the men do the Spital Hill Shuffle. The Mangla is unlicensed so, as with the rival Kashmir down the road, you can bring your pints in from the East House across the way.

For one man with two pints in his hands and the two door airlock to negotiate it's not easy and requires a foot here and a bum stuck out there. And then you've got to stop your pint from spilling over someone else's biryani.

From the specials, fish karai (£6.80) proves to be a lot of nicely spiced fish in a pepper and tomato sauce, far too much to finish.

I've got marinated lamb chops (£6.20) which, in fact, is seven or eight pieces of meat on the bone. Again the spicing is lively and bright without that rawness you sometimes get, and the sauce is spiked with chilli which gently makes its presence felt, rather than grabbing you by the throat.

Last time we came we raved over the tarka daal and we see no reason to change. We had it as a side dish (I can't tell you the price as they replaced the bill with a VAT receipt).

The pulses are kept whole and toothsome and the flavour is smoky.
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