Reviewed by Nicholas Robinson
My dinner at Shambala started off with an appetizer of hot sheep’s blood soup followed by fried sheep lung and a zesty ox-tongue chaser.
Just kidding, but these are the sorts of food one might expect to be served at local restaurants in Tibet. In fact, these days, apart from the aforementioned, the only food in Tibet that qualifies as “terroir” would likely be yak-meat jerky, tsampa (a paste of toasted barley flour mixed with buttered, salted tea that resembles a child’s moulding clay) and canned Chinese food.
That’s because the food of Tibet went into exile with the Dalai Lama’s court. The old staples are the only thing left to eat, as transport in Tibet is restricted. This means that the lowland areas that traditionally provided the country with the fruits and vegetables necessary for authentic cuisine are unable to continue operating.
Luckily for us, no such restrictions apply at Shambala.
A homey, spacious interior that was formerly someone’s house (then a raucous after-hours club—owner Tashi explains that he had to clear up mountains of beer cans and garbage before he was able to start renovations), Shambala manages to evoke images of Old Tibet in a space that is definitely new Montreal.
At both ends of the room are sunken seating areas surrounded with cushions; one imagines hookahs and dancing girls can’t be too far away. There is a small gift shop in the foyer selling T-shirts and Tibetan souvenir crafts.
The menu is quite long, featuring an extensive vegetarian section (sample items: Shogo Khatsa: Cubed potatoes sautéed with chili sauce, onions and bell peppers, $5.99; Tsé Sésha: Shitake mushrooms, broccoli & zucchini sautéed in a sweet ginger & garlic sauce, $6.99), a meat section (sample items: Gya-thuk: Large bowl of linguine-style noodle soup with sliced beef or chicken, topped with vegetables and cottage cheese, $7.99; Chasha Khatsa: Chicken sautéed with onion and bokchoy and stir-fried in a spicy, tomato-garlic sauce, served with steamed Jasmine rice, $9.99) and a special section for that old standby that Western folks love to pronounce: momos.
And the momos, those much touted, oh-so Tibetan dumplings filled with meats and vegetables are . . . gyoza? They look like the Japanese appetizer, taste a bit like the Japanese appetizer, and cannot be more than a two-day Yak’s trek away in terms of familial ties. The exception would be the dipping sauce; a dense marriage of soya and spices, as opposed to the Japanese rice vinegar-based concoction. I personally could have made a whole meal from the wonderfully-named treats—they were pocket-satchel charges of flavorful pork and spices wrapped in a firm homemade pasta-like shell, lightly browned in oil. Owner Tashi is mulling the option of offering the momos for delivery, if they become popular. Sign me up.
After much dithering over the menu—one can’t very well order everything, even though one wants to—we ordered the chicken Shamdey (a mild curry marinated in aromatic herbs & yogurt served w/ steamed Jasmine rice) and asked the server if he could “kick it up a notch.”
Also on the mains menu was a Gyathuk Ngopa (Pan-fried noodles topped with mixed greens and sliced beef) and a Chasha Khatsa (Chicken sautéed with onion and bokchoy and stir-fried in a spicy, tomato-garlic sauce).
The Shamdey chicken curry was served in an oval metal bowl reminiscent of those at local Indian restaurants, but was completely different. I never thought the word “delicate” could be applied to curry, but this was ethereally light and fragrant, with slivers of potatoes and bite-sized chicken pieces amply suited to being eaten with chopsticks (which I haven’t seen on offer recently at our Indian joints.) However, it had been “nudged” up a notch, rather than kicked with the steel-toed boot I would have preferred.
The pan-fried noodles were not the thick, greasy Chinese variety but almost resembled fresh egg linguine, studded with beef and toothsome vegetables in a delicate coating of a light soy-based sauce.
The Chasha Khatsa was excellent, but as in the case of the chicken curry, rather timid on the heat quotient. Thus, a robust hot sauce was brought out to assuage the palates of the two inveterate masochists at the table.
The jasmine rice was masterful, fluffy and perfectly al dente, like the rice I cook in my dreams when I make Thai food. “It’s steamed,” Tashi told me later. I am determined to crack this steamed rice code. I have a bamboo steamer on order, but I have the sinking feeling that mine will never be as good as Tashi’s.
Tashi might come out and chat after you’ve finished your feast, and he has a hundred interesting stories to tell. Both he and the server hail from the Indian province of Himachal Pradesh, which is where many displaced Tibetans migrated to along with the Dalai Lama. You’ll be amazed to find out that one of the largest populations of Tibetans outside Tibet live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and that there are only about 130 Tibetans residing in Montreal—and they all know each other.
In Sanskrit, Shambala means “a place of peace and harmony for all beings, people and animals.” At Shambala the restaurant, I’d say that at least two-thirds of the meaning remain intact (my main dish might disagree with the last definition), so if it’s a piece of Shangri-La you’re seeking, get thee hence forthwith.
