The Tresind menu promises modern Indian brilliance, but too many dishes left us waiting for flavour that never arrived

The newly opened Tresind in London is the sort of restaurant I usually approach with mild suspicion. It’s an import from Dubai.

Nevertheless, on paper, it sounds serious. The original Tresind opened in Dubai in 2014. Tresind Studio followed in 2018 and became the three Michelin starred restaurant. The London opening arrives in Mayfair with lots of confidence – so naturally, my sister and I book the 3 course lunch menu to see what the fuss is about.

Unfortunately, by the end of the meal, my sister is not merely disappointed. She is spiritually aggrieved.

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Quick info on Tresind London

• Restaurant: Tresind
• Where: Mayfair, London
• Menu tried: 3 course lunch menu
• Price: £42 for the lunch menu, our bill came to £54 per person with soft drinks
• Biggest disappointment: The general absence of flavour peaks or memorable dishes
• Details: Party of 2. Meal paid for by us independently

Find out more in the full Tresind London restaurant review below.

The room doesn’t exactly set the mood

The dining room looks oddly flimsy, like a set built for a scene rather than a restaurant designed to last. There are lots of odd, empty corners, spotlights, and a window dressed with a thin curtain that looks out towards the bins. In fact, around the time our mains arrive, we get to witness the bins being changed.

Dinner and a show.

The space feels cold, both literally and emotionally. There is a slickness to it, but not much warmth. Like a restaurant trying to look expensive without being convincing enough about it.

Then the dry ice arrives

Before any food is served, each table is brought a tall vase from which dry ice billows dramatically.

I assume this is meant to feel theatrical – instead, it feels dated.

We’re told there is a scent involved, although I can’t detect anything apart from the stench of irony. It also raises our worst fear: that this might be the sort of restaurant where drama is used to distract from substance.

As it is, it sits there like a ghost of tasting menus past.

My sister rolls her eyes. This will become a theme.

The snacks start badly, then recover

First up is arugula pani puri with preserved pears, which you fill yourself with mint, coriander and arugula water.

One of ours immediately leaks, and the flavour never really lands. The pear brings sweetness, but there’s none of the sharp freshness or acidity that makes pani puri so addictive. It should wake your mouth up. This one barely gets started.

Immediately, we both think of the ones at Oudh 1722, which are far superior. Fuck, we think of the versions we’ve had in Southall, all of which have made us want a dozen more.

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Next comes missi roti with green chilli butter. Hot little rotis with butter melting over them should be an easy win, but beyond the soft texture there isn’t much going on. The green chilli barely registers, leaving pleasant bread and butter with very little reason to remember this particular version.

My sister looks at it, chews, pauses, and says she would never remember eating it.

Then, because she has decided kindness is no longer useful, she adds that it doesn’t taste different from freezer roti. Oh dear.

Thankfully, the last snack of kohlrabi with yogurt cremeux, shiso leaf and Jerusalem artichoke crisps is the first properly good thing we eat.

Finally, there is balance. The thin kohlrabi shell keeps everything fresh, the yogurt cremeux is gentle and cooling, and the candied pecans bring a lovely sweetness that lifts the whole dish. It has texture, contrast and the execution works.

For a moment, hope returns to the table. Briefly.

The Tresind lunch menu is generous, but the format gets messy

At £42, the lunch initially feels like decent value: three snacks, followed by two mains each with black daal, biryani rice and breads. We ask to swap one non-vegetarian main for the saag, which the restaurant accommodates without fuss.

The problem is the serving. Each curry has a specific bread pairing, but they arrive together in one basket and we quickly forget which is which.

Flagging someone down proves surprisingly difficult.

Eventually we get the answer and separate them, like two women revising for an exam neither of us wanted to sit.

The butter chicken is just fine

The traditional butter chicken with butter naan is probably the safest dish on the table.

I like it. But, while the sauce is pleasant and easy to eat, it never develops the richness or depth that makes great butter chicken difficult to stop eating. There is nothing particularly wrong with it. There is also very little that feels distinctive.

My sister regards it with suspicion. She declares it bog-standard butter chicken, even as she mops it up with leftover naan.

I do think the version at Brigadiers is much better. Richer, deeper, more memorable.

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The fish curry doesn’t do the fish any favours

The Alleppey fish curry with Malabar paratha is where things dip again.

After one bite, I announce that it tastes quite fishy, because I’m insightful like that.

The fish turns out to be seabass, making that pronounced fishiness even more surprising. The flesh is soft and slightly spongy, while the coconut and mango curry tastes thin rather than rich, tangy or bright. The components sound promising on paper, but never come together with the clarity or lushness the dish seems to promise.

And again, we find ourselves comparing it unfavourably to Oudh 1722, where the fish curry is miles better, both in texture and flavour profile.

The beef curry doesn’t help matters

Next is the Bengali kosha mangsho with green pea kachuri.

The beef is tender enough, which I say aloud.

My sister immediately pounces – what do you mean the texture’s good? It’s just been cooked.

Which is not entirely wrong.

The curry is perfectly serviceable, but nothing in the meat, sauce or seasoning asserts itself enough to give the dish an identity. It is competently made rather than compellingly made – the sort of food you eat without being particularly interested in it.

There’s a difference between food being competent and food being compelling. Too much of the Tresind set lunch sits firmly in the first camp.

The saag at Tresind Mayfair briefly threatens to be interesting

The saag burrata with garlic pickle and laccha paratha gets the closest to winning my sister over.

On first taste, I say, hopefully, Oh, I like this.

There’s a pause, then from across the table comes a sullen – at least it has spice in it.

A few bites later, she nods slightly and concedes that yes, she can at last taste some flavour.

At this point, a lukewarm response feels like a standing ovation.

The saag does have more personality than most of the mains, and the rich, flaky laccha paratha works well with it. But when we return to the saag later, a bitterness begins to dominate the flavours I initially liked, leaving it less balanced than that first mouthful suggested.

The daal and biryani rice compound the offence

The mains on the set lunch menu are served with black daal and biryani rice.

My sister takes one bite of the rice and practically begins vibrating.

It’s not spiced biryani rice, she splutters, with the energy of a woman preparing to write to her MP.

And she’s right. It’s rice with a little yellow colour flecked through it and some fried onion on top. Calling it biryani rice feels ambitious at best.

Then comes the daal.

My sister takes a bite and nods triumphantly. She pushes the daal towards me with the satisfaction of someone about to prove a point.

Gingerly, I take a bite.

Devoid of flavour, she crows, utterly vindicated.

Again, harsh. Again, not entirely wrong.

The problem isn’t that the daal is simple. Good daal can still have fantastic depth. What I miss are the earthy flavours, velvety texture and the tarka my mum would pour over hers – something we greeted as teenagers with the eye-roll reserved for parental fuss. It turns out there was a point to the drama: frying spices in hot fat wakes up their oils, creating that blooming spice and bold depth this daal simply doesn’t have.

One bite makes me feel sudden affection for the practical daal my mum made every Monday when we were kids. By any normal standard it was simple home cooking, but compared with this, it feels like a masterclass in how much flavour you can coax from something so humble.

Dessert at Tresind London doesn’t save the meal

By dessert, we are past the point of redemption.

First comes the filter coffee cornetto with miso ice cream and chocolate ganache.

The textures work better than the flavours. There is pleasure in the contrast between cornetto, ice cream and ganache, but the coffee is too faint to provide the roasted notes the name promises, while the chocolate lacks the richness that might have given this dessert some weight.

My sister calls it an assault, almost fondly.

Then comes the final dessert, of daulat ki chaat with soan papdi crumble.

On its own, I can see the appeal. It’s airy, milky and delicately cardamom-scented, with the crumble adding some texture. But the delicacy doesn’t work. After a meal in which we’ve repeatedly searched for greater intensity, this starts to mirror that absence.

My sister announces that it is so insubstantial it turns to air the moment it enters her mouth. Her jaw, she says, is actually clenching in a desperate attempt to extract something solid from it.

Finally, relinquishing her napkin along with whatever hope she had left for lunch, she points at the dessert and declares it the most upsetting thing.

And honestly, by this point, who am I to argue?

Final thoughts on Tresind Mayfair – is it worth booking?

I wanted to like Tresind.

But London has enough excellent Indian restaurants that any new high-profile opening has to bring something special to the table. And with its Dubai pedigree, Michelin-starred sibling and Mayfair address, Tresind restaurant clearly wants to be taken seriously.

But our set lunch menu simply doesn’t deliver.

There are moments of competence – the kohlrabi snack is lovely. The butter chicken is perfectly enjoyable. The saag has some interest. But far too many dishes feel muted, underpowered or strangely forgettable.

Considering how many brilliant Indian restaurants London has right now, our lunch at Tresind doesn’t come close to putting it in that lane.

In fact, the most memorable part of the meal isn’t the food at all. It’s my sister, sitting across from me, increasingly incredulous, trying to understand how a three-Michelin-starred name had led us here.

To a leaky pani puri that could never compete with the humblest of ones from Southall.

And a view of the bins.

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Tresind restaurant review
Address – 13-14 Hanover St, London W1S 1YH
Nearest Tube – Oxford Circus