Khajuraho

After aimlessly wandering the towers of Sanlitun SOHO, our pilgrimage to Khajuraho ends at the south-facing doors of Building One. The philosophy driving this new Indian eatery's concept is explained on the first page of the menu: acceptance of 'earthly desires'. Allusions to Khajuraho's ancient, erotic temple sculptures promise a divine experience, but a lack of diners suggests Sanlitun SOHO's innate ability to repel customers from its unnavigable vortex remains intact.

A silky mango lassi (18RMB) topped with crushed pistachio comes first, stirring us into the mood. Slow sips of masala chai (16RMB) cupped in terracotta arouse the senses – we may have just found the best chai tea in Beijing.

Khajuraho chaat (26RMB), four saucy samosas atop a messy bed of sweet yoghurt and savouries, are devoured before a sequence of masalas ensues. An order of butter chicken (48RMB) satisfies, whereas the basket of blistered plain naan (16RMB) and butter naan (16RMB) are less successful. Without the sustained bursts of intense heat offered in a clay oven, both lack fluff.

Alas, there's no question that Khajuraho's 'homemade cheese' in the delightfully gingered palak paneer (38RMB) was actually firm-skinned tofu with a smokey fragrance. According to Khajuraho's manager, the challenges of importing paneer to China are myriad. Instead, the chef – of Delhi origins – blends sparse bits of the cheese with tofu to yield larger cubes of what still tastes completely of tofu.

The paneer-posing tofu didn't inhibit our ability to savour the lamb rogan josh (48RMB), meaty hunks stewed in a tomato-based curry of coriander, cumin, turmeric and garam masala. From the gentle heat of the chillies, not a bead of sweat is betrayed. For spice-fearing palates, this meal is an easy ride. Elsewhere, deep and char-flavoured, Tandoori-baked eggplant of baingan bharta (48RMB), smattered with diced tomatoes and polka-dotted with peas, add a slightly different dimension to the meal. Still, we lacked the menu's promised ecstasy.

To finish, a bite of gulab jamun (18RMB) with a frosty pista kulfi (pistachio ice cream; 20RMB) is a sublime surprise that we recommend to those not shy of excessive sugary pleasure. It's made from milk and flour, then deep-fried and drenched in a syrup of cardamom, rose water, kewra (water distilled from pandanus flowers) and saffron. How these balls of sin echo healthy living is a mystery best left unsolved. We were just happy to reach the sweet finish.

In a neighbourhood boasting plenty of sub-continental competition in the shape of Mughal's, Indian Kitchen and the ubiquitous Ganges, Khajuraho offers a fine alternative – its seductive lassi trumps that even of Mughal's. As far as restaurants go, it's no mom-and-pop outfit, with branches scattered across the Urals, but it offers more of an intimate repast than some of its near-rivals – that should see it survive even the barren wastes of Sanlitun SOHO.