A true Indian food buff understands the complex, infernal magnitude of a great vindaloo, knowing that a magnificent batch can harness the fire gods and wash over the palate like a Mumbai heat wave. While Taj Mahal, a venerable Indian restaurant in Prague 2, doesn't quite capture this elusive fire, the combination of cuisine, ambience and service illustrate why this has remained a local favorite.

A lot of thought has been put into Taj Mahal's dreamy illusion, from the bar carved in the shape of the god Indra's ceremonial elephant to the small stage where a cross-legged sitar player creates an ongoing musical narration for the meal. There's not a hint of Czech-ness in the décor. It's easy to forget, under the arched ceilings and light of flickering oil lamps, that the restaurant sits on a secluded street behind the National Museum.

One of the chef's signature starters, the Grand Thali (375 Kč), showcases a carefully arranged platter of onion bhajia and assorted vegetable fritters, dipped in lentil flour and fried to a pleasing crisp. But the star of the plate, and of the restaurant's appetizer selections, remains the samosa. India's counterpart to Cuba's empanada — a dough pocket filled with hot, hearty spiced filling — is a staple in both Mumbai street stands and the city's most popular, upmarket joints.

The Thali offers samples of both the lamb and vegetable samosas, though the lamb, a fine blend of onions, turmeric and peas, slightly pales in comparison to the vegetable version. The distinctive lamb flavor jumps out, even in the midst of so many spices, but the filling itself seems a bit on the dry side — a problem easily solved with a dose of the cool mint sauce that accompanies it.

The vegetable samosa, however, stands on its own. The combination of peas, potatoes and carrots, spiced with a healthy dose of masala and garlic, is moist and meant to be savored. The menu suggests that the Thali could feed up to three people, something not to be taken as an idle boast. To fill out the starters nicely, though, order some of the buttery, fluffy garlic naan (60 Kč), a traditional Indian flatbread.

For the main course, we chose two dishes, one wild and one mild. The Ghost Palak (320 Kč), with tender lamb cooked in creamy spinach and spices, remains the tamer choice for anyone intimidated by the challenge of strong Indian flavors. The cuts of spiced lamb swim in a rich sauce, topped with a vein of cream, and serve as a mild, satisfying selection. But be aware that the portions can be deceptive. While meal arrives in a small metal bowl, the volume of food offers more than enough to gratify.

Moving on to the true test, the chicken vindaloo (235 Kč) represents the yardstick by which most Indian restaurants are measured. We were ready for a robust, melodic symphony of heat, brought on by an eye-watering mixture of garlic, masala and pepper.

From first taste, however, it's clear that the vindaloo provokes no begging for forgiveness for attempting to eat like a native. But we were treated with something else: a sauce confidently divided into two parts — a wistful first taste just this side of sweet, and a slow, simmering heat that kicks in soon after, leaving a soft, pleasing burn on the palate. It's a surprisingly inspired variation on the more robust version of the dish, with a clever, sophisticated taste.