When confronted with two smiling Czech women draped in saris, their brows adorned by red dots, you experience a momentary mental lapse. Perhaps you mumble something that sounds like "Dobrý den," but you're seated before the sheer cultural absurdity really hits home.

Yes, those are waitresses in traditional Indian garb. Yes, they flash disarmingly genuine smiles. So the bindi on their foreheads seems a tad incongruous. Along with a couple of shrines lodged in the upstairs window and an almost continuous drone of nasal tunes wafting above, the outfits give Himalaya a distinctive atmospheric vibe.

What of the food? Authentic Indian cuisine varies, sometimes dramatically, between regions, castes and even households. So-called "curries," for example, exist in hundreds of different forms, from serene and complex to scorching "I'm-gonna-die" firebombs. In general, curry is densely spiced, enigmatic and pleasing. Partly for this reason (and partly due to a few centuries of British occupation), it has become a staple of the cosmopolitan West.

Himalaya's take on Indian food is akin to mainstream fare found in Anglo burghs like London and Birmingham. An appropriately fierce vindaloo builds heat from a faintly sweet base that disappears quickly as the capsaicin flame turns supporting spices into cinders. Yet it's a manageable two-alarm blaze, barely forcing a sweat, allowing resilient (and also tough) lamb to counter with a grounded, earthy taste. If, as the Dave Lister character in Red Dwarf once pointed out, only lager kills an English vindaloo, then this is a fitting accompaniment to Pilsner Urquell. The lamb curry is more subdued, with complementary layers of coriander and cumin adding a piquant bite. And the lamb rogan comes across as almost provocative, with tangy, acidic tomato cutting through the rich and gamey meat residue, forming a base for vibrant bursts of fresh vegetables.

Vegetarian options — at least the ones I sampled over three visits — show a little more flair. The korma starts with a vaguely sweet hint of coconut, followed instantly by a sharp kick of ginger that eventually dissipates into a lingering, spicy burn. It works well with any of the rices (the menu lists four) served alongside, although the sauce, with its chalky mouthfeel and complex array of flavors, tends to obscure the taste of individual vegetables. A more notable choice is the pakora: onions, peppers and such covered in a racy batter and fried to a light golden brown. Served with contrasting sweet chutney that hides a punch, it's simple and good.

Himalaya does not compare to the best Indian restaurants in London. Service suffers and several of the dishes seem overly simplistic. Then again, this is a different market, and the restaurant turns out a decent representation at quite favorable prices.