Paaji’s At The Kean’s Head

Indo Chinese Bang Bang Chicken

If Jay Rayner, with his majestic moustache and penchant for fine dining, ever graces Nottingham again, he needs to take a detour to this hidden gem I'm about to indulge you with.

For those not yet acquainted with Jay, he’s not just a culinary food critic with a cutting wit but also a pianist in The Jay Rayner Sextet – a band that weaves 80s pop nostalgia into jazzy brilliance. He's a connoisseur of flavour, known for his devotion to Kushi-Ya right here in Nottingham. And while I may have a mild foodie crush on him, it’s purely platonic – food and music lovers’ solidarity, if you will.

I present to you the Keans Head, a pub tucked within the historical embrace of Nottingham’s Lace Market. It’s a single-room retreat, opposite the Gothic spires of St. Mary’s Church, a Castle Rock brewery oasis where quality pours from the taps and spills into the plates. But today, we’re not just talking pints. No, today is about Paaji’s, the vibrant Indian street food haven residing within these walls, waiting to stir your senses.

I’m often found here for a pint with a mate, but this time, my stomach did the talking. Business chat? Sure, but first – food.

Having only flirted with Paaji’s menu in the past, today was the day to take the plunge. John, the ever-gracious manager, handed me my usual bottle of Pinot Noir, and I scanned the offerings. Small plates, large plates – it all looked amazing, but I zeroed in on three small but mighty dishes.

First, the Lamb Seekh Kebab. Imagine lamb marinated in green chilli, coriander, and cumin, each spice painting its own stroke of heat and fragrance, the kebab chargrilled to perfection. Then came the Amritsari Fish Pakora, a creation marinated in lime, ginger, garlic, and flavoured with turmeric, cardamom, and fenugreek – golden morsels lightly touched by the frying pan in gram flour. And to finish, Indo Chinese Bang Bang – a dish as playful as it sounds, spiced chicken deep-fried to a glorious crisp and glazed with their signature garlic chilli sauce. My inner foodie was ready for battle.

Plate after plate landed in front of me like pieces of food art. The kebab, juicy and bursting with smoky charm, danced on my tongue, complemented by the zesty onion-coriander relish. The Bang Bang was amazing – the crispiness of the batter giving way to tender chicken bathed in a sticky, spicy glaze that clung to the taste buds. Every bite brought that satisfying tingle of garlic and chilli, tempered beautifully by gulps of velvety Pinot Noir.

Then came the Amritsari Fish Pakora. Restraint was a challenge—I was tempted to dive face-first into it, like an Olympic diver aiming for a perfect 10 (too much? I was starving).

Crispy, aromatic, and spiced to perfection, it delivered layers of textures and flavours—from the sharp tang of lime to the warm, earthy embrace of cardamom and turmeric. Every bite was a celebration of Indian street food, a riot of magic on my palate. And yes, I may have been making a few happy noises along the way (grunts, my partner would clarify).

In mere moments, the plates were cleared, each one devoured with the kind of gusto that only hunger and excellent food can elicit. John reappeared, his brow lifted, awaiting my verdict. "Delicious," I mumbled, savouring every last lingering taste.

The conversation at the bar turned to music trivia – who topped the charts with an instrumental song in 1968 my mate called out. Hugo Montenegro’s The Good, The Bad and The Ugly I exclaimed. As I stood there victorious, all I could think about was how Paaji’s had nailed the ‘good’ bit. No bad, no ugly – just sheer, unadulterated joy.

So, Jay, next time you're in town, drop by for a pint, and while you’re at it, get some Paaji’s down that beautifully moustachioed face of yours. Trust me – you’ll love it.