The intimate tower room, with its indigo ceiling shimmering with gold stars, must be one of the most spectacularly appointed dining alcoves in any Front Range restaurant. It's a snug cubbyhole, embellished with ornate wooden chairs, padded banquettes with fringed pillows and a curtain to keep spectators from peering in from the brightly lit main dining room.

A self-guided tour through Yak and Yeti revealed that the rambling Victorian home - and former British brewpub - has a multitude of private dining rooms, including a lovely library with hundreds of shelved books and haphazardly strewn knickknacks.

But this night an excruciatingly loud group of birthday revelers had not been seated in one of the secluded nooks, opting instead to shake the house down in the main dining room, just beyond our curtains. In all fairness, they were there first. But by the time we left, my head was reeling from the din and aching for Advil.

It was not a pleasant experience, and the fact that we were the clear loners, the forgotten few who sat in our chamber counting the stars like sheep, forlornly waiting for someone - anyone - on the staff to notice our presence, just added to the aggravation. When you have to remind the hostess that you've been hanging out in exile for 15 minutes, you start to wonder if you've worn out your welcome before your water arrives.

Then, just as we were ready to give up, an out-of-breath server swooshed through the curtains and apologized for a full five minutes in a beautifully melodic Indian accent that somehow drowned out the deafening commotion outside our doorway. It was a momentary reprieve, however, torpedoed by the busboys who covered for her while she had to deal with the boisterous birthday group. They were incredibly sweet but clumsy, yanking glasses away while they were still full, fumbling with plates and unsure about the protocol of to-go boxes. They were only slightly more competent during a second visit.

It would have been a complete comedy of errors were it not for the food, a mix of Indian and Tibetan that, while similar to every other menu of this ilk, is represented well, the aromas an intoxicating mix of enchanting spices that perfume the air.

The fact that Yak and Yeti brews its own beers, like the Cheshire Cat before it, is another highlight. There are also martinis, stiff drinks made with Jack and forgettable wines. Stick with the mood-lifting brews.

They pair well with the silver platter of papadums ($2.50), crisped lentil wafers accompanied by four chutneys, the best of which is the mint.

Samosas ($3.95), deftly fried, shaped like cones and properly puffed with curried potatoes and peas, were greaseless and delicate. And a dish called fresh soybean pickle ($4.95) yielded shelled legumes in a tangy soak - much like pickle juice - tossed with red onion, garlic, ginger and sparks of fresh jalapenos. It's light, refreshing and delicious.

The kitchen also does a formidable job with its tandoori presentations, most notably the salmon ($14.95), a revelation of smoky, moist flesh, simply marinated in yogurt and Indian spices and blackened and charred on the edges. Of all the dishes I noshed through at Yak and Yeti, this was my favorite.

On the flip side, I was disappointed with the chicken tikka masala ($12.95), the concessionary Indian curry that shows up on every Indian menu. Here it's downgraded to a watery, soupy bath devoid of temperament and verve.

This is a restaurant where you have to press the kitchen if you want your curries flashed with fire, another compromise to the American palate. But when the crew listens, magic suddenly appears, as it did with the shrimp kadai ($13.95), a smoothly textured and flavor- swirled curry wild with lashings of heat.

If you require a fire extinguisher, the saag paneer ($10.95), dense cubes of housemade white cheese cooked with spinach and ground spices, soothes the burn, as does the seductively creamy vegetable makhani ($10.95) with its underlying sweetness.

A small portion of the menu is devoted to Tibetan dishes, including platters of momos ($10.95 vegetarian, $11.95 chicken), handmade dumplings that are steamed or fried and jacketed with either cabbage or minced chicken. Both are pliant and soft and sided with piquant tomato chutney.

Tandoori-slapped breads - buttery, garlic- laced naan ($2.95) and flaky alu paratha ($3) stuffed with potatoes and onions - are perfectly acceptable, if not the best I've had, but the basmati rice, lighter than air and impossibly fluffy, is absolutely perfect.

So perfect, in fact, that it hushes you into silence. Unless, of course, it's your birthday.

Yak and Yeti

* Grade: B-

* Address: 7803 Ralston Road; second location at 8665 N. Sheridan Blvd.

* Hours: Lunch and dinner daily

* Food: Indian

* How much: $2.95-$8.95 starters; $9.95-$14.95 main dishes

* Reservations: Not necessary

* Noise: Unbearably loud when it's busy

* Information: 303-468-9000; theyakandyeti.com

* Parking: Complimentary lot

Back to Top