It has become one of those truisms that gets thrown around these days, the reactionary response to the increased formal expectation of food, that well-actually sometimes the best food is found in the small local places rather than the Michelin starred restaurants. Which, yes, fine. Different axes, really, but fine, if you like. As annoying a take as that can be, sometimes it’s right. Enter Indian Rassasy, an unassuming Indian restaurant on Hotwells Road, recommended by a friend and as a result we’ve gone to celebrate his birthday. With the memories of Nutmeg still in tasting distance, we indulge ourselves. And you know what? I think it was better. I’m not a connoisseur, but I enjoyed it more. The onion bhajis, equally beautifully presented, were just as satisfying. The old Delhi butter chicken was rich, with a tangier, more tomato focused profile than I’d been expected - I’d have that any day over the duck at Nutmeg. Throw in a couple of mango lassis - truly the greatest argument for the existence of multiple deities - and I’m done for the night. Perhaps we elevate the wrong metrics, or the second order effects of what makes a restaurant special. Perhaps it’s self-fulfilling. In any case, you’d be missing out to put your tyre-company recommended blinkers on.