Despite the soggy end to Summer Eights, partying students were still smiling as we made our way along the rain-washed pavements on Saturday to dinner at Qumins, an appealing Indian restaurant in St Clements.

We rarely venture to this side of the city without a restorative glass of wine in The Cape, the bustling, well-run pub at The Plain, and, true to form, we called for a shot of chardonnay tonight, the better to prepare for the feast to follow.

But not, as it turned out, to follow at once. We arrived at Qumins at 9pm to find all the tables were full or reserved. This was a situation that, frankly, had never seemed to me to be a possibility (what, on a Saturday night!), otherwise I assuredly would have booked. The boss Ali Azam said he could fit us in at 10pm. So it was off to the pub again — a different one this time. We enjoyed half an hour of chat at the Port Mahon, principally with members of Swindlestock, the eight-piece band about to perform upstairs (their name commemorates Oxford’s first pub, close to Carfax).

We returned to Qumins at the appointed time much better informed than we had been about aural archaeology (the subject of bass player Alf’s doctoral thesis) and ready, as the saying goes, to ‘murder a curry’. A number of tables were by now free and we were seated at one near the end of the dining room, close to the bar and kitchen. Cooking smells wafting in our direction suggested that we might be carrying a memento of our visit in our clothes the following day, but happily (and surprisingly) this turned out not to to be the case.

Tony Moore’s photographs say all that is necessary about the cheery, tasteful decor of the place; they also indicate something of the care that is taken in presentation of the food. Everything served to us proved to be uniformly excellent, beginning with the appetising looking plateful of crispy poppadoms with a variety of accompaniments, including onion with coriander and a delicious lime pickle.

Qumins has a wide and appealing menu. Besides the traditional range of curries, including a number of tandoori dishes, there are various specialities.

These include Murgh Nawabi (chicken breast stuffed with minced lamb), Bhindi Ghost (okra and lamb cooked in yoghurt-based masala flavoured with lemon zest and mint leaves), and Duck Jhalsa (barbecued duck cooked with red chilli flakes, honey and tomatoes).

Rosemarie began her meal with a favourite dish in this sort of restaurant, King Prawn Puri. There were two big prawns in a rich, well-spiced dark sauce, and accompanied by puri bread. I had splendid Sheek Kebabs, made from tender and distinctly fat-free minced lamb.

For my main courses I chose one of the restaurant’s Mohili curries. Hailing from Karala, at the south eastern tip of India, these are yellow coconut milk curries flavoured with garlic, curry leaves, mustard seeds and turmeric powder.

You can order the dish either with prawns or with one of four types of fish – sea bass (as in the photograph above), salmon, tuna and cod. I went for the cod, and thought it delightful. Its flavours went especially well with the Sag Dhal (spinach with lentils) that I ordered for us as a shared side dish.

Rosemarie was glad that I had, its emollient effect being just what was needed (along with her Cobra lager) to cope with the astonishing heat of her main course. She ordered Murgh Masala, chiefly because she was amused by the notion of the “wholesome sauce” that was said to come with this chicken dish.

Her concentration on this description meant she rather overlooked another advertised ingredient, fresh green chilli. Her first mouthful almost resulted in steam from her ears and she continued eating in great trepidation, convinced that the menu ought to have carried a warning.

We tackled the boss about it later over coffee (no pud tonight), but as he pointed out it is always impossible to gauge the heat of any particular chilli pod until you actually eat it. Be warned.