Lunch and Dinner at the Indian YMCA

In my pursuit of trying restaurants in modernist buildings, I decided to visit the Indian YMCA in Fitzrovia—one of my favourite areas in London. It’s a building I’ve passed dozens of times and is well known for its budget-friendly restaurant. Its plate-glass windows are plastered with large posters displaying a collage of Indian dishes and the slogan ‘Come and experience the magic of Indian cuisine’—but I had never actually been inside, let alone eaten there.

The Indian YMCA has a rich and significant history. It was founded in London in 1920 by K.T. Paul, the first Indian-born General Secretary of the National Council of YMCAs of India, as a cultural and social hub for Indian students in the UK. Its original premises on Gower Street became an important site for meetings, lectures and debates around the movement for Indian independence before being damaged during the Second World War. The current Fitzrovia site was made possible through compensation and a grant from the War Damage Commission. The foundation stone was laid by V.K. Krishna Menon—a prominent campaigner and future High Commissioner—while the building was officially opened in 1953 by his successor, B.G. Kher. That same year, it was visited by Jawaharlal Nehru, India’s first Prime Minister.

Designed by Ralph Tubbs, the building is constructed in reinforced concrete and red brick and features Portland stone cladding. The structure spans seven bays and features floor-to-ceiling glazing on the ground floor supported by pilotis. A continuous band of metal-framed glazing defines the first floor, while the upper levels feature a series of window openings. The distinctive roof includes a semi-domed prayer room and a flat for the warden. Internally, the building is organised around a dramatic diagonal staircase that pivots around a single piloti rising through a multi-level foyer. The Grade II-listed building remains active in its original purpose, still offering affordable rooms and a strong sense of community. Despite its listed status, however, today it feels a bit run down and is perhaps less appreciated for its architecture than for its price and function.

On a hot Saturday lunchtime (what was I thinking?), I wandered up to reception and asked if it was possible to look around the building. Unfortunately, I was told not today, but I was welcome to come back during the week when the general manager is in. I could, however, go to the restaurant where the set lunch was on offer with a 20% discount: £16 instead of the usual £20.

The long canteen is flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows—one side facing Fitzroy Street to the west, and on the other, a pleasant courtyard with tables and chairs where you can also sit and eat. At the far end of the room is the kitchen fronted by a row of large metal vats brimming with fragrant, colourful Indian dishes, where you help yourself to whatever’s on offer. A friendly chef talked me through each of the dishes and invited me to take plain rice, dhal, a pea and tofu curry, and tandoori chicken—I scooped each one into my stainless steel tray with its little round and square compartments. I hesitated when I came to a bowl of white, rice-pudding-textured sloppy stuff. I was told, reassuringly, that it was curd rice. “Ah, okay. I’ve never had that before. I’ll try it.” I plopped a timid scoop into my tray; the chef grabbed the serving spoon from me, gave it a good stir, and added a proper dollop to my plate. Ok.

The communal dining setup, with its long tables often shared by strangers, naturally encourages conversation, creating a relaxed and unpretentious atmosphere, but if you’re hoping for mid-century tables and chairs, you’ll be disappointed. When I visited, the room was about 20% full, mostly with Indian students, apart from one American tourist. I opted for what looked like original booths at the back of the room.

I made my way sampling the various dishes—which weren’t unpleasant by any means—but anyone who’s ever dined with me knows that I have some ‘texture issues’ with food. I don’t mind different textures—it’s just that I need to know exactly what they are. Encountering something hard when I’m expecting something soft is my idea of hell, so this wasn’t really the ideal meal setup for me. I was on safer ground with the pillowy, doughy bread on the side, and a sweet mint drink finished the meal. Navigating a tray with its little compartments, resembling a toddler’s plate, I must admit I left feeling like a fussy child. Still, I figured it might be worth going back to try the à la carte dinner.

After finishing my lunch, I wandered downstairs to the loo and noticed a door that was slightly open. I slipped inside and came across the Mahatma Gandhi Memorial Hall in the basement—a striking space definitely worth seeing, though I half-expected to be told off for being there. The hall has long served as a venue for cultural and political events, including Republic Day celebrations and speeches by figures such as V.K. Krishna Menon.

When I got home, I checked their website: À La Carte Dinner Menu (served 17.30–21.00, Monday to Friday). Great—that’s more like it. The sample menu boasted a choice of vegetarian or meat dishes with a selection of starters, curries, biryanis and rotis. I couldn’t wait. But this time I thought it would be better to take someone with me. Who better than my friend Jules, who is an aficionado when it comes to Indian food? Unfortunately, when it came to the day she was busy, so I persuaded my friend Martin, who was over from Amsterdam for a couple of weeks, to join me.

We turned up at 8.30pm and entered the canteen. I scanned the room, but couldn’t see any menus on the tables—just the familiar vats of food at one end of the room. It quickly became clear this was just the same setup as before. My heart sunk.

A less-friendly-than-last-time chef greeted us and told us to hurry up and pay first at the till. The vats of curry were by this time nearly empty, but I paid the £16 each and scraped what was left of the food onto my tray. I felt even more short-changed than on my first visit. Poor Martin—whom I hadn’t fully briefed—was a bit stunned. He tentatively copied me and started helping himself to the offerings: chicken curry, vegetable kofta, rice, chapati—only to have the serving spoon swiped from his hand by someone behind him keen to get seconds before it all disappeared. I then realised the kitchen closed at 8.30pm. This wasn’t going as well as I had hoped.

It was a warm evening, so we chose to sit and eat outside in the courtyard. We both agreed the food was, in fact, rather good (Martin grumbled about the rice, but it seemed perfectly fine to me). Dessert was a curious-looking dish that resembled stewed fruit but turned out to be a syrupy sponge situation—actually very tasty. In fact, had we been hungry and had arrived in time for seconds, the £16 was very good value. We had barely finished the meal before we were ushered back inside.

Although we both enjoyed the slightly surreal and somewhat abrupt experience, Martin pointed out it wasn’t quite the Lasdun, was it? I agreed and told him that if he finds a fitting venue in Amsterdam and writes it up, I’ll get on the Eurostar and pick up the bill.

YMCA Indian Student Hostel 41 Fitzroy Square, London W1T 6AQ indianymca.org