The setting couldn't be less promising—a strip mall dwarfed by a jumbo Kmart that presents its backside to the street. Hair swept up in a ducktail, a 50-year-old lays a screeching patch right in front of us with his blue muscle car. We wonder if he's on the lam from Creedmoor Psychiatric Center, a few blocks west. With the acrid smell of burning rubber in our nostrils we enter Santoor, and—noting the restaurant's unappetizing green walls and bubbling, L-shaped buffet—almost turn around. But one look at the ambitious menu and our... More >>>