Indo or China?

This restaurant review starts on an interminable car trip, without AC and two large dogs fighting the passenger for her seat.

We’d already exhausted the usual car games of 20 questions, name the person you’d least like to see naked and the one you’d most like to see in the same state, and elephant tracks.

We’d covered our favorite movies, books and albums several states back. It was time for debate. The topic: What country offers the best vegetarian cuisine? We were too hot and dumb to discuss politics or religion in a 1980s diesel- fueled Mercedes. Besides, it was two more hours to the beach and neither of us wanted to have to hitch the rest of the way.

"I vote for China. No other place offers as many vegetables. What they do to greens should be mandatory teaching in the public schools. The dumpling and noodle dishes – heaven sent! And, don’t forget about the Chinese take on tofu – I can’t think of any other place that treats this protein as both an entrée and a dessert with regularity," said My Dear One.

"No – India has the most sophisticated, nuanced, varied vegetarian dishes of any country. Of this cuisine, I will never tire," said I.

It is a fact that humans crave variety. Our pleasure centers in the brain light up when presented with it. Add a little heat to food and release some of the same endorphins as during kissing. I’m hungry now-thinking about crispy curry laden fritters. We should eat.

Besides, the Chinese certainly are not known for their bread, while Indian kitchens pump out crispy papadan and cloud-filled naan.

How can China have the best vegetarian cuisine and exclude the staff of life?

We volleyed until she acquiesced to shut me up. After 15 minutes of hard won silence I knew I had to take her out for recompense. We’d probably eat some meat after this exchange.

Dear One and I go to Anokha (the name of this restaurant means "unique") in downtown Short Pump. I’d gone once already and sampled a couple of dishes that were beckoning me back.

The Shrimp Madras, $9, I remembered fondly as an appetizer of translucent sautéed shrimp over a cooling raita, finished with crunchy peppercorns that slid from their jackets like a woman from an opera coat; and the coconut curry soup, $4, was a fragrant bowl of coconut broth, lime and fried curry leaves. Both dishes were hauntingly good, so I’m confident as we are led to our seats.

The restaurant is airy and bright, with both tables and banquette seating in the dining room. Our host greets us quickly and takes us to the back of the room, which is packed with lunch business, but seats us close enough to another table that we can hear every whispered word of their conversation, even though the front half of the restaurant is empty.

"Can we have a banquette on the other side of the restaurant?" I say to the host.

No problem.

We amble to an empty wall of six tables. Within two minutes another table is seated practically in our laps. I’m starting to feel like they are filling a bus, not seating a restaurant.

The condiment tray arrives, holding cucumber raita, mint and herb chutney and an almost sickly sweet tamarind chutney. We order lime pickles, mango chutney, $3 each and an onion kulcha, $4. The tandori baked bread, rife with onion and peppers is soft on the outside, spicy and vegetal on the inside. I feel good about this.

My confidence fades with our entrees. Dear One’s vegetable curry, $13, an off- the- menu- dish recommended by our waiter, tastes like something I might have whipped up in college from a jar of tomato sauce, a bag of frozen vegetables and a handful of Indian spices. This dish belongs in an institution.

The yellow lamb curry, $9.50, smells exotic, redolent with spices and dairy, but the lamb is tough. The dish, described as spicy, is as mild as milk. The Riesling we are sipping on to put out the nonexistent fire, clashes with this dish. To add insult to injury, they forgot to bring our appetizers. Dear One gloats as I pay the check, which includes the no-show apps.

We returned a few nights later for Palak Paneer, $12, and it redeems the middle- of -the -road lunch. The spinach and house-made cheese was everything I’d argued for earlier; creamy, sensual, spicy and rich –I wanted to dab it behind my ears as an aphrodisiac. Seated at the bar, on buttery stools in a tiny lounge,

Dear One and I praised the lengthy wine list, and ordered a of bottle pinot noir to have with our spinach and cheese. Often the wine list is overlook at Indian restaurants in Richmond in favor of beefing up the beer or cocktail choices, but not at Anokha, where the tables are preset with wine glasses to encourage its consumption.

But the wine list isn't the best thing about Anokha. The best part of the restaurant is what it leaves out. You won't find a buffet, religious shrines, or clouds of incense at this place. For those things, try a Chinese eatery.