Formerly known as Taste of Hyderabad, the Southern Indian-themed halal restaurant Kabab and Tandoor has transformed from a hole-in-the-wall secret into the fancy dining experience American customers tend to expect with Eastern food, complete with fennel covered in colored sugar. The restaurant has changed dramatically since relocating from its cubicle-sized storefront on Lexington Street to 699 Main St. on the corner of Main and Moody. The smoke no longer seeps out from the kitchen to yellow the fading walls of the tiny dining room whenever the 500-degree tandoor oven becomes unwieldy. The sole decoration, once a framed Arabic calligraphy of the shahada, the declaration of an individual's faith in Islam, has since been replaced with diverse Muslim art needed to fill the dimly lit, much-expanded dining room. Ornate wood carvings and Arabic-covered embroidery adorn the walls. Coins and beads stitched into fabric drape over the windows and unassuming entrance, which is piled with clay pottery. For those of us who enjoy proximity to food and can stomach a whiff of burning wood, the new location seems to detract from the authenticity of the experience. However, let me assure you that the food is true to its roots. Like most Indian food, no single taste overwhelms any dish. The blend of traditional spices surrounding the halal meat reveals one truth about Eastern cuisine: They know how to cook a goat. I promise that any dish on the menu that features the words "goat" or "mutton" will not disappoint.

Visitors should get adventurous with the appetizers. The paneer pakora (cottage cheese) and mirchi pakora (hot peppers) are both under $2. The flavor of cheese is not strong enough to overwhelm and detract from the falafel-like chickpea batter in which it is fried. The freshly fried mirchi pakora defeats the stale version offered at Patel Brothers, the Indian market on Moody Street. The roasted flavor of the peppers compliments the mild heat, but the green chili sauce and tamarind chutney, which come with the mirchi, add a lot of dimension to these fried delicacies.

Another fried appetizer, the dahi wada ($3.99), features soft balls of ground lentils smothered in lightly?spiced yogurt sauce. The delectable thin sauce soaks into the balls, leaving them fresh and creamy but not soggy.

This is not the place for vegetable samosas ($2.49). The crust was thick and hard with no fluffy crunch. The filling was unfulfilling. Also, steer clear of their seafood dishes. The shrimp curry ($15.99) contains the expected elements of a yellow curry, but the crisp salty flavor of seafood is lost in the shrimp.

The nariyal chicken ($14.99) also fails to impress. The burnt orange color of saffron and fresh herbs sprinkled over chicken cubes made for a very attractive dish, but the promised coconut flavor was lacking and the chicken was undoubtedly overcooked to the point of having a woody-textured crust: a casualty of the tandoor furnace.

Unlike many Indian restaurants, the vegetable dishes are not predominant. Being halal, the restaurant justifiably features its selection of blessed meats. The prices have risen since the reopening, with the average entrée costing around $15. The haleem dishes are the most exotic and interesting on the menu. Whether you choose goat or beef is a matter of preference, but either way the spicy meat stew-cooked with dairy products and ghee (clarified butter) will melt on your tongue. Creaminess defines the texture, and I would recommend one of their griddle-fried flat breads such as the paratha or chapati as your utensil. The bread also adds a charred flavor to the dish's complex meaty heat. The haleem is sprinkled with fresh parsley and limes and contains, in addition to meat, tons of garlic, caramelized onions and other broken-down beans and vegetables.

The mutton biryani is simple and delicious. The meat is smoky with the flavor of the bone and the seasoned basmati rice is well-accompanied by that delicious yogurt sauce. Diners who prefer to avoid spiciness might wish to select a biryani dish.

Kabab and Tandoor's expansion often leaves the dining room empty and silent, with no music or sounds of the kitchen to remind diners of the authenticity of their tandoori experience. The environment is reminiscent of the library on a weeknight. The beauty of the restaurant is made awkward by pure silence, but now guests are able to sit in booths and interact with one another without blinking away spicy tears. Diners can no longer feel intimate with the cooking of their food but are now able to comfortably focus on devouring it. But if you eat all these diverse spices too quickly, you may once again find yourself on the verge of tears.