The story of Clay’s, an independent Indian restaurant in Caversham, Berkshire, is testament to the level of wild-eyed determination needed to follow your dreams and open your own place. The current hospitality climate suggests that, by 2024, my closest “restaurant” on the east London/Essex border could well be the Cinnabon concession at my local Asda, a profitable meeting of big brands selling 1,090 calorie-a-whirl, factory-made caramel PecanBons, so my hope is that, by the time the current madness eventually ends, at least some family-run, bespoke, flights of the imagination such as Clay’s will have survived.
Serving authentic Hyderbadi food that will puzzle anyone looking for a garish orange chicken tikka masala with half-rice, half-chips, Clay’s is now in its second incarnation, this time in a suburb of Reading north of the town centre. If you take the train to Reading, you can walk to Clay’s in 10-15 minutes, through the park and over Caversham bridge, which at the moment has a Hitchcockian number of ducks, geese and swans milling about, which is wonderful, although ornithophobics may prefer to take a cab. Either way, you cannot miss Clay’s: it was once a Wetherspoon’s, ergo it is enormous, and the front is now painted TeleTubbies Laa-Laa-yellow with Royal Mail-red lettering. Everything about Clay’s says: “This time, we are going big.”
