Rajdoot, 78-79 George Street, Hockley, Birmingham, B3 1PY T: 0121 236 1116

You know that gut-wrenching feeling you get on a Sunday night, the churning in the pit of the stomach sparked by the thought of another week at the corporate coal-face?

Forget it, it’s a thing of the past.

I have discovered the cure for the Sunday night “Darling-they-all-hate-me-I’m-not-going-in-there-I’m-going-to-throw-up” blues. And the benefits don’t end here. Not only does my discovery present the ideal way to stick it to The Man and show that you’re not cowed by the crack by the boardroom whip.

With one breathless bound it also allows you to get out of the late-afternoon, slightly drunk, marginally resentful ritual of having to tackle the post-roast washing up. The solution is beautifully simple: you go out for dinner on Sunday night.

It’s totally left field. When everyone else is huddling around the three-bar electric heater watching reruns of Heartbeat, you get to extend the weekend by a few precious hours by pretending it’s still Saturday. Any nagging nausea disappears and serotonin levels soar.

There is, naturally, a minor flaw with the Sunday night dining gig. Most places are shut. Chefs work their socks off during the week, often opening for Sunday lunch, and most of them temporarily whip off their aprons, Hezbollah bandanas and rubber shoes on Sunday night.

The irony for these lovers of food is that most restaurants worth their salt are closed. After they have attended evensong and called their turf accountant, there is little for chefs to do, still less to eat, on Sunday evenings.

Chefs famously disagree with anything food critics write, so they won’t be bothered by what I recommend. But for any non-chefs who, like me, see the benefits of Sunday night denial eating, I’d suggest giving an old Brummie favourite a whirl.

Rajdoot has been in Hockley since 2002 and was turning out North Indian food in the city centre for several decades before that. In Birmingham terms, Rajdoot is a grande dame of the culinary scene, a nailed-on institution.

Needless to say, I had never eaten there and only ended up at its front door by default. I had intended to dine in Walsall but discovered the town is near Wolverhampton and bottled it.

So Rajdoot it was, because it was open. As is the way with city restaurants, the place has had a celebrity following over the years. Cue-pumper turned snooker pundit Steve Davis and small dog owner Geri Halliwell have both popped in for a poppadum but you don’t have to be ginger to eat here. Indeed, I have hardly any hair and no one batted an eyelid when I walked in.

Set in a jaded industrial street of yesteryear Brum charm, Rajdoot is surprisingly comfortable and stylish without being Indian Disney. I know this because I kept looking around, both in the bar and in the dining room, and saying: “Ehh, it’s all right, isn’t it?”

There are reds, oranges, browns, statues with gravity defying breasts, seats. It’s got it all.