In a world full of Marie Kondo acolytes and colour-coded Google calendars, Tayyabs is deliciously unruly. A hurricane in restaurant form that once sent a tandoori lamb chop into the stratosphere, this sprawling Punjabi institution in Whitechapel has been synonymous with a good time since 1972. Before the Queen died, Tayyabs had the most famous queue in London. Sometimes it’s short and stubby, other times it slithers down Fieldgate Street. It’s a mixture of first and 50th family birthdays, untucked M&S shirts, and screeching school reunions gripping their jingling bags from the off licence. You can book, but sometimes turning up is more fun. Nobody wavers. Some crack a beer. The sight of the neon blue lights and the smell of sizzling lamb chops means that heels are firmly dug in. Given their almost inter-planetary fame, the chops are a must. They’re not the best by any means. But they’re skinny, charred, and one person can easily wolf all four. You’ll see plenty moving around the room, along with satisfying karahis and wobbling naans. All of it is pleasing food that isn’t intent on being spectacular. Only newbies come to Tayyabs with a completely empty stomach, and most people in this room look like they know their way around a seekh kebab. You could compare Tayyabs to other restaurants, but this place operates more like an F1 pit. Dry meat curry, chops, karahi gosht, lassi, and naan is made and then reloaded, made and then reloaded. Come with a bottle. More importantly, come with bodies. It’s the Tayyabs formula, and London is all the better for it.