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AFTER THE MANGOSTEEN daiquiri misted tableside with lime oil, the cheesy garlic naan, the broccoli salad with pistachios and mint, the pink peppered pineapple soda, the tandoori half-chicken with tingling green chutney, the crock of thick, savory, buttery black dal—after all that, served in the celadon-green Permit Room in Notting Hill, no, I did not need dessert.

- BY ADAM ERACE

Enter the brownie to end all brownies. It came cloaked in malai, the Indian version of clotted cream, and pulverized jaggery. My spoon slipped through, revealing an interior so moist and black, it looked like you could grow tomatoes in it.

Dessert was not, however, the sweetest thing about this epic meal at the Permit Room, a branch of the London-based Dishoom empire. The sweetest part was the fact that the only thing separating me from postprandial relaxation in a waffle-knit robe was a viridian stairwell up to the Lodgings—a one-room hotel I had all to myself.

The two-bedroom, two-bathroom flat, splashed with exuberant fabrics and Art Deco lighting, has arched windows that look out on the neighborhood's famous Portobello Road Market, where tourists and locals skitter between stalls hawking silver teapots, first-edition books, and vintage Burberry trench coats. And there were plenty of treasures to find in the Lodgings, too, including a smart vinyl collection and a veritable museum of modern South Asian art curated by the L.A. gallerist Rajiv Menon.