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Measuring some 2500 kilometres and boasting many of the world’s highest peaks, the Himalayas have long commanded awe and wonder.

While Indian pilgrims might have given this mountain range its name – Himalaya is Sanskrit for “the abode of snow” – the region’s PR campaign really took off after the 1933 publication of James Hilton’s Lost Horizon: a novel that established the myth of the fictional mountain utopia, Shangri-La. This heaven-on-earth narrative resonated with marketers and artists everywhere and Himalayan landmarks have since been co-opted for everything from the names of hotel chains and adventure brands to fodder for rap songs.

You’ll find elements of the mystic and the spiritual – and even hip-hop culture – at Mountain Mantras, a Bentley eatery serving the food of Bhutan and Nepal. Colourful prayer flags dot the utilitarian yet comfortable dining room. The towering mural facing the car park was spray-painted by the Holistic Graffiti Society crew. Running the show is Bhutanese couple Karma Tshering and Nirmaya Suppa, who is also the chef. While Tshering’s name chimes with the Himalayas’ reputation of being somewhere to get closer to God, his wife’s cooking is a reminder of how enjoyable earthlier delights can be.

Tender, bone-in goat curry potent with cardamom highlights the Indian influence on southern Bhutanese cooking where masala spice mixes anchor richly flavoured dishes. Like all the curries, this goat curry is best admired in a thakali khana set ($27) that includes rice, dal, pappadum and house-made achar pickles heaped on a formidable platter for one.

Similar to Japanese tsukemono and Korean banchan, achar lends colour and texture to a meal, whether it’s the savour of dried mustard green leaves or the comfort of fried matchsticks of potato brightly stained with turmeric. Each thakali also includes gulab jamun: the Indian subcontinent’s favourite fried milk dumpling. The dumpling might be the restaurant’s sole dessert option, but Suppa makes it count, not least because it’s served with a syrupy ghee made by patiently simmering butter until it surrenders into honeyed, irresistible gold.

You’ll also want to road-test the crumbly, finger-sized pork sausages ($17) quietly humming with Sichuan pepper that I’m filing under “the stuff of beer snacking dreams”; and the lollipop chicken ($18) which are superb fried chook drumettes that we all hope that “boxing chicken” will be, but rarely is. I didn’t think I’d find panipuri ($13) on the menu, nor did I expect the potato and tamarind water filling inside each fried wheat sphere to be as incendiary as it was. Wiser eaters would have interpreted the fire burning in their mouth as a stop sign. I went back for fourths.

Based on a handful of visits, it’s safe to say that the kitchen here isn’t in the business of toning down spice. There’s a comforting thwack of warming turmeric and ginger in the milky jhol broth that you can have your momo dumplings ($17) served in. Thickly sliced beef book tripe ($20) arrives doused in a thick, fiery gravy. While cheery staff happily decode and explain menu items, they say little in the way of heat warnings: not because they’re sadists, but because the crowd here is largely Bhutanese and Nepalese and/or know what they’re in for.

Other carb options include wholewheat roti (more baked chapati than a flaky, laminated prata) and selroti: a sort-of fried, spiced churro ($3) that, according to Tshering, Bhutanese children wear like edible bracelets that they peck at through the day. Noodles, as you’d hope when visiting an Asian restaurant, also feature on the double-sided A4 menu, although Mountain Mantras’ carte stars two dishes rarely sighted locally.

One is lafing ($14), a yellow, steamed wheat “noodle” made over two days. It’s similar to the dim sum classic chee cheong fun and is also used as a spring roll-style wrapper to secure an incendiary payload of peanuts, crunchy noodles and – of course – chilli before being sliced into sensible pieces. It’s hot. It’s wonderful. It’s a winning example of Tibet’s influence on Northern Bhutanese cooking.

The other noodle is bathup ($20; another Tibetan-influenced dish from Bhutan’s north): thick seatbelts of wheat with a rustic quality that reminds me of northern Chinese dao xiao mian (“knife-cut noodles”) that are made by slicing pieces of dough directly into boiling water. The bathup is served in more of that jhol and, if you like, pieces of fried dried beef: a carry-over from when Northern Bhutanese families preserved their summer bounty in preparation for the severe winters.

While Mountain Mantras is classified as a (very good) Bhutanese and Nepalese restaurant, it’s evident that this is food that’s been heavily influenced by neighbouring countries. This, I think, is a common theme for the cuisines of many border nations. Another common theme is food writers bloody-mindedly trying to determine the citizenship of individual dishes as well as pen these dish’s unauthorised biographies. (I plead guilty, your honours.)

But instead of looking at menus and debating who-owns-what, what if we shifted the discussion and led, instead, with questions pondering what-do-we-have-in-common? Considering current global events, this feels like a mantra more people would do well to embrace, not just up on the mountain, but closer to the ground too.

If anyone’s after an example of how wonderful sharing culture can be, I think I know a place.