Chefs by Nature

WHEN PRATEEK Sadhu, the chef behind the cele­brated Himalayan restaurant Naar, presented a dish named ‘sunderkala’ (or ‘beautiful art’) at a pop-up in Delhi, it became a conversation starter. It had to, for the diners had been served hand-made finger millet flour (‘mandua atta’) noodles that were native to Uttarakhand’s Chamoli district. As the diners slurped down the noodles dipped in ‘sinki’, a Nepalese broth made with preserved and fermented radish roots, the ques­tion that bounced around the tables was this: If people living in a lesser-known part of India have been eating noodles for centuries, then why do we assume that these stringy delights, turned into a mass fashion statement by Maggi, originated in China.

Why do we have to buy the second-hand theory that the Chinese borrowed the idea of noodles from the Italian spaghetti, via Marco Polo, or, depending on who’s narrating the story, that the Venetian merchant and explorer took Chinese noodles back home and inspired the Italian equiva­lent? The origins of ‘sunderkala’ may possibly be traced back to Tibet, from where the villagers of Chamoli, which was a key point on the old Indo-Tibet­an trade route, picked up the ‘beautiful art’ of making noodles. If that were so, then did India have its own noodles before the Chinese could learn to say ‘chow mein’?

As Indian chefs go deeper discov­ering the cornucopia of ingredients scattered around the country, and the new flavours they bring to the table, they are not only making stunning discoveries, but also serving up a wow factor that makes menus fire up the imagination of the diners—and earns them accolades and honours.

If Delhiites take pride in declaring themselves to be the citizens of the Republic of Butter Chicken, ITC’s multi-award-winning Progressive South Indian restaurant, Avartana, has given them a reality check from Tamil Nadu—Uthukuli Chicken, where the differentiating ingredient is the slightly sour butter synonymous with the village near the textile city of Tiruppur after which the dish is named. It is as if the Punjabi genes of Avartana’s brand chef, Nikhil Nagpal, were yearning for something buttery yet not full fat cream-forward like butter chicken!

The other top seller from the Avartana menu is the steamed seabass, which you’re most likely to encounter at a Pan Asian restaurant, sexed up with a fermented ‘gon­gura’ emulsion (gongura being the slightly tart leaves used extensively in Andhra Pradesh, from pickles to mutton). Elsewhere, at Indian Accent, which is now led by the veteran Shantanu Mehrotra (no relative of former head Chef Manish Mehrotra), soft shell crab flavoured with narthangai, the sun-dried, salted citron popular in the South, is an old crowd pleaser.

And in Chennai, chartered accoun­tant, food historian and pop-up chef Shri Bala’s repertoire includes, to give two examples, the herb ‘manathak­kali’ (blackberry nightshade), tradi­tionally used as a remedy for stomach ulcers, and the crunchy ‘sundakkai’ (or the ‘pea aubergines’ of Thai cui­sine), which are sundried, deep fried and added to the more kozhambu (a tempered buttermilk-based gravy) or the tamarind-forward stew, sundak­kai vatha kuzhambu.

Seeing the explosion of interest among chefs in these traditional ingredients, Shri Bala, in fact, makes a strong case for hotel management stu­dents to be formally trained in under­standing and using them. “Whenever I speak in hotel management colleges, I keep asking them to introduce a mandatory paper dedicated to Indian cuisines and ingredients,” says the self-taught chef who draws heavily on ancient Sangam literature to revive recipes that have gotten lost in the blind alleys of history.

A new generation of chefs has been persistently breaking taste barriers, intelligently mixing and matching the diverse ingredients the country has to offer. As Shantanu Mehrotra tells Open, “There are so many great lo­cal ingredients in the country, but a lot of them are getting forgotten because they’re not seen as ‘fancy’ enough. Using them in ‘Modern Indian’ dishes helps keep them alive; it also shows that local doesn’t mean basic—it can be bold and totally premium too.”

Helping us understand this move­ment to go back to our backyards and come back with new discoveries, Rushina Munshaw Ghildiyal, food chronicler and author of the annual ‘Godrej Food Trends Report’, says in the course of our conversation: “In essence, using these ingredients, even in seemingly disparate culinary contexts, is all about flavour, his­tory, sustainability, innovation, and ultimately, a richer, more authentic culinary voice. It is about weaving the threads of our past into the fabric of our present and future on the plate. It is a journey of discovery that enriches both the dish and the diner’s experience.”

Local ingredients such as ‘amla’, a fruit we normally take to give our immunity a boost, has been taken to a different level by Dhruv Oberoi of Olive Bar & Kitchen in a best-selling salad—fermented amla with aamaada dressing (‘aamaada’ be­ing the ‘mango ginger’ famous in West Bengal and Tamil Nadu for absorbing the flavour of mangoes because it is grown next to mango trees). The idea of this salad came to Oberoi when he introduced ‘amla’ as a daily must-have in the Olive staff cafeteria during the days of Covid. It was meant to be an insurance policy against the pandemic. Oberoi had earlier got introduced to ‘aamaada’ by a chef from West Bengal, whom everyone lovingly calls Shibu Dada. It took the inventive chef in him to combine the two and produce a salad that Delhi’s stiletto set doesn’t seem to have enough of.

It took the same leap of imagination to turn the famous Leh berry (Ladakh’s challengingly tart seabuckthorn) into a vinaigrette to perk up Burrata cheese and beetroot salad, marrying the gooey creaminess of the cheese, the bland taste of the heart-friendly beetroot and the gently sweetened seabuck­thorn vinaigrette into a salad that flies off the Olive kitchen. Inspired by its success, Oberoi recently served ‘phuchka’ (‘gol gappa’, Kolkata style) loaded up with a seabuckthorn sorbet. Now that’s serious competition for Raju, the hero of many a viral video for his famous chaat corner at Delhi’s Little Bengal, Chittaranjan Park.

THE LAST DECADE can be called the age of discoveries for a new generation of Indian chefs dying to get out of the straitjacket of conventional wisdom. It was the time when imported ingredients, which gave the seniors in the profession their bragging rights, began to be frowned upon by financially prudent hotel and restaurant operators, who swore by their bottom line and not by their stocks of Boursin and Bratwurst.

It was also the time when ‘foie gras’ was banned in India, when the Fuku­shima earthquake and tsunami created a scare about Japanese fish being affected by possible radioactivity as a result of the hit taken by the local nuclear power facility, and when the Food Safety and Standards Authority of India (FSSAI) started making food imports more difficult than ever by imposing the most stringent labelling rules. These multiple adversities turned out to be happy coincidences be­cause these compelled chefs to look around them for solutions. No fish for your sushi from Tokyo Sea? Not to worry. Cast your net into the Andaman Sea and get your daily supply of ‘hamachi’ (yellowfin tuna). And what about sticky rice? Or pomelo to go into the undyingly popular Thai salad? Call Manipur and check out the ‘chakhao’ (sticky black rice) and the ‘nobab’ (the state’s vitamin-C-loaded grapefruit pomelo).

Look a little afar and get your pump­kins and tree tomatoes (best for soups and salsas, respectively) from Nagaland, insist on your turmeric being of the Lakadong kind from Meghalaya, tantalise your guest with the sweetness of Tripura’s Queen Pineapple and of course, a pinch of the fiery raja chillies, also from Nagaland, or the fear-inducing ‘bhoot jolokia’ from Assam, can make you forget wasabi. Any­one for bhoot jolokia mayonnaise?

Diners are happily embracing ‘exotic’ ingredients, as Tanisha Phanbuh has been finding out since 2017, when she established her catering company, Tribal Gourmet, using items such as fiddlehead fern, sawtooth coriander, tree tomatoes, stinky bean, pumpkin tendrils and wild Sichuan pepper leaves.

Phanbuh’s favourite, in fact, is a pump­kin and mixed beans soup drizzled with a wild Sichuan pepper leaf oil; another of her standout dishes is deep-fried oyster mushrooms served with a sawtooth coriander chimichurri and fermented beans aioli. Yes, the notorious fermented

beans are locally known as ‘Axone’, which is also the title of Nicholas Kharkongor’s hilarious 2019 comedy-drama film that explores how Delhi used to react to north-eastern cooking before Humayunpur’s restaurants made the cuisines of the Seven Sisters and One Brother a fashion­able option in a fickle city.

SPEAKING FOR CHEFS who are pushing the envelope of inven­tiveness, Adwait Anantwar of Inja, the Indo-Japanese fusion restaurant with a growing fan following, tells Open, “Many of these ingredients are lesser-known, but have unique flavour profiles that can elevate dishes. By bringing them into the mainstream, we give these ingredients the platform they deserve, expanding the culinary landscape and connecting people to the roots of India’s gastronomic traditions.”

At the restaurant whose kitchen he presides over, Anantwar’s tartare of tuna pomelo chaat comes with a sprinkle of crushed ‘jakhiya’ seeds from Uttarakhand for that umami punch. Naga smoked pork, meanwhile, is the hero ingredient of another of Inja’s standout dishes where the meat comes paired with corn raab (the heart-warming soup popular in Rajast­han) and Japanese soba noodles. Likewise, good old ‘bael’ (wood apple), which tra­ditionally has been used to prepare thirst quenchers, shows up on Inja’s menu as a dessert: bael reduction flavoured with tulsi and sancho pepper masala.

From another less-exposed part of India, Jharkhand (where each of the 32 resident tribes has its own culinary tradi­tion), Manisha Oraon, a dental surgeon who doubles as a food evangelist, has opened an entirely new world of tastes and flavours.

Oraon’s tangy chutney prepared with red ants was a big hit at a recent food festival presented by her restaurant-in-a-farm, The Open Field, at a five-star hotel in Delhi. As was her baked mohua kheer, where the standout ingredients are mo­hua flowers, commonly used to produce a rustic liquor, and the heirloom ‘goda’ rice, which needs very little water to grow and is also known for its low glycemic index.

“Using these ‘traditional’ or ‘forgotten’ ingredients isn’t about nostalgia, it’s about learning from a food system that has always understood the need for balance,” Oraon explains, “As chefs, we have the chance to bridge these older ways with contemporary dining and the ingredients themselves carry the story forward.”

Is this obsession with foraging and discovery a passing fancy or is there a bigger purpose to it? Maybe Oberoi of Olive Bar & Kitchen has the answer. “When we use Indian ingredients, we weave the story of our land into the plate,” says the young chef who likes to use the term ‘glocal’ to describe his culinary style. “India offers an incredible portfolio of produce, spices and indig­enous techniques that vary dramatically from one village, city or region to the next. Incorporating these elements often unlocks unexpected yet beautiful new dimensions within familiar formats. This way, food becomes more than just a recipe, it becomes an expression of local terroir and the imagination of the individual.”

chefsfood culturefood fashionimaginationLocal ingredientsmenusnutritionSisho leaf Tuna