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When was the last time you sat at a dinner table to enjoy an unhurried meal without watching Netflix or furtively swiping through your phone?
Me, I can’t remember. It’s shameful, but I can’t remember.
I hadn’t really thought too much about remedying that until the supper club craze enveloped Delhi. Dining out’s always had a slightly hectic edge, and sometimes feels like more trouble than it’s worth: making a reservation, choosing a dish from an often too-long menu, talking loud enough to be heard over the chatter of strangers sitting nearby. The idea of Supper clubs seemed fun – a way to meet new people, make conversation, and eat set dishes that you know for a fact haven’t been mass-produced.
Jimmno immediately caught my eye for a bunch of reasons. Run by Guddu, a 64-year-old father residing in Vasant Kunj, the supper club’s named after jimmno, the Marwari word that means eating together – and it’s the ethos that Guddu hopes diners feel every time he hosts them.
‘For me, cooking’s a kind of madness. It’s not supposed to be designed for shortcuts or spectacle,’ says Guddu. Ingredients here are handpicked and fresh. The flour and spices are ground at home, and the ghee is made in-house. Every dish is slow-cooked with a patience that even most households find difficult to manage.
My evening at Guddu’s home was hosted by him, plus his two daughters, Mridula and Vipula. Everything about the meal was Rajasthani themed – from the decor in his living room, to the overall atmosphere, including the folk music, which made me feel like I was sitting in a home in Rajasthan.
Over the course of my meal, they took us through each dish – not just the ingredients and cooking process, but also the memories and stories behind them. For Marwaris living far from home, the flavours landed with an added emotional weight.
The meal began with jowar ki rab, a warm, earthy, spiced drink to prepare your gut for the meal to follow.
Then came my favourite dish of the night, gajar ka halwa (dessert before dinner, anyone?). This was carrot halwa like I’d never tasted before. It was rich, silky smooth, and melted in my mouth. Not too sweet, and a perfect counterpoint to the tangy rab.
A series of traditional Rajasthani dishes followed, but two especially stood out to me: the aloo palak korma and the laal maans.
Guddu quipped that he takes it as a personal challenge to make people enjoy vegetables they usually avoid, and he succeeded spectacularly with the aloo palak korma. The spinach was slow-cooked into a luxuriously smooth, deeply flavoured base, with no trace of its usual bitterness. You’d never guess there was spinach in there if you didn’t already know!
The laas maans and bajra roti – a Rajasthani delicacy – was where I had high expectations, obviously, and boy, did it deliver. The meat was meltingly tender, falling off the bone, and the complex masala shone through without being overwhelmed by tomato paste, as subpar laal maans often does.
Eating the meal with strangers (the supper club can seat up to 10 people), by the way, can feel intimidating, but surprisingly, I found myself easing into it soon after we were seated. The warmth of the hosts set the tone, and after a quick round of introductions, everyone was chit-chatting, swapping stories, and of course, appreciating the food. So much so that we almost ended up overstaying our welcome.
And so we left the evening with full bellies, a newfound appreciation for slow-cooked Rajasthani food, and a goodie bag of homemade laddoos. And maybe even a new friend or two.