Dhruv Kapoor

This Saturday, I shared caramel popcorn, a diet coke and some nachos with Anthony Bourdain. Obviously, this choice of meal wouldn’t be my first. I walked into TONY, a new film about Bourdain’s life, expecting to learn four new things about food I can't pronounce, and to walk out with enough material to philosophise about a complicated – sometimes hardcore, if I may – man.  I was wrong on both counts. TONY isn't really about the places he travelled to, the food he ate, or the larger-than-life persona we've built around  him through his shows and the endless Bourdain-isms on social media. It's a film about one summer in his life. That coming-of-age, traumatic, heartfelt summer had me thinking about something else entirely: the impact Bourdain had on how I see the world.  Room for the unexpected One of Bourdain's most interesting episodes (Parts Unknown, Season 4, Episode 6) has him landing in Iran, visibly confused by the warmth he finds in a place he'd only ever heard bad things about.  I remember watching it while planning a drive from Seattle to San Francisco down to the last detail. I’m talking bookmarked restaurants, a dozen open tabs, a running mental list. After that episode, ALL of it had to go. Except, maybe, my flight and a hotel booking. Everything after? Pure discovery. What finds me finds me.  I still think about that drive… stumbling onto the beach town of Carmel, the Danish pastries in Solvang, a little seafood shack whose name I've forgotten but whose sea urchin

There are two kinds of people at a nine-course tasting menu: people like me, who’ve made peace with tiny portions, and people like my father, seated across from me, for whom dinner means big plates, big portions and a big nap to follow. Nine courses don’t exactly lend themselves to large portions, unless, of course, they’re meant to feed nine people instead of one, and as the plates begin to arrive, it’s clear that most of the courses are meant to be devoured in a single bite. Some, maybe, can be stretched to three. The portions may be small, but the flavours are anything but. My dad, however, isn’t impressed. Why are small portions so divisive? Miniature portions of food aren’t new, but they’ve never really been the norm, possibly because they’re almost always astronomically priced.  It’s divisive territory, no doubt. Take my father and I. He thinks micro-bites are more fad than rad, but I kind of like the restraint. Smaller portions leave room for curiosity. Instead of committing to one oversized plate, I get to explore a lot more. And lately, it seems more Indian restaurants are banking on that same sense of curiosity than ever before.  So why are small portions having such a big moment? I think the minimisation movement goes in two directions. One is the tasting menu – in which a chef has curated an experience. The meal consists of several standalone small plates, all pre-decided. There is complete surrender of the diner to the chef, who decides what comes next and how. Y