Geetika Sachdev

Chef Anahita Dhondy didn’t imagine she’d be running SodaBottleOpenerWala at 23. That decision – an audacious one by restaurateur AD Singh – dropped her straight into a high-pressure kitchen when most people her age were still figuring out their lives. And it worked. Even though the restaurant has since shuttered, Anahita’s name is still irrevocably tied to Parsi food in Delhi.  When she first stepped into a professional kitchen at 18, her goals were modest: survive the grind, don’t get yelled at too much, and get through service. Somewhere between her internships at Taj Delhi, a stint at Le Cordon Bleu in London, and SodaBottleOpenerWala, that modest need to survive blossomed into the very real ambition to succeed.  ‘The only reason Chef Saby (Sabyasachi Gorai – the key visionary behind SodaBottleOpenerWala) trusted me was because he saw I could command a kitchen at that age. He hadn’t really seen that very often, in men or women,’ she recalls. Though of course it helped that she was also the only one in the room who actually knew how to cook Parsi food. Anahita’s rise on Delhi’s food and bev scene, though, also coincided with a watershed moment for young women carving out a space for themselves in the culinary landscape. They had few women to look up to – celebrity chef Ritu Dalmia being one of them. ‘We were all figuring it out as we went,’ Anahita says of that time.  Things are different now. Things are looking up. Very many of the best restaurants in Delhi are women-led,

As it happens, it was nihari that was Chef Manish Mehrotra’s gateway drug into the big, bad world of non-vegetarian food. It’s a detail that feels faintly implausible when you remember that he grew up vegetarian – before spending an astonishing, career-defining two decades shaping the world-famous Indian Accent.  And yet – it’s the slow-cooked curry, not butter chicken or biryani, that makes him weak in the knees. Traditionally very spicy and made with beef or mutton shank, Manish first tasted it as a teenager in Lucknow and later rediscovered it in Delhi.  ‘Funnily enough, since I grew up vegetarian in Patna, I couldn’t even tell a mutton curry from nihari at first,’ he says, amused. ‘All I wanted was to get my hands on non-vegetarian food. Nihari just happened to win the jackpot.’ This tracks with the chef’s latest opening: Nisaba at Sunder Nursery, his very first gig as a chef-owner. Manish was, admittedly, the man who introduced the world to blue cheese naans and daulat ki chaat, but tags like ‘modern Indian’ and ‘inventive’ have dogged him too long. At Nisaba, he’s ready to move on, and he’s turned his attention to what he loves best: street food and regional dishes from the country’s bylanes.  Manish – like a true connoisseur – has tracked down all the nihari joints in Delhi. Some are underrated, some perhaps overrated; some incredibly refined, and some located in neighbourhoods you may not have heard of. But the best ones all have one thing in common: the nihari is mou

Gluttonous street-style Punjabi food was something Chef Amninder Sandhu had sidestepped before first landing in Delhi in 2003, then as a trainee at the Taj. Slightly delicate stomach notwithstanding, it’s not like she’d had much of a chance to gorge herself silly on chhole bhature and street-side kebabs anyway, what with her adolescent years being spent in Northeast India.  It would be her five-star hotel colleagues, of all people, who’d end up driving her nuts about the gloriously tiny food spots of OG Dilli, with queues that rivalled grand festivals. Eventually, Amninder gave in. She realised why the staff ceaselessly waxed poetic – and she guarantees that soon, you will, too. Today, as she experiments with Punjabi dishes at her restaurants Bawri and Kikli, it’s these old favourites that remain her secret pleasures, and yes, she’s willing to spill the addresses. 

As someone minted in the country’s fanciest kitchens, celebrity chef Kunal Kapur was dead sure he’d seen it all fairly early: the best of Indian food, neatly plated, exhaustively mastered, made from the freshest ingredients in the shiniest cookware. And then he went and did the one thing fine-dining can’t emulate. He travelled. And I mean, really travelled. ‘The second you step out of the slicker parts of India, it’s a sort of rude awakening. Whatever we’re serving at pricey restaurants is literally a fraction of what Indian food really is,’ he admits, not rueful at all. ‘You think you know everything and then wham. A reality check hits you in the face.’ Fortunately the MasterChef India judge wasn’t (and still isn’t) precious about getting his hands dirty. And it’s because he temporarily ditched white tablecloths for dusty bylanes and roadside carts that he was able to find inspiration for his restaurant Pincode that first opened in Select Citywalk Mall, Saket (now closed). Today, the brand is present in Indore, Mohali, Bengaluru, and now in Goa, with the recently-opened Pincode Bungalow. ‘What really sets some of these places apart is that they look makeshift but have actually been around for decades,’ he says. ‘I call them one-dish wonders. Their menu’s tiny but the one thing they do, they do so well that there’s no point even trying to compete.’ At Pincode, he’s been trying to bring in some of that flavour into the regional Indian dishes, which are all inspired by his trav

Date night can often be a thing of pressure. The restaurant’s got to be perfectly lit, the appetisers and mains have to be judiciously weighed against cocktails and dessert, and the music…well, that’s always a bit of a dicey situation (as long as we can agree that Bollywood bhangra beats are no one’s cup of tea in this scenario).  Delhi’s always kind of aced romance. More than a city specifically known for romance, like Paris, I'd think Delhi fits better as a city of romantics. Take the endless stream of lovestruck Mughals and poets and singers who turned this humble settlement into one of cascading minarets and red sandstone arches. Combine that with the rich legacy of food, and you've got a winner.  And long gone is the trope of the candlelit table with wine and pasta, I say. It's time to loosen things up with Asian fusion joints doing killer cocktails, fabulous sunlit alfresco spaces, or even some insanely good hotel restaurants that are just worth forking out on. Delhi's food & drinks space is booming right now, and you're spoiled for choice. Here's my guide to where to wine and dine your first, fifth, or forever date. 

Le Cirque’s where you take your partner when they’ve got a promotion. Or if you want to propose. It has all the trappings of a tasteful, mind-bogglingly expensive date night.  The original 10th-floor location, of course, had a different kind of charm… spacious, alfresco seating, a bird’s eye view of Delhi – it was the works, back in the day. But I’ve got to say that the revamped space on the first floor, though much smaller, has its own pros. It’s much more intimate, for starters, and there’s not a lick of change when it comes to the quality of service or food. The Franco-Italian fare remains superb, though plates have veered more modern. An open kitchen sits at the centre of the main dining area, making for a nice hustle-bustle as you wait for your food.  The five- and seven-course tasting menus are the real draw. Fresh burratina, yellowfin tuna crudo, scallops with black truffle. The handmade pastas and risotto. Salt-baked portobello mushroom, paprika-crusted rock lobster. Come hungry.  Don’t forget that the wine list is easily one of the city’s best, so consider booking a personal session with the in-house sommelier to really go ham. From champagne and Old World legends to rare Coravin pours and expressive by-the-glass options, there’s something to elevate every course. Time Out tip: Don’t even think about skipping the crème brûlée. It’s an absolutely iconic Le Cirque dish. 

It’s almost unbelievable that a neighbourhood as busy as Shivalik hides a space this calm. French for ‘plates’, the restaurant’s the brainchild of chefs Hanisha Singh and Jamsheed Bhote (of the Tres, Shibuya, and EVOO fame) – and their singular love for fresh ingredients is what makes the food here stand out, on first impressions.The interiors, simple and restrained, refocus all attention on the large menu, which sports small, large, and sharing plates. That’s a tell-tale sign of a chef-led operation – the decor must never be allowed to detract from the food. Everything’s inspired by global flavours and executed with masterful technique here. Take the Thai-curried salmon and avocado ceviche, or the pillowy pork chorizo dumplings, or even the double tenderloin cheeseburger.While they do have cocktails on the menu, they could be done slightly better. Some, though, are fairly noteworthy: Sweet Heat (mango tequila, jalapeño and roasted chilli oil) and the Peach Please (gin, jasmine, peach sparkling tea, and a lemongrass-ginger cordial).Time Out tip: They nail the passionfruit and vanilla tres leches.

This swish new spot in Sangam Courtyard’s quickly become the talk of the town, and I think it’s because it’s one of the more playful spaces to open lately. There’s digital art flashing in corners, a dining bar built for actual dining, and a gelato trolley that lets you assemble a dream sundae.  The thing with places like these is that if the food isn’t up to the mark, it just doesn’t matter how innovative the interiors are. The folks behind GRAMMIE seem cognisant of this fact and have steered clear of an overly complicated menu. The food leans European-meets-Mediterranean, with some standout fusion plates – the Chilled Sweet Corn Mousse with Granola Mix, for instance, and the Arangiri, which is a delightful mashup of arancini and nigiri. Standouts from the mains include the Crispy Duck Pizza. You’ve got everything here – coffee, cocktails, small plates, grills, pastas, pizzas and bowls, and fair warning, they’re pretty obsessed with pistachio: from the Pistachio Pesto Udon Noodles to the bestselling Pistachio Tiramisu.  Drinks get experimental too. There's Passionfruit and Vanilla or Lychee and Sesame. Sounds odd, tastes fun. Just go with it.

It’s a known fact that every opening in Horizon Plaza on Gurgaon’s Golf Course Road comes with a certain price tag. You walk in already prepared for it. There’s also the other reality: restaurants here don’t always last. The spaces are swanky, the ambition evident, but not always matched by crowds. And with rents like these, well… it's a very tough game. Kimikai – Umami House (the team is clear about not wanting to be boxed into the ‘pan-Asian’ label) now takes over what used to be Ping’s Bia Hoi, one of the handful of spots I genuinely liked in Gurugram. So yes, expectations were automatically higher, even though I tried (and failed) to stay unbiased. Unlike most places here (glass façades and in-your-face signage) this one plays it low-key. From the outside, it feels like someone’s private space, but then again, this is Gurugram: exclusivity is the point. The more deliberately discreet it feels, the better the bragging rights.  Before I get to the dining room, a staff member points me to the alfresco. There’s a mix of high and low seating plus plenty of plants, which she calls Kimikai’s garden. Up until that point, I had assumed the name was just another pan-Asian filler you dress up later with a backstory. Turns out, Kimikai is a full-blown mythical vixen, and this is her territory. Well, well, well. I have… mixed feelings. Inside, it’s a fairly large space, and the storytelling hits hard. I’m told this is Kimikai’s ‘house’. It's a wooden-dominated space with mirrors, arte

  Gaggan Anand was supposed to be a musician. I feel weird even typing that out.  Growing up in Kolkata, he wanted to play drums. The concept of plating caviar foam onto edible spoons was something he probably didn’t even know existed. But somewhere along the way, the punk kid with long hair and restless energy wandered into a kitchen. And then proceeded to blow up fine dining across Asia. When he moved to Bangkok in 2007, the city’s fine-dining scene was still very polished and Europe-centric. Then Gaggan showed up looking like the frontman of an indie band and started serving emoji menus, making diners lick plates and putting food on a raised middle finger.  Inspired by the madness of El Bulli but fuelled by adda (Kolkata boy, after all), adrenaline and complete disregard for fine-dining manners, Gaggan (his eponymously titled restaurant) became a fever dream for good food. The gamble paid off: it topped Asia’s 50 Best Restaurants list five years in a row and climbed to number six in the world. Not bad for a chef who proudly talks about cooking from his ‘lizard brain’. Image courtesy of Gaggan   Of course, for Gaggan – we’re talking about the chef here – life has never really followed a straight line. In 2019, he dramatically walked away from the original Gaggan after falling out with partners, opened a new restaurant almost immediately, survived a brutal pandemic, took up consulting gigs to stay afloat, and then bounced right back with a 14-seater in Bangkok that landed