With The Silver Train’s “ek, do, chaar” menu, you’re king of the thali

Imagine going to a restaurant and asking to be served a quarter or half of the usual portion. No, not the classic ‘soup, one by two’ that we’ve pulled at Chinese joints for decades. And not the smidgen you are served in the name of main course at ultra-fine dining spaces. Think smaller. And most importantly, think of ordering just that one piece, just for yourself.

We are talking about demanding a single Banganapalle chicken wing with the bite of green chillies and the brightness of green mangoes because you want to try it and no one else on the table wants in. Picture a light solo workday lunch where you can have two pieces of Rajasthani jungli maas chaap, one piece of Pudukottai fish fry, and two leaf-wrapped morsels of Bengali chanar paturi without the server side-eyeing you over the oddness of your preposterous platter. Imagine being the sole vegetarian in a large carnivorous squad (or vice versa), and being able to order five dishes for yourself, zero leftovers in sight. This way of eating, and its indulgently personalised plates portioned by appetite, goes back centuries and finds its origins in courtly dining. As the menu at The Silver Train says, ‘palace kitchens were always prepared for anything’. Why would a queen ask a khansama to make one single piece of her favourite dahi kebab for her? Because, as Jodhabai likely did, she could.

Located in Lower Parel, Mumbai, The Silver Train is a new-ish restaurant that finds its muses in the whims of kings. Its menu roams through historic royal kitchens across India. It serves a jadi-booti negroni (scented with vetiver and betel leaf), offers zero-ABV drinks that meander through jamun- and chikoo-heavy royal orchards, and has a sharbat called Chameli Bagh that sounds like it should come with a courtesan. While doing all of this, it allows guests to lean into the fantasy that they are capricious maharajas and maharanis themselves. Anyone here can say “bring me ek Arcot jheenga and do Moscato wine” and receive a calm “ji hukum”.

And while guests are allowed to be fickle, the food is grounded in years of solid reading and nerdery. “I had been working on The Silver Train (TST) deck for almost a decade,” shares Anuradha Joshi Medhora, the chef at TST. Most of us know her as the research-obsessed founder of Charoli Foods. “The idea really started with the thali. I wanted to bring back that sense of abundance, whimsy, and discovery but in a way that feels lighter and more modern. So, The Silver Train was imagined as a thali that keeps evolving. Every dish comes as a tiny, single-serve portion so guests can keep adding to their main silver thali, tasting their way through heirloom recipes and royal favourites, one katori at a time.”

Indeed, TST is a gleaming, daily-changing thing of wonder and beauty. A rotating cast of snacks, vegetable dishes, dals and raita in wee silver bowls are bookended with tamarind water, pickles, chutneys, and jaggery and white butter. The tablespoon of shrikhand follows Joshi Medhora’s grandfather’s beloved recipe. On the platter is an empty plate full of possibility. Guests can fill it with any main dish off the a la carte menu for a supplemental charge. It’s kind of a culinary choose-your-own-adventure but with proper plating.

The a la carte menu, meanwhile, is a rollicking romp through regal repasts. One page maps 26 historical palace kitchens of India, many of which inspired TST’s menu. Another one tells of a king who wagered his treasured khansama on a gambling table and tragically lost. A note further down reminds us how food shapeshifts through time and space: ‘every recipe on this menu was once a passing craving, a private ritual, or a curious demand’. Joshi Medhora’s menu is also edible proof that everyday regal food was not nap-inducing. As she points out, the royals had duties too.

The restaurant takes its name from an extravagant dinner party flex. In 1906, the locomotive-loving Maharaja Madho Rao Scindia of Gwalior commissioned a very luxurious Lazy Susan indeed. It was a train cast in pure silver—engine, bogies, electric power, all of it—to wind around his dinner table delivering wine, liqueur, and cigars to his guests. Think conveyor-belt sushi made ultra luxe, and loaded.

On the far wall at TST hang eight painted plates, each with similar wild episodes. The one featuring dogs is called ‘Roshnara weds Bobby’. It evokes Junagadh’s grandest royal wedding, where the king spent two crores, declared a state holiday, and even sent an invitation to the viceroy of India. There was a silver palanquin for the bedecked bride, and 25 groomsmen. The happy couple? The Nawab’s beloved canines.

Listening to Joshi Medhora, it seems that Indian royal history is littered with stories that sound like outrageous goss, all conveniently glossed over in our textbooks. Thankfully, the restaurant has two staff members on the ready to take diners through some history lessons.

The architect of TST's “ek, do, chaar” portions is Shravan Juvvadi. He’s a Hyderabad restaurateur (see Tabula Rasa), founder of TST, and an old friend of Joshi Medhora. For him, this format extends beyond merely indulging personal cravings. It fits firmly into dining out now. “Ek-do-chaar is a more mindful and sustainable way of eating,” he says. “Otherwise at the table, it’s either a debate or a compromise.” Mumbai, he believes, is the best place for TST. “Indian food in this city is not good,” he says. “But also, as a melting pot, it has no [regional] bias.

His brief to architect Sumessh Menon was to make TST look like ‘the cool wing of a palace’. And Menon has delivered that with an engraved silver bar, Sabyasachi wallpaper, south-Indian-style pillars, and embossed grey-cobalt walls painted entirely by artists, not painters. Somehow, TST is both remarkable and restrained. And so, it’s the only spot in Phoenix Palladium’s Gourmet Village that does not feel like a mall restaurant.

The negroni and sharbat we mentioned earlier comes from Elevenses Hospitality, a new consultancy by food writer Nikhil Merchant and veteran F&B professional Zamir Khan. Merchant, who has logged several bar takeovers, let investigation meet imagination to add a royal flair to classic flavours here. His delicate, quietly tropical milk punch is a nod to the drink with roots in colonial India. A lemonade is perfumed with jasmine and fresh coriander. More throwback comes from solid classics like the cherry martinez. For high tea, there is a selection of low-ABV drinks, each featuring a spice pulled from masala chai. Wine too is available “ek, do, chaar”, of course.

Across two meals with Joshi Medhora, we heard a dozen curious stories of power, intrigue, and courtly antics. Over a second ladleful of badam nariyal ke jheenge, she explained how coastal prawns in coconut milk met Mughal staples almonds and raisins via political shifts between the Mughals and the Marathas. Seeing us dig into chura mattar, typical of the Bhojpuri-Bihari-Jharkhandi way of eating, she sent us a note about the Darbhanga family’s fall from splendour. In the late 1800s, sweet peas from the royal gardens were combined with flattened rice to feed travellers and court guests. At TST, crunchy pohas and peas are topped with pomegranate arils, a sprinkle of lime juice and a jharokha-like crisp.

Bikaneri khad murgh, chicken cooked underground under coals, was born of necessity, a way to cook surreptitiously during wartime or on the move, when detection could mean death. No smoke trail escaped the khadda, or pit. Meat could be left to slow-cook for half a day, waiting for soldiers to excavate their meal. The result was a comforting dinner that was tender, spicy, earthy, smoky, and delicious enough to carry into peacetime.

Even the rotis come with a story. Like the niwala, from Rajput court tradition and table manners. “It's a one-bite roti made especially for royal children learning how to eat on their own,” says Joshi Medhora. “This way children never had to tear rotis at the table. Over time, this practice came to reflect Rajput values of dignity, neatness and impeccable table etiquette — even in the earliest years of training.” These were the good days, before iPads became nannies.

So deep and diverse is Joshi Medhora’s knowledge of kingly cuisines that we demanded photos of her bookshelves. Here’s a sample from dozens of spines: a leather-bound Cooking of the Maharajas by Shivaji Rao and Shalini Devi Holkar, The Course of History by Stevenson & Singh, and Sharbhendra Pakshastra, which opens with a recipe for ‘agni polau’. Another page instructs the cook to cut 80 tolas of fish, smear it with 4 tolas of besan, then wash and clean it.

Forget its fanciful tales of love and war, its quirky portion sizes, its restrained royal vibe. The real question is, is TST worth visiting simply for its food? In the last month, every time we have strolled past the restaurant to go anywhere else on the floor, we have peeked in. The room and its tables of “ek, do, chaar” are always packed.

Address: 4th floor, Gourmet Village, West Zone, Phoenix Palladium, 462 Senapati Bapat Marg, Lower Parel, Mumbai 400013

Timings: noon to midnight, Monday to Sunday

Meal for two: Approximately ₹4,000 (with a drink each) 

Reservations: +91 9833555182/+91 9833555183

Instagram: @thesilvertrainrestaurant