Desperate for clues of what we’ll eat, I examine the marble counter before him, spotting food from every shade in the colour wheel. Blood-red cherry tomatoes, muddy mushrooms of all kinds (portobello, button, enoki, lion’s mane!), lush trays of edamame, Dutch asparagus, boiled sweet potato, and wobbly purple yams fill the dimly-lit room with an elusive fragrance. But the true highlight is the meat—a roasted piglet that sits pretty on a platter while marinated turkeys and naati chickens are hung upside down like clothes drying on a rack. As my eyes wander around the restaurant trying to find any adornment that isn’t edible, the sharp sizzle and pop of an open flame pull my attention back to Salunkhe.
“Fresh produce is king for me. I don’t like refrigerating the stock, so everything you see on the counter will be used to make the food this evening; it’s not just décor,” the chef says as he meticulously bastes, grills, flips, and repaints slices of shark. It’s my thrill of watching the shark prepped at the table for the first time that catches Salunkhe’s attention, but he insists that the fanged fish has humble beginnings. “Growing up, the shark was among the less expensive fish in the market. My parents made it all the time. It was pomfret that was rare,” he recalls.
The produce laid out on the kitchen counter at Crackle is used for their two dinner services
Traditionally, in Japan, omakase dining is an intimate ritual, with the itamae or chef serving small bites to a very small group of diners, from just an arm’s distance. Ours comes with a side of chatter. Through the evening, it becomes clear that nostalgia and memories from the chef’s childhood heavily influence the menu.
My meal begins with a dish called Gaiety Galaxy, which is an ode to all the films Salunkhe watched at Mumbai’s iconic theatre. A flaky corn tart and buttery corn soufflé topped with kernels of nutty, truffle popcorn seem to exalt the typical movie snack with every layer. The drama ensues with a string of appetisers only made more appealing by the narrations around them. “Once upon a time, the naati or leghorn chicken could only be found deep in the forest, that’s what makes it special,” says the chef while serving chicken soup with ghee roast, kori roti, and cashews. When my partner declares his love for the salty broth, Salunkhe reveals that the healing concoction was borrowed straight out of his family recipe book.
The grilled shark from before is now paired with rice cakes and wrapped in nori sheets as sushi—a Japanese interplay of Miss Braganza’s Goan fish and rice—a chef favourite from the early years. Next up, the mud crab gets a celestial shoutout. “Did you know that full-moon nights are the best time to have crab?” he says, prompting curious diners to peep out of the window only to find frozen traffic. For a hot minute, Salunkhe’s tales and the accompanying food theatre makes you forget that you’re seated in one of the busiest streets of Indiranagar. “I don’t know why I was expecting to see a sky full of stars,” a fellow diner tells Salunkhe, as the whole room breaks into giggles. That’s the intimacy at Crackle; it’s the kind of place where communal dining tables allow for convenient eavesdropping. After all, an experiential meal is only elevated when you add discourse to the mix.
