At exactly midnight in Tokyo, the TableCheck booking page for a tiny basement restaurant in the city’s historic Kanda district opens. Reservations are dropped for exactly a week later. Hopeful diners race to claim one of just 20 counter seats. Within seconds, they’re all gone, fastest finger first. Everyone is trying to get a shot at the same dish: biryani.By many accounts, the hardest biryani table in the world is this one, in Japan, at <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://www.instagram.com/biriyani.osawa/?hl=en">Biriyani Osawa</a>. Paradise in Hyderabad has a persistent walk-in queue. <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://thenodmag.com/content/chef-asma-khan-monsoon-new-cookbook-release">Asma Khan</a>’s celebrated biryani supper club in London books up months in advance. Biriyani Osawa somehow makes both of those seem accessible. The Washington Post correspondent <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://x.com/gerryshih/status/1789961959548346421">Gerry Shih</a> once described getting a reservation here as “harder to procure than tickets to a Taylor Swift concert”.The restaurant doesn’t quite have a menu. There’s one biryani, finished on the dum just as every guest sits down. The recommended drink is Coca-Cola, chilled to minus three degrees Celsius, because chef Takamasa Osawa believes that’s how it pairs best with biryani. “That’s not a gimmick—that’s fieldwork,” he assures me. Raita shows up with the meal, but it isn’t listed, because, as chef Osawa puts it, Japanese diners “cannot eat a meal without something moist”.The restaurant opened in 2021 after a crowdfunding campaign that raised more than double its target, from ¥5 million to over ¥13 million. In September 2025, Michelin awarded it a Bib Gourmand.Osawa’s journey with biryani makes for an unlikely tale. He never trained as a chef. In 2009, while on a work trip to Coimbatore, he ordered biryani without knowing what it was. That meal altered the course of his life. Back in Japan, unable to find the biryani he was seeking, he taught himself how to cook it. He later ran what he called ‘Biriyani House’, a ‘share house’ where he cooked biryani for the same group of friends every day for years, treating their increasingly brutal feedback as research data.“Here’s the thing: if you eat biryani occasionally, of course it’s delicious. Eat it every day, and you get sick of it. And that’s exactly when the mirage created by biryani hunger—what we might honestly call greed—clears away, and you can finally see the true form of the dish and analyse it. Doing that alone would be one thing. Doing it with housemates—terrifyingly well-trained palates who, by the end, gave nothing but merciless abuse—that was my treasure. Their daily insults made me capable of cooking overwhelmingly delicious biryani,” says Osawa, who is also the founder of the Japan Biryani Association.When the Covid-19 pandemic made his communal biryani gatherings impossible, he left his job at an Indian restaurant and eventually opened his own. His motto, emblazoned across his branding, says it all: “Biriyani or Die.”

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Ask Osawa enough questions, and it becomes obvious that his is no mere eccentricity or obsession. Ahead of his two-day Mumbai pop-up at Indian Accent (July 31st and August 1st) with Conosh, The Nod interviewed the man who spent nearly two decades trying to answer one question: what makes biryani biryani?Below, chef Osawa talks about the science behind biryani, why years of “daily insults” from his housemates were an essential part of his culinary education and the one biryani he’d never make.<h3>What happened in India in 2009 that made one dish take over your life?</h3>I ordered it without even knowing what it was, at a tiny local restaurant in Coimbatore. One bite, and I knew: this was my favourite dish in the world. After that, I tried the same dish at every place I could find, and that feeling turned into conviction.Back in Japan, I couldn’t find biryani anywhere, so I had no choice but to cook it myself. And I discovered something: the taste changed every single time I made it. It’s an incredibly difficult dish, but sometimes beginner’s luck gives you something ridiculously delicious. The harder you work, the better it gets. I wanted to touch the very depths of that deliciousness. I still do.<h3>You spent 15 years going in and out of kitchens across India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh, without the language, learning by senses. What did that teach you?</h3>That there is no secret. The ways of making biryani are endlessly diverse, but the ingredients are almost disappointingly simple. There’s no secret recipe, no magic ingredient. What I learned is that otherworldly deliciousness appears only when everything stands in perfect balance—like a house of cards. Touch one element carelessly, and it collapses. And one more thing: freshly cooked biryani has overwhelming destructive power. The moment it’s no longer fresh off the dum, it drops from “so good you could die” to just “pretty good”. That gap is everything.<h3>At one point you rented a house with friends and cooked them biryani every single day. What did daily feedback from the same eaters do to your cooking?</h3>I believe you improve not by making rare things or adding steps, but by making the same thing every day. If you run a restaurant, the only feedback you get is “It was delicious!”—which is really just a polite way of saying goodbye—or Google reviews about service and prices. But 10 years of cooking biryani in that share house gave me something priceless: fixed-point observation. Change one variable, measure the impact. I accumulated data every single day.<h3>You approach biryani like a scientist. What’s one thing that took you years to crack?</h3>The aroma. What is the biryani-ness of biryani’s fragrance? I could make delicious biryani, but understanding which part is essential, what makes biryani biryani, took me many, many years.The other one is rice starch. Starch crystals have a complex three-dimensional structure, and observing their transformation and gelatinisation through the senses alone—essentially, by eating—took countless trials and measurements. Building a theory that lets me cook perfect rice, stable in any environment, took about 14 years. And I should say these aren’t solved problems. I’m still in the middle of the research.<h3>Your restaurant serves exactly one dish, once per sitting, and still can’t meet demand. How do you feel about that?</h3>My mission is to convey the deliciousness of biryani. My job is to make that deliciousness manifest. And there’s only one way to know whether I’ve succeeded: serve that single plate, alone. If it’s truly delicious, one dish makes the restaurant impossible to book. If it’s merely decent, a restaurant like that deserves to go under.<h3>Mutton is the classic, but you’ve made oyster, hairy crab, and lobster biryani. Which experiment surprised you the most? And what will you never experiment with?</h3>Recently, koshiabura—a wild mountain vegetable we call the “queen of sansei” in Japan. In recent years I’ve come to a realisation: biryani is fundamentally a dish of exceptional aroma. If the fragrance is extraordinary, and the rice is cooked perfectly, you have a great biryani. Koshiabura has one of the most remarkable aromas of any mountain vegetable, and when you cook it with birista oil and yoghurt, the result is astonishing.What I’ll never do is pork biryani. And I will never, ever call curry-mixed rice or fried rice “biryani” if it isn’t dum biryani. That’s out of respect for the dish itself.<h3>Indian diners can be fiercely protective of biryani. What do you hope they taste in a biryani made by a chef from Tokyo?</h3>First, delicious is the baseline. If you’re hungry and you eat rice, of course it’s delicious. And biryani is an absurdly delicious dish to begin with. What I want them to taste, beyond that, is what Japanese cooks have spent lifetimes polishing: the rice cookery, the purity of the spice aroma, the clarity of the meat’s flavour.<h3>What are the three words you hope they’ll say afterwards?</h3>Aroma. Texture. Flavour. The fragrance, the grain of the rice, and the taste of the mutton or the shiitake.<h3>What’s one opinion you have about biryani that will start a fight in both Tokyo and Hyderabad?</h3>If it isn’t freshly cooked dum biryani, it isn’t biryani. It’s a different dish.<h3>Is there a Japanese sensibility that has made its way into your biryani?</h3>I always aim for the minimum-construction biryani—the fewest possible ingredients, every non-essential step removed. And if deliciousness is maximised under those conditions, that’s when biryani’s true potential is fully revealed. I strip away garnish too, everything except the essential. My favourite plating shows nothing but the beauty of rice, like a karesansui rock garden, with the meat buried within it. Perhaps that’s wabi-sabi at work. It’s why I don’t even top with birista or roasted nuts—birista is delicious, but it is not an inseparable element of biryani’s deliciousness.

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Remember that viral biryani place in Japan? It’s coming to India this weekend

Last month, I bumped into chef <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/chef-manish-mehrotra-gap-year-interview">Manish Mehrotra</a>—wearing his chef’s apron—at a cafe inside Delhi’s newest cultural address, the Humayun’s Tomb World Heritage Site Museum. It was the kind of accidental encounter that immediately raises a pertinent question: What are you doing here? The answer, it turns out, was one level above us. A journalist’s job is to pry, so I was hardly being inquisitive when I asked what cuisine he would be cooking: “It won’t be an Indian Accent. But it will be more elevated than Comorin,” he smiled simply.With Nisaba, his first independent concept under the Manish Mehrotra Culinary Arts (MMCA) banner with founding partners Amit Khanna and Binny Bansal, he wanted to create a beautiful spot without the frills and gimmickry you see in restaurants today. Back in a professional kitchen after a while, with the exception of a few pop-ups, Mehrotra admits to feeling “happily nervous”, echoing the anticipation he felt when he first began his culinary journey in 1996.The celebrated chef’s identity has been closely intertwined with <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/inside-upstairs-delhis-exclusive-36-seater-bar">Indian Accent </a>in Delhi, Mumbai, and New York, and Comorin in Gurgaon, through his over-two-decade-long association with EHV International. While there are echoes of the familiar, Nisaba consciously steps away from labels such as ‘progressive’ or ‘modern Indian’. There is no tasting menu; instead, the food is deliberately grounded, drawing its stories from across India, particularly from street vendors and dhabas.“We are calling it the food of today’s India. The menu isn’t only about butter chicken, idli-dosa, Bengali mithai or Goan seafood. This is global Indian food. It’s new, looks cool, but it’s soul-satisfying food,” says Mehrotra, who wants to make Nisaba a place where people come to enjoy his dishes in a relaxed setting.

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The interiors by Via Design also reflect a restraint. As you enter, the bar greets you upfront with counter seating as well as comfortable couches and chairs in the lounge. A few steps ahead stands ‘Life Cycle’, a sculptural installation by Dhananjay Singh. Its accompanying note speaks of the artist’s childhood fascination with watching a seed sprout—an unseen-to-seen transformation. At Nisaba, the work becomes a metaphor for cycles of earth, ancestry, and growth, mirroring the continual evolution that defines both the restaurant and Mehrotra’s food.Turning right from the sculpture leads you to the main dining area, dressed in soft greens and beiges that sit comfortably within the site’s historic surroundings. Artefacts and a bookshelf stocked with titles such as Rogan: The Cookbook and The Moosewood Restaurant Table from Mehrotra’s personal collection add a lived-in warmth. There’s also a private dining room that can accommodate up to 14 people. By day, the 130-cover space is bright with natural light; by night, candlelight reshapes the mood. “We didn’t want the decor to overshadow the food. There’s nothing over the top,” says Mehrotra.<img src="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/Sculplture_Life_Cycle_By_Dhananjay_Singh_ebb4867948.jpg" alt="Nisaba Life Cycle sculpture By Dhananjay Singh|caption|The Life Cycle sculpture By Dhananjay Singh">And truly, it’s the food that takes centre stage. The restaurant has been nine months in the making, Mehrotra tells me, with the current menu featuring 45 dishes selected from nearly 125 that went through rigorous trials. There’s a thoughtful mix of vegetarian and non-vegetarian small and large plates, including Lucknow white matar tikki, beetroot and goat cheese dahi vada, Belgian pork ribs with mango chunda and sour fennel, and tawa chicken dirty rice with palak-sesame raita.The first dish to arrive was a mutton seekh kebab bathed in blue cheese and butter and served with a baked naan that resembles a sheermal. Moist and juicy, the kebab is an ideal way to whet the appetite. A steady stream of starters followed. The curry leaf chicken with pickled drumstick and appalam struck a careful balance, delivering just enough heat without overpowering the dish. The tandoori bacon prawns, served with green thecha yoghurt and parmesan floss, taste like a refined take on a tikka; the bacon notes are subtle, something Mehrotra says he plans to tweak based on feedback from early preview diners.

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Among the small plates, a standout is the samosa with Moradabadi dal. The samosa remains crisp even after resting on the table for 20 minutes and goes well with the yellow moong dal. “When you go to street vendors in Moradabad, you’ll find the option of having this dal with samosa or jalebi, much like fafda-jalebi in Gujarat or sev-boondi in Bihar. It’s comforting,” says Mehrotra, who spent a few months travelling and sampling food from across India during his creative gap year.The mains are equally nuanced and satisfying. The Motihari mutton curry arrives in a clay pot, accompanied by piping-hot, airy sattu-hing kachoris—a dish rooted in Mehrotra’s home state, Bihar. Unlike the dense kachoris one often expects, these are closer in texture to a Bengali luchi. The chilli tomato crab ghotala, served with impossibly soft butter buns, is finely minced and layered with spices, winning with a gentle sweet-tang kick that lingers rather than overwhelms. The black dal, one of his signatures at Indian Accent, makes an appearance on this menu, paired with preserved garlic naan.

The dessert and drinks menu may be compact, but it’s no less assured. We tried the treacle tart with Gurgaon doda barfi (a warm, fudgy dessert lifted by the contrast of pecan ice cream) and the baked rasmalai with fried chironji and nolen gur makhana, a combination Mehrotra admits is his weakness.The drinks place a strong emphasis on tea and fermentation. The tequila-based Pickled Pear, with lime, chamoy, agave, and pickled pear purée, is bright and refreshing, while Tea Fermentation—made with mezcal, strawberry, Assam tea kombucha, and a hint of lemon—finishes with a pleasing smoky note. Among the non-alcoholic options, Thyme Paani is a revelation, blending fennel-thyme tea, lemongrass, tonic water, and lemon. Bolivian Milk, with quinoa milk, lemon balm, citrus cilantro, green chilli, and grapes, is more experimental and perhaps best approached with an open mind. In the coming months, the restaurant plans to host special collaborations and introduce a high-tea menu.

The restaurant opens to the public on January 17, 2026Address: Nisaba, first floor, Humayun’s Tomb World Heritage Site Museum, Humayun’s Tomb, Sunder Nursery, Nizamuddin, New Delhi Timings: noon to midnight Reservations: +91 98109 06091 Price for two (minus alcohol): ₹4,000 + taxes + service charge

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In 2024, Manish Mehrotra left Indian Accent. Now he’s back with a new restaurant

It’s safe to crown restaurateur Rohit Khattar hustler of the year. In 2025, there’s either been a new concept or an expansion of his existing spaces—be it Comorin, Fireback and <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/drift-cafe-bar-nilaya-anthology-restaurant-review-lower-parel-mumbai">Drift</a> in Mumbai or <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/bougie-south-indian-eateries-mumbai-bengaluru-oor-hosa-madras-kitchen">Hosa</a> in Gurugram. And if that wasn’t enough, he closes the year with a banging new martini and <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/jazz-india-circuit-delhi-music">jazz </a>bar called Upstairs.Mercifully, there’s no booming playlist battling for your attention. Instead, you can sink into plush sofas and armchairs and enjoy post-work drinks with colleagues or a dressed-up night out with your gang. On most nights, jazz vocalist Alyse Pascoe sets the mood, crooning familiar favourites that feel just right for the space.The name is simple—a literal translation of where the space is located, right above Indian Accent at The Lodhi, New Delhi. To regulars, it will feel like an extension of the much-feted modern Indian restaurant below. The interiors are chic, with the upholstery and wallpaper done by designer <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/sabyasachi-mukherjee-25-years-interview">Sabyasachi Mukherjee.</a> The bar is, quite naturally, the centrepiece, complete with a cheeky <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/secret-peekaboo-luxury-watch-shop-jacob-elordi-asap-rocky-benny-blanco">peek-a-boo</a> of the martini trolley.The martini trolley has long been a scene-stealer in Hollywood, making cameos in classics like Casablanca (1942) and The Seven Year Itch (1955). At Upstairs, the martini skips the predictable bar-to-table journey and arrives tableside instead. The menu offers six variations that riff on the classics. I begin with the dry martini, made with your choice of<a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/vodka-rising-popularity-indian-celeb-brands-dyavol-shelter-6-rangeela"> vodka </a>or gin, layered with dry vermouth and finished with a seasonal citrus twist. It’s a crisp and confident opening act for what follows.Next is the Desi Dirty Martini, which tastes uncannily like biting into an aloo paratha with a squeeze of nimbu achaar—but somehow not in a bad way. This unhinged creation by Varun Sharma, head of bars at EHV International, blends nimbu-infused vermouth with nimbu achaar <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/fermented-cocktail-mixers-kombuchas-congees-vinegars-brines-recipes">brine</a>, anchored by gin. The garnish is olives stuffed with mashed potato. It shouldn’t work but it absolutely does.

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The other standout is the fennel and <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/diwali-handbook-tequila-agave-drinking-guide">tequila</a> martini, a nuanced mix of fennel-infused tequila, grapefruit saccharum and oleo shrub vermouth, and dill. Balanced and herbaceous, it leaves just enough fennel on the palate to linger without overstaying its welcome. Coffee lovers, meanwhile, are sure to order the espresso martini—except this one arrives crystal-clear, a flex that proves Upstairs enjoys playing with expectations as much as it does with flavour.&nbsp;Coming soon is a Bone Dry Martini that pushes the envelope even further, made with bone-marrow-washed vodka and nihari-spiced vermouth.Beyond the martinis, there are signature cocktails spotlighting local ingredients like kokum solkadi, Mysore jaggery, khus, nannari, and betel leaf (paan). Prefer your drinks straight-up? Your signature tipple is most likely on the menu.When you are at Indian Accent, the food has to pull its weight. With head chef Hitesh Lohat at the helm, bar bites draw inspiration from the markets of Delhi, with the promise of a new theme every quarter. Here, the <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/bombay-daak-mumbai-new-restaurant-bar-opening">chakna</a> gets a solid upgrade, with homemade crisps served alongside masala bhutta mousse and carambola chutney. There’s also chickpea sadeko, almost addictive, which comes dotted with spiced yoghurt.&nbsp;

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The menu reads like a love letter to Delhi. A flower-and-green-leaf chaat nods to the chaos and colour of the Ghazipur flower market, while braised pork belly, scented with timur and Sikkim’s GI-tagged dalle chilli, channels the flavours of Humayunpur. Jhol momos pay tribute to Lajpat Nagar’s much-loved Dolma Aunty, and the Old Delhi Fried Chicken comes straight from the bylanes of Jama Masjid. But if there’s one dish I’d return for every time, it’s the chicken kebab sando—well spiced, just sweet enough thanks to a sliver of ketchup, and tucked between pillowy slices of shokupan for the kind of comfort you crave between drinks.We’d recommend you save space for the kulfi falooda kakigori, a Chandni Chowk staple reimagined as a feather-light, addictive dessert. It’s so airy you lose count of the spoonfuls.Only for now, Upstairs is open to all, but soon it turns into an invite-only affair. Right now, you can slip in for a pre-dinner martini or wind down with a nightcap. In the coming months, the bar is set to evolve into a <a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/mammakilla-zorawar-kalra-members-only-rooftop-bar-delhi">members-only</a> space (membership details awaited) and stay open until 4 am (if the hush-hush rumours are to be believed). Take our lead and make your way here before it gets hard to get into.

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Jhol Momo with roasted tomato chutney and prawns

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Address: Indian Accent, The Lodhi Hotel, Lodhi Road, New Delhi Price: ₹4,800 + taxes for two&nbsp; Timings: 6 pm to 1 am (soon till 4 am) Reservations: Call +91 9205747968 or email members.upstairs@ehvinternational.com

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Delhi has a late-night bar for Indian Accent regulars

“The first question anyone asks me these days is, ‘What are you doing?’”Indeed, everyone wants to know what chef Manish Mehrotra is up to. They want to know what he’s planning for his next restaurant. They want to know who’s working with him. They want to know where he’s going to open it. Mehrotra shared some of his plans with us a few weeks ago. “I ordered gardening tools from Amazon. I’m telling the maali to get me saplings of marigold. Until now, I’d never even seen the plants upstairs on my terrace.”Earlier this year, at the end of July, the multi-hyphenate stepped down as culinary director of Indian Accent in <a href="https://thenodmag.com/tag/delhi">Delhi</a>, <a href="https://thenodmag.com/tag/new-york">New York City</a>, and <a href="https://thenodmag.com/tag/mumbai">Mumbai</a>, and Comorin in Gurgaon. We won’t get into his many, many groundbreaking achievements and accolades here; there are already scores of articles and features about those. Instead, we want to pay attention to what the chef has been busy with in his creative gap year. (Or as he notes, it will be only half a year; he has plans to put his toque back on in early 2025.) Mehrotra has taken this time to do all the things he wanted to but couldn’t these past 20+ years. Instead of training teams, he’s investing in relationships with family and friends. Instead of putting in hours in a hot kitchen, he’s working on himself, focussing on his <a href="https://thenodmag.com/tag/healthcare">health</a>, and setting up a routine that meets him where he is today. Instead of travelling internationally for events, research, and other work, he’s going back to home base—his Bihar, his Patna, with the cousins who shared his childhood. A few weeks ago in November, he posted a time-lapse story on <a href="https://thenodmag.com/tag/instagram">Instagram</a> in which he’s getting turbaned by a safa-wala. In the video, Mehrotra is seated on a folding chair on a sunny lawn, while wedding guests mill around in the background. He’s wearing a watermelon red kurta and sunglasses. The turbaneer spirals around him, pleating, folding and swirling a printed pink length of cloth around the chef’s crown. “I always wanted to do this...Finally,” reads Mehrotra’s caption. The next story has him sitting under the vast tree canopy, the winter sun streaming through its flaxen leaves and branches. Caption: “Fursat”.This laid-back life seemed unthinkable earlier this year. “I would have never imagined I could have attended family weddings,” he says. “I want to...I would love to! There are so many family members I have not met for years. I went to my cousin sister’s grandson’s first birthday. Afterwards, I called my daughter and told her that I could not have imagined that I would be doing this. I have never got a chance to go to these kinds of events and functions.”

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For him, it’s been a quarter of a century of hot and busy kitchens, demanding guests, big work events, many flights, staff training, menu development, firefighting, and thousands of relentless lunch and dinner services, especially and always on the days and nights that the rest of the world takes time off to relax, hang out, celebrate. As the chef of one of India’s most acclaimed restaurants, as a leader in an industry that works while everyone else chills, and as the pioneer of wildly playful modern Indian cuisine, Mehrotra has not had a moment to pause. “I’m trying not to think about anything at this point,” he says. “I want to switch off and think about nothing. I want to eat at different places, to do a little bit of cooking at home, just lay low and do nothing. And pay a little attention to routine and health.” He’s using the time to both connect and to jettison. “You can’t throw everything out, [but] you can’t keep everything,” he says. There’s more than two decades of career history in research, cookbooks, awards and accolades. “I had more books in my office than at home, so I got cupboards made. It’s 24 years of pending spring cleaning.” But before he did any of this, his first priority was to spend time with his daughter Adah, to travel to south India and <a href="https://thenodmag.com/tag/japan">Japan</a> with her, before dropping her off at The Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, where she will be studying for the next two years. It’s been a time of big transitions clearly. He timed his break to spend time with his daughter before she left, and now he’s on a sabbatical with all his time to himself. He also used the time to plan another trip—one that was, in many ways a homecoming, a journey to where it all began. “I am from Bihar, but I have never seen Bihar. I have no relatives there, they are all in Lucknow. I’m going to take a road trip through my state with my cousins. Bihar is a very long held-dream. I want to see it with my own eyes,” he said a few weeks ago, and in the last week of November, he finally took that trip, eating through not only the state’s street food and sweets, but also the “best chicken mirchi kabab” at Takshila in Hotel Chanakya. “Bachpan se aa rahe hain iss restaurant mein,” he says <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/DDEg5UtISgJ/">in a video he shared</a>. Within the restaurant industry, too, people have taken note that the chef is finally taking time off, and many pending invitations are being revived. Chefs want him to come to their restaurants and parties. Awards’ night organisers want him on juries, at ceremonies and for big nights. While Mehrotra has attended some and participated in a few, he’s kept his time off sacrosanct for the most part, focussing on himself and his family. He also dreams of writing a cookbook, or many. “In 15 years at Indian Accent, I have created so many menus and dishes,” he says. “I want to put it all into writing. I have so many recipes from which I can easily create a book. I could do my interpretation of different types of chaat from all over. I want to do a book on the cuisine of Bihar. I can do a book on 56 different types of raita, because we have served 56 types at Indian Accent over the years...raitas with smoked eggplant, smoked mustard and charred corn, bhujia, and wasabi with cucumber. I was the first one to do anaar-avocado raita in 2009. Now you see it on menus at wedding banquets.”<figure class="image"><img style="aspect-ratio:2000/1333;" src="https://assets.thenodmag.com/website-assets/43_MG_2144_new_c42d85c707.jpg" alt="Manish Mehrotra 2.jpg|caption|" width="2000" height="1333"><figcaption>Mehrotra dreams of writing a cookbook inspired by his 15+ years at Indian Accent</figcaption></figure>Also sidling in are the rumours he hears about himself. “People have said the strangest things [during this time]. They have said that I am opening a chain of chaat restaurants. Someone also told me they’ve heard that ‘Manish is struggling. He is not getting any work. People can’t afford him.’”This much is certain: chef Manish Mehrotra is not retiring. And here is what’s really on his mind: many ideas, some proposals, and some conflicting thoughts and questions. “Do I have to do the same thing I’ve done so far? Do I have to please the industry? Or do I have to make a restaurant to please people, to make money? Do I have to look for awards? Do I have to start running the race for recognition again? Suddenly so many people are giving me advice. Some people say, why don’t you open a<a href="https://thenodmag.com/content/prateek-sadhu-naar-restaurant-interview"> restaurant like Prateek</a>’s? Some people are saying don’t do that. The expectations are so high right now, the pressure is building up. But what if I open a restaurant serving chhole bhatura, the best chhole bhatura in Delhi?”Until he has clear answers, or until early 2025, he’s going to keep doing what he’s doing. “Home improvement and gardening—it’s fun!,” he says, just before posting this <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/DAnHLFDyE0N/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&amp;igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==">photo</a> of parijat flowers from his garden. “I’m now meeting so many family members and friends after such a long time,” he says. “I am so happy. I should have done it consistently before. They all used to think I am a celebrity chef and all that. Now, I am a member of the family again.”

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