The lights come on at 6:40 and the first sound of the day is the spice grinder. Coriander seed, cumin, black cardamom — thirty seconds each, no more, because a masala that sits ground for a week is a masala half asleep. By seven the whole kitchen smells like the inside of a brass dabba.
Morning: the quiet work
Yoghurt is hung for the tandoori marinade, dal goes on its low three-hour simmer, and yesterday's dosa batter gets its first fold. Biryani rice is parboiled and spread to cool — every grain needs to stand separate by evening. This is the unglamorous part of restaurant cooking, and it decides everything.
Noon: fire up
At eleven the tandoor is lit. Oak and charcoal climb toward 480 degrees while the lunch crew rolls samosas and pounds pav bhaji on the big tawa. The first thalis leave at 11:30 sharp for the office crowd, and the naan man does not sit down again until three.
Evening: full house
Dinner service is choreography — one cook on the tandoor, two on curries, one purely on breads and rice. Every plate is tasted at the pass. Anything less than glowing goes back, no arguments. The last naan usually lands around eleven, and then the tandoor is banked for the night.
Come see it yourself
Our tandoor is visible from the dining room — ask for a counter seat and watch your dinner blister. Or start with the dishes this kitchen is proudest of:
- Chicken Biryani Bowl — dum-steamed, saffron-layered.
- Tandoori Chicken — straight from the clay.
- Butter Chicken — the gravy we taste first, daily.