Wild gourmet: India's most luxe meals, from its farthest locations

Hindustan Times

6 days ago

Those who profess a love for food like to brag about the lengths they'll go to for a memorable meal. That little 12-seater Mumbai restaurant everyone's been trying to get into for months. That chic Indian-Japanese place in Delhi that will be the next big thing. The Michelin-level pop-up in Bengaluru that cost ₹60,000 a seat. The secret offal menu that only in-the-know diners get at that bistro in Goa… Palaash serves a bush dinner right in the middle of a luxury retreat bordering Tipeshwar Wildlife Sanctuary.
Some lengths are literal. Indian diners have been travelling to far-flung locations, sometimes making an overnight trip, just to have a good meal. Naar, Prateek Sadhu's award-winning restaurant in Kasauli, 60km from Chandigarh, is probably the best known. But little gems are thriving as far away as Arunachal Pradesh and the India-Pakistan border. They're a world away from the rushed, trendy kitchens of the big city. And they're uniquely challenging to run. Here's where to book your next food pilgrimage.
Damu's Heritage Dine in the Chug Valley spotlights the food of the Monpa people. (PRIANKO BISWAS)
Damu's Heritage DineChug Valley, Arunachal PradeshNearest city: Itanagar, 317km away ₹1,500 for an eight-course meal
Public transportation isn't easy to come by in Arunachal Pradesh. But a taxi from Dirang town, eight kilometres away, will bring you to a village of mud and stone settlements in the lush Chug Valley. At Damu's, set amid paddy and corn fields, there's only one thing on the menu: An eight-course meal, spotlighting the food of the Monpa, a community from the state's Tawang and West Kameng districts.
Look out for phurshing gombu. The charcoal-roasted ragi or cornflour tartlet, infused with yak butter and a kind of resin, is epic. The ingredient is made using highly allergic sap from the Chinese lacquer tree. Only one man in the village is skilled in extracting it without breaking into hives. How's that for a rare treat?
Damu's, just about a year old, seats 12, and operates out of a century-old home. It's helmed by eight Monpa women, who manage restaurant work alongside their domestic responsibilities. On the menu are shya marku (yak meat with butter and ginger), baksa marku (a sweetened pasta), rakshi (a heady spirit served with yak ghee), buckwheat tacos and orange millet cakes. It's all local, sustainable, and foraged just before the guests arrive.
Damu's dishes are all local, sustainable, and foraged just before the guests arrive. (TASHDIQUE AHMED)
Damu's only takes bookings a day in advance, so the women can set aside time for it all. It's booked all through the tourist season, October to April. They've fed visitors from India's metros, as well as guests from as far away as Mexico, Japan, and Malaysia.
There's no marketing budget. The place relies on social-media shares and word-of-mouth recommendations. Still, Nishant Sinha, coordinator of community-based tourism for WWF-India, says they often have to turn walk-in diners away because the kitchen hadn't accounted for them. 'It's a challenge,' he admits. 'But we wish to cater to those who value such an elaborate and intricate experience.'
Few Monpa women have travelled outside their state. Most don't speak English (they do speak Hindi), so Leiki Chomu, the restaurant's manager, steps in with international guests. But the crew take naturally to hospitality and management. They handle the finances too, splitting revenues to reinvest in the business and support WWF-India's Community Conserved Areas initiative, which helps local communities benefit through heritage conservation. Last year, they contributed ₹40,000.
The women started out with the aim of making ₹500 a day, without having to do backbreaking work. How are they faring? Damu's made ₹1.6 lakh last month. 'The best part is that June is generally off season for tourism in Arunachal Pradesh.'
The Balti Farm in Ladakh seats 12 for lunch. Seats are booked a day in advance. (THE BALTI FARM)
The Balti Farm at Virsa BaltistanTurtuk, LadakhNearest city: Leh, 205km away ₹4,000 for a seven-course meal
Not much happens in Turtuk. The hamlet, nestled in an alpine valley between the Himalayas and the Karakoram, is one of the last pitstops this side of the India-Pakistan border. It's one of four Balti villages in India and only became part of our map in 1971.
When it's not outright icy, it's chilly. It's so remote that hiring hospitality professionals is nearly impossible. So, at the boutique hotel Virsa Baltistan, a former driver is now a barista, an erstwhile mechanic is a steward, a onetime clerk handles the operations. 'They may be unfamiliar with luxury, but they respect the place and are honest and loyal,' says the hotel's owner Rashidullah Khan. And they're not short on ambition.
Khan's hotel serves everything, from sushi to fancy coffee. At Balti Farm, the multi-course menu includes local specialties such as kisirnagrang-thur (buckwheat pancakes in herbed curd), praku (thumb-pinched pasta in a walnut sauce) and phading (apricots cooked with basil leaves). Local women prepare it all. 'They have their own household responsibilities and leave for namaaz in the evenings, so we only open for the afternoon meal,' Khan says.
The restaurant serves everything, from sushi to local specialties. (THE BALTI FARM)
Lunch seats 12. Seats are booked a day in advance. The trappings – small portions, fancy presentation, courses one after the other – puzzle the women. 'They joke with me, saying that food needs to be chewed like an animal and eaten with your hands. They think I am stingy and should serve the guests more generously.' Guests, however, don't seem to mind. The Balti Farm experience has been popular since it was launched in 2018. And Khan plans carefully, building the shopping list a month in advance and sourcing his Japanese ingredients from a specific store in Delhi. 'If the fish supply is impacted, we substitute it with fresh river fish. When avocadoes were not available for the sushi, we made it with apricot.' And in the snowy off-season, Khan travels to restaurants across India, to ensure that dining standards match up back home.
A plant-based menu with indigenous herbs and rare flowers is coming soon. Meanwhile, Khan is keen to revive one aspect of Turtuk's Silk Route history: The barter system. 'Perhaps we can work with suppliers to trade apricots from here for coffee beans from Chikmagalur?'
Amninder Sandhu with the all-women team of Palaash. They source ingredients from their own garden.
PalaashTipai, MaharashtraNearest city: Nagpur, 180km away ₹4,500 for a seven-course meal
From 2010 to 2017, Amninder Sandhu ran a bustling restaurant in her hometown of Jorhat, Assam, on the banks of the Brahmaputra. But Jorhat felt too small for her ambition. So, in October 2023, she set up Palaash, right in the middle of a luxury retreat bordering Tipeshwar Wildlife Sanctuary, serving a bush dinner for 12 in a grove so quiet, you can hear nocturnal animals take over the forest as the evening gives way to night.
Palaash serves food from Maharashtra, Madhya Pradesh and Andhra Pradesh. But it is two-and-a-half hours away from the nearest bazaar. So, the all-women team sources ingredients from the restaurant's garden and neighbouring farms, and cooks everything gas-free – on chulhas, sigris, a tandoor, a robata grill, and a 'cool underground pit' for meats. Diners from as far away as Assam and the US have booked seats to try the raan in a jowar bhakri tortilla and laal thecha, and the ambaadi chaat (a sweet and tangy pineapple granita, topped with dahi and a crisp ambadi leaf, tamarind pearls and ambadi bud dust).
Everything is cooked on chulhas, sigris, a tandoor, or an underground pit.
Working away from the buzz, and with women who haven't seen a commercial kitchen, has been an adventure, Sandhu says. 'The women were shy and didn't think the food they made was significant.' She had to teach them prep and plating techniques. 'Vocabulary I took for granted – whisk, offset spatula, chopping board – was unfamiliar to them,' she recalls. Where they scored was their comfort with local fuels, and their consistency borne from experience. Sandhu saw them make perfectly uniform, round rotis, an undervalued skill in modern cooking.
The region poses challenges. 'It's arid. You can't go foraging, like in the hills, and find 10 ingredients,' Sandhu says. So, courses are tweaked depending on the season. Diners in winter get the indrayani rice steamed in turmeric leaves. In the summer, the rice is wrapped in pumpkin leaves.
The women have figured out their operations over two years. 'I travel in once a week or once a month,' Sandhu says. 'It is these women that run Palaash. I've never heard any negative customer feedback.'
Paeru at Mharo Khet is located on a 40-acre farm.
Paeru at Mharo KhetManaklao, RajasthanNearest city: Jodhpur, 25km away ₹4,500 for nine courses
The tomato tartar on the menu is subtitled simply: Strawberry, chamomile, nasturtium. Don't expect a salad. What emerges from the kitchen is a cold soup made through a three-day anaerobic fermentation process, in which bacteria from the tomatoes reacts with sugar in the strawberries. 'I am certain that most diners do not realise the in-depth science and effort behind making this,' says Rajnush Agarwal, who runs Mharo Khet, the 40-acre farm at the edge of the Thar desert, that serves the unusual dish.
Mharo Khet started out as a fresh-produce delivery service in 2020. Now, it has 10 luxury cottages, does tours and serves a sold-out lunch and dinner service called Paeru. It ticks all the boxes for fussy diners. It's plant-forward, it's set in a guava orchard, it's a blind menu (guests don't know what's being served until they're at the table). There might be jowar tostadas one day; a beetroot ceviche with goat cheese, another. Descriptions are rarely literal. Rajasthan's familiar pyaaz ki kachori is served as a shortcrust tartlet, with tempered potatoes, onion jam and a jalapeño thecha. 'Our visitors appreciate the innovative reimagining of traditional dishes,' Agarwal says.
Rajasthan's pyaaz ki kachori is served as a shortcrust tartlet, with tempered potatoes and onion jam.
Behind the scenes, everyone's been learning. Locals are taught that less is more while plating a multi-course meal, that texture matters as much as flavour, that it's possible to go overboard on the edible-flower garnishes. And in a dry region, every harvest calls for quick math. 'If there are 20 diners and only 14 pieces of baby corn in the day's yield, that dish must be changed,' Agarwal says.
In the first few years, the kitchen simply worked by candlelight when the power would go out. Now, there's a back-up generator. Some city diners still drop in with special requests at the last minute. 'It took time for people to understand that a specialty, multi-course dining establishment is different from a typical F&B outlet.'
From HT Brunch, July 19, 2025
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