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Hindustan Times
25-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Rude Food by Vir Sanghvi: A tour of the kingdom
There are, wrote F Scott Fitzgerald, no second acts in American lives. I was reminded of this and about how it clearly did not apply to Indian lives when I had lunch recently with Ranjit Mathrani at Amaya, one of the many successful restaurants he runs in London. Amaya, by Ranjit Mathrani, and Namita and Camellia Panjabi, is London's chicest Indian restaurant. Mathrani has had many acts in his distinguished career. After he got his degree in Physics and Mechanical Engineering at Cambridge, he decided not to come back to India, joined the British civil service and then moved to the City of London, where he became the first person of Indian origin to become a director of a merchant bank. That's a distinguished resume to begin with. But everything changed when he met Namita Panjabi on a visit to Mumbai. They married and Namita moved to London, a city she already knew well. Namita was in fashion when they married (her background is also Cambridge, followed by management consulting before she went into international fashion) and continued with that in London until Ranjit had an idea. They were both interested in food and Camellia, Namita's sister, was already a legend at the Taj group in India. So, why not start a high-end Indian restaurant? A British friend who was in the restaurant business advised them on how to begin. Other friends chipped in with suggestions. Namita wanted to call the restaurant Indian Summer, but the author Gita Mehta suggested Chutney Mary and the Mathranis liked the name. For all that, says Ranjit now, they made many mistakes. One of them was choosing a site on the wrong side of the King's Road. ('We heard King's Road and thought that was it! We really knew nothing!' Ranjit laughs now.) Namita and Camellia Panjabi have shaped the way Indian food is served in the UK. When Chutney Mary, with a menu that included Anglo-Indian dishes, opened, Namita was at the restaurant every day. But, with that location, and the British prejudice against paying relatively high prices for Indian food in the 1990s, the customers never came. The Mathranis kept at it until, to their great surprise, Pat Chapman of the then extremely influential Curry Club, gave it an award for being the best Indian restaurant in London. After that, the critics arrived and the rave reviews came pouring in. Chutney Mary was enough of a success for the Mathranis to take a chance on Veeraswamy. Despite being the oldest surviving Indian restaurant in the West, Veeraswamy had fallen on hard days. But the Mathranis sensed it could be revived and took it over. Ranjit, with his engineering background, oversaw a complete renovation, installing a state-of-the-art exhaust system that ensured that food smells did not drift to the other floors of the historic building where it is located. It was a gamble, especially as the lease had only seven years to run, but the Mathranis decided that it was all or nothing. And it was really Veeraswamy's last chance. Had the Mathranis failed, the restaurant would probably have closed and been forgotten. As we know now, Veeraswamy was successfully revived and went on to win a Michelin star. The Crown Estate, which owns the building, gratefully extended the lease when it ran out after seven years. Chutney Mary, with a menu that included Anglo-Indian dishes, has received rave reviews. With two successful restaurants within the family, Camellia finally chucked up her job with the Taj, joined the business, and began dividing her time between London and Mumbai. 'I thought I had retired,' she recalls, 'and this was a nice retirement option.' But none of the three has ever really retired. Their next project was the precedent-shattering Masala Zone. They had an unpromising location once again (it used to be a health-food restaurant called Cranks in an awkward zone between Regent Street and Soho) but the concept was brilliant. They served a mix of Indian home cooking and chaat at moderate prices. It was such a success that queues snaked around the block and it sparked a boom in fun-filled casual Indian dining. (Without Masala Zone there would never have been a Dishoom.) The success of Masala Zone turned the trio into full-fledged restaurateurs; among the most successful in London. People forgot that they were essentially outsiders who had come to the restaurant business relatively late in life and in London, Camellia's long career as one of India's most influential hoteliers has been largely overshadowed by the success of the restaurants. More Masala Zone restaurants followed, but what many see as their crowning achievement was still to come. Ranjit found a site in the upmarket Motcomb Street and gave Camellia and Namita only a few weeks to come up with a new concept. Masala Zone sparked a boom in fun casual Indian dining. Without it, there would be no Dishoom. They settled on innovative modern Indian food, with an emphasis on kababs, in a glamorous setting with a sleek open kitchen. When it opened two decades ago, Amaya was London's chicest Indian restaurant (it probably still is) and when the inevitable Michelin star came, it was matched only by the glamorous nature of Amaya's clientele. It is still my favourite of the trio's restaurants, but I suspect they are prouder of the new Chutney Mary. They finally moved the restaurant away from Chelsea to a historic spot in St. James's, which was once the legendary Prunier fish restaurant. Since Prunier closed in 1976, however, every restaurant that opened on that site went belly up. Even Marco Pierre White failed here. The Mathrani-Panjabis, on the other hand, have flourished. The new Chutney Mary must have among the highest revenues of any upmarket Indian restaurant in London. It has junked the old Anglo Indian concept and now serves some of the best Indian food in London. The trio's fascination with historic London continues. They took over The Criterion, which opened in 1873 and has one of London's most beautiful rooms. This site also had a troubled reputation. Newer restaurants at the location had all failed - yes, Marco Pierre White flopped here too - but the Mathrani-Panjabis took a risk and turned it into a Masala Zone. Now, the team is trying to save the historic site where Veeraswamy, the UK's oldest restaurant, is located. I had mixed feelings about an Indian restaurant taking over that historic site, but I guess there is no better symbol of the new world order than a plate of delicious bhelpuri served in the one time centre of the one time Empire. And sure enough, Masala Zone has broken the jinx on the site and is a huge success. As you are probably already aware, the group is now trying to save Veeraswamy. The Crown Estate is refusing to renew the lease because it wants to create more offices in the building. There has been a massive uproar in the UK about this act of historical vandalism conducted in the name of the Crown and feelings run high in India too. Indian food in the UK wouldn't be the same without Ranjit Mathrani. Ranjit doesn't really need the site. They own the Veeraswamy name and could open at a new location and make lots of money. But for him, it's a matter of preserving history. Veeraswamy was opened on this site in 1926 by Edward Palmer as a way of bridging the gap between the UK and India. For it to close would be to forget that historic milestone and all that it symbolises. It would be ironic if the group, which has revived so many London sites including Prunier and The Criterion, loses the one location that marks the gastronomic connection between Britain and India. And so despite all their success, Michelin stars, profits and fame, the Mathrani-Panjabis are fighting to save Veeraswamy. It's not about the restaurant as much as it is about heritage. Having built a restaurant empire on the popularity of Indian food among the British people, they will fight to save the restaurant where it all began a century ago. From HT Brunch, July 26, 2025 Follow us on
The Hindu
07-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
QRave's second edition to be held in Bengaluru
'This is a space that we have been craving for…a utopic space where we can be ourselves,' says multi-disciplinary artist Avril Stormy Unger, drag alter Chutney Mary, the co-founder of QRave, a club night revolving around queer and women DJs and music producers. QRave is a space, which is 'not just queer-friendly, but queer-affirming,' she says of the event, which has already had seven editions in Goa and will be hosting its second edition in Bengaluru on 11 July at The Burrow. QRave was launched back in December 2023 by Avril and her friend Aadhi, aka Mo'Homo, in Goa 'We used to run certain community-based queer events, and we just decided to launch QRave as something we could do in a recurring way,' she says, explaining that unlike many other queer events, which have 'drag, open mic, poetry and so on, this is specifically a club night in the mainstream music scene in India. Also, while our line-up are queer and women, this is open to everyone.' Highlights and more Some of the highlights of the event include Atita Verghese, also known as RattyAtty, a DJ and one of India's first female skateboarders; Disco Puppet, the moniker of Bengaluru-based producer and musician Shoumik Biswas; and, of course, Chutney Mary herself. 'We also have this Goa-based visual artist called Poyo,' says Avril, adding that these text-based visuals are 'very queer and creates the kind of atmosphere where being queer is normal, and we are not the outsider anymore.' After all, as Atita, who usually plays 'percussive, low-end wobblers with feel-good high-energy bounce,' says, representation still matters. 'People feel more welcome and safe when there are underrepresented identities behind the decks and on the floor,' she says, pointing out that seeing others like themselves in these spaces helps foster community because people can relate to and feel safe around each other. 'That's key in nightlife culture,' believes Atita. 'To foster a space where one can completely let loose and feel free enough to feel themselves and the shared energy of dancefloor dynamics.' QRave will be held at The Burrow, Seshadripuram, on July 11, starting at 8 pm. Tickets are available at
Daily Mail
24-05-2025
- Business
- Daily Mail
Large reservation deposits and 90-minute timeslots: The sorry state of the UK's fine dining scene
Eating at a Michelin-starred restaurant these days is like going to a premier league relegation football match. You have to fork out huge amounts of money in advance for your seat, it takes ages to get there and then the whole experience lasts just 90 minutes before they start trying to kick you out. What happened? Why is fine dining suddenly taking lessons from fast food, hustling us from our seats and literally turning the tables on us? The British gastronomic experience used to run on trust and a deliciously freewheeling flexi-time – arrive at 'ish' o'clock, eat like a Roman emperor, stay as long as you want, then leave a big tip if you enjoyed it. Now our enjoyment is being regulated à la Swiss horology and officiously monitored like a German bank account. These days it starts even before your starters. 'Minimum spend' is a grim and déclassé phrase previously only heard at Las Vegas girly bars and at bottle service VIP areas in glitzy Mayfair nightclubs – it's a low bar set specifically to encourage high rollers and discourage paupers, penny pinchers and riff-raff. But plenty of properly posh nosh houses in London are now insisting on a similar advance and outlay for bookings, days or weeks in advance of your actual dinner. Hutong at The Shard requires diners to spend at least £80 per head on Friday and Saturday nights. Chutney Mary in St James's imposes a £60 per person minimum for dinner. At Mayfair sushi temple The Araki, diners must 'pre-pay' £310 per head on the Tock app for the exclusive dinner omakase experience. Three hundred and ten quid! In advance. Are we eating out or investing in a Ponzi scheme? With daytime alcohol consumption all but taboo in 2025, the long lunch is under serious threat, too, replaced by ten miserable minutes of takeaway sushi at the computer terminal ('al desko') or a cheerless meal replacement shake in front of a WFH Zoom call. Tired of no-shows and what the business calls 'reservation squatting' (booking numerous time slots, deposit free, then only turning up for one of them), restaurateurs are now imposing time limits on their dinner tables, too. You go online, book and probably leave your credit card details, only to be informed in plain English – no fancy dressing – that the management is going to need you to be gone within 100 minutes of your reservation time. As it usually takes ten minutes either side of a booking to get in and out of a restaurant, this cuts actual dining time down to 90 minutes. 'Lockdown was the beginning of all this nonsense,' says Mark Hix, a legendary luncher and diner, whose work CV includes kitchen stints at Le Caprice, The Ivy and The Groucho Club, as well as managing his own highly regarded restaurants in London and Lyme Regis. 'That's when everyone got paranoid about time slots and efficiency, when they started making rules and asking for deposits. And when everything went online, people took advantage and started booking tables for six or ten at several different restaurants in one evening and then deciding which one to show up at on the night.' That does sound annoying, and one does feel the restaurateurs' pain – but an hour and a half! For dinner? Surely I shouldn't have to be clock-watching when I'm supposed to be gorging. When I sit down for nosh I want to decompress. I want to be under the influence of a full-bodied red, not under a time constraint. The 90-minute dinner-table limit doesn't work because of how a typical restaurant experience tends to pan out. First, you make the reservation, taking into account guests' availability and location, factoring in their various punctuality records. For me, dinner will involve either a single friend, a group of male mates or my two grown-up daughters. On any and all of these occasions, at least one person (sometimes me) will be late. Sometimes by as much as 25 minutes. And seeing as it's rude to order for yourself in their absence, you wait. Since the clock starts ticking from the reservation time, that's almost a third of the allowance already used up. Factor in cloakroom procedure and pre-dining loo visits, we're really not left with a lot of time. When everyone has finally arrived, we can order – but with myriad 'dietaries' to deal with and the back-and-forth decisions of the dish-ditherers and the I-haven't-looked-yets, this can eat up another ten minutes. We are now probably down to 60 minutes and with starters delivered to the table, the seconds are ticking away with the neuroticism of the Countdown conundrum clock. Someone orders the risotto, which is cooked from scratch and takes an extra 20 minutes, so the rest of the table will wait and order more wine. It would be rude to tuck in while their plate is still bare, right? But being well-mannered will also mean that eating, fun, bacchanal and conversation, taste savouring and wine time is now down to around 15 minutes. So let's skip pudding and have a coffee somewhere else. Bill, please! Ironically, this can take an age to arrive, but these wasted minutes, the extra time of the 90 minutes, will not be acknowledged. And guess what? Turns out there's no one waiting for this table anyway so we could have stayed much longer, tried the affogato dessert and consumed more Picpoul. Spent a lot bigger, too. Oh, to be back in the great expense- account splurge of the 1990s when I was once told off by my boss at a glossy magazine for taking too little time for lunch. 'Simon, lunch is 1pm until at least three,' my superior explained. 'If you are back in the office for two, you just make the rest of us look bad.' Around the same time, across town in super-smart Fitzrovia, the owner of Michelin-starred Pied à Terre would tell stories of a loyal customer nicknamed 'Timmy Two Lunches' by staff, who would take two tables a day – one at 12 o'clock and another at two o'clock. Two, two-hour lunches in one day! The owner of Ffiona's on Kensington Church Street still gladly recounts how, once, a national newspaper's 90s Christmas party exited her establishment at 7am. Waiter, can we reverse time and go back to these glory days, please? Ask a professional bon viveur about the idea of treating dinner as a revved-up amuse-bouche rather than a slow-food main course, clocking restaurant guests in and out like factory workers, and they will choke on their beef-shin ragout. YOU's restaurant critic Tom Parker Bowles, a long-playing record holder for extended fun dining, is refusing to eat anything off this rigorously set menu. 'No decent restaurant would turn its tables like that. It's so rude,' he says. 'It wouldn't happen at The River Cafe, Bellamy's or St John. They would never rush you or kick you out.' Chef Mark Hix, now living in Dorset and working as a private caterer, believes that two hours is a civilised time for a dinner. 'More if people are drinking a lot of wine.' Sometimes, Hix acknowledges, it'll be the menu, the kitchen, the cooking and cheffing process conspiring to gobble up the precious seconds. 'If a customer orders soufflé, the full roast chicken for two or the kilo porterhouse steak well done? Those dishes are going to take a bit longer – say 40 minutes to an hour longer. Both customer and management have to take that additional time into consideration.' Side order: I once had a roast chicken dinner with Hix myself. It began at 7pm and ended at 1am. A long time, a very good time, and a long, long time ago, too.
Euronews
28-02-2025
- Business
- Euronews
High-end UK restaurants making minimum spend standard in face of no-shows
Anyone who's spent their youth living in a big city will have a similar story. You and your friends no doubt cobbled together your spare cash to buy the cheapest dish on the menu to share and soak up the buzz of uptown restaurant. Say goodbye to that romanticised memory of dining in major cities. The latest trend to hit restaurants in some major cities is the minimum spend. Concerned by rising costs, last-minute cancellations or no-show diners, restaurants are forcing customers to commit to spending a minimum amount of money per head when they attend. Minimum spends hit the headlines when two Michelin star London restaurant Gymkhana announced that each guest would have to pay at least £100 (€121) on their dinners. Gymkhana isn't alone. Other restaurants across the UK capital are requiring diners to accept parting with a minimum amount of cash on entry. Fellow gourmet Indian restaurant Chutney Mary demands a £60 (€73) minimum spend, while Hutong in The Shard requires £80 (€97). The most expensive minimum spend requirement we found in London was the Araki, a sushi restaurant in Mayfair, that charges at least £300 (€364) for the pleasure of eating there. Pay to reserve Alongside minimum spends, there has also been a rise in restaurants asking for deposits before bookings. It's not uncommon in London and other major UK cities for a guest's credit card to be charged around £20 (€24) per head to secure the reservation. What's the reasoning behind these measures? According to Gymkhana, it's 'in part due to the number of cancellations and no-shows we were seeing per service'. However, speaking to the Financial Times, the Indian restaurant explained that after they received their two Michelin stars, their site was inundated with 'large volumes of bots and reservation resale websites'. Minimum spends and reservation deposits are aimed at tackling a rising trend in the restaurant industry that has plagued live music for some time. New York restaurants have been plagued by bots that make huge swathes of reservations at trendy spots so that people can then bid on the reservation closer to the time. It's a system that means those with the cash to spare can find a booking at a great restaurant with a moment's notice, but leads to restaurants having no-show reservations and less wealthy potential diners missing out. No shows, no money Outside of the bots world, restaurants are also tired of the trend where people book tons of potential reservations ahead of a dinner plan, only to visit just one of the reserved restaurants or none at all. No-shows are increasingly troubling for restaurants who are facing huge hurdles to remain financially stable. Costs have risen from all corners: rent, energy and ingredients. As a result, high table turnover and increased individual diner spend has become more necessary than ever. 'There's no desire to gouge the guests or the customer in any way,' Matt Tucker, CEO of Tock, a restaurant booking app, told the Financial Times. 'This is just saying, 'we are making a contract between the two of us that you're going to show up and I'm going to provide you the best meal, the best service'.' Minimum spends might be a reliable way for high-end restaurants with social media buzz in major cities to guarantee reliable income. But it shouldn't be a widespread trend. Any restaurant that serves a local community, values repeat customers, or tries to create an inviting atmosphere is going to struggle with implementing a minimum spend. While many diners will accept the economic motivation, nothing will cut through any pretense of a convivial charming local eatery than the threat of the card machine lingering over you. Whether it's the kind of place where you feel brought into someone's home and catered for personally, or a fine dining experience that whisks you away into a world of luxury, the best restaurants allow you to simply enjoy the sumptuous food in front of your and forget that the industry is a goods and service for money exchange.
The Independent
26-02-2025
- Business
- The Independent
Want a table? That'll be £100 per head before you even order
Once upon a time, booking a restaurant was simple: you found a place, called up, made a reservation and – crucially – turned up. Now, in an era where dining out is already an expensive endeavour, restaurants are adding yet another hurdle: minimum spends. London's top spots are now enforcing spending thresholds, turning tables into high-stakes investments before you've even glanced at the menu. At Gymkhana, the first Indian restaurant in London to receive two Michelin stars, that's £100 a head. Hutong, a northern Chinese restaurant in the Shard, demands £80 per person on weekends. Chutney Mary, another Indian restaurant, which has been going since 1990, expects you to drop at least £60. Even if you just fancy a quick cocktail and a dessert at Jean-Georges at The Connaught hotel, you'll need to part with £50 per person to secure a spot. What was once a courtesy booking is becoming a financial commitment. For restaurants, this is a necessary defence against rising costs, reservation-squatting and social media freeloaders. But for diners, it's yet another way of extracting cash in an already pricey dining landscape. The real question is: who are restaurants actually fighting? The culprits – no-shows, bots and influencers – or the ordinary customers left holding the bill? Let's be clear: running a restaurant right now is no easy task. The hospitality industry has been battered by rising costs, post-pandemic recovery struggles and shifting dining habits. No-shows are rampant, online bots are reselling reservations and ultra-wealthy diners – once reliable big spenders – are leaving the country in droves. One of the biggest headaches for restaurants is people booking multiple tables across the city and deciding last minute where to actually dine. Chris D'Sylva, owner of Dorian in Notting Hill, calls this 'reservation squatting' and has introduced a £25-per-head deposit to stop it. The problem? Unlike theatre tickets, restaurant reservations are free to make, meaning diners feel no real obligation to commit. This leaves restaurants with empty tables and lost revenue. And while you might assume that walk-ins can fill the gaps, the reality is that fewer people are casually dropping into restaurants these days. Consumers, faced with their own financial pressures, are dining out less frequently and choosing where to spend their money more carefully. On top of that, many restaurants don't even allow walk-ins – some operate exclusively on a reservation basis, now with a charge attached. The spontaneous dinner out is becoming an endangered species, replaced by bookings made weeks in advance, sometimes at a cost before you've even set foot in the door. High-end restaurants are also facing a new kind of scalping: online bots snapping up reservations, only to resell them for profit. Gymkhana cited reservation bots as one of the key reasons behind its new £100-per-head minimum spend. Realistically, trying to spend less than £100 at Gymkhana is like trying to leave a pub after 'just one pint' – possible in theory, but unlikely in practice. If you actually show up, the minimum spend is essentially just a deposit you'll end up using. But is that fair? For most diners, who'll happily order a starter, main and a cocktail or two, if not the full-whack £140 tasting menu, it won't matter. But if you just fancy a couple of dishes and a beer, tough luck – you'll have to splash out or eat somewhere else. Then there's the flight of Britain's ultra-wealthy. In 2024, the UK government cracked down on tax perks for non-domiciled residents, prompting 10,800 millionaires to leave the country. These were exactly the kind of diners who wouldn't think twice about splashing out on caviar and Château Margaux. With their departure, restaurants are left trying to make up for lost big spenders – and the rest of us are footing the bill. From April 2025, National Insurance costs for employers will soar. In real terms, that means a restaurant with 30 staff will have to find an extra £100k per year. For a franchise with 300 employees, say, that jumps to £1m. This, combined with rising food costs and rent, is forcing restaurants to find ways to secure revenue – minimum spends being one of them. Restaurants are also sick of social media personalities looking for free meals. Dorian along with Hugh Corcoran (chef and proprietor of The Yellow Bittern) have both called out influencers sliding into their DMs with requests for comped dinners. Dorian even posted an exchange with an influencer asking for a collaboration, responding with: 'We're introducing a collab tax on top of the full price menu if you're interested'. Surprisingly, they weren't. Corcoran, meanwhile, exposed a so-called luxury fashion brand for making a big reservation, failing to confirm, then ghosting them entirely on the day. For some restaurants, minimum spends might also be a way of keeping the blaggers at bay. I wonder if whatever restaurateur is writing in favour of no minimum spending would be happy for me to book a table of eight, order some tap water and proceed to use the restaurant like my own living room. Of course not, it is completely ludicrous and disingenuous to say you accept no minimum spend Hugh Corcoran, The Yellow Bittern Corcoran also pointed out that the only thing worse than arguing in favour of a minimum spend is pretending restaurants should have none at all. 'I wonder if whatever restaurateur is writing in favour of no minimum spending would be happy for me to book a table of eight, order some tap water and proceed to use the restaurant like my own living room,' he wrote on Instagram. 'Of course not, it is completely ludicrous and disingenuous to say you accept no minimum spend.' But he also made it clear he wouldn't be introducing one himself, calling the further monetisation of dining out 'deplorable', adding: 'There is a solution to this all – order as if you enjoy eating and drinking!' While restaurants have valid reasons for implementing these policies, the people actually paying for it aren't the no-shows, the bots or the influencers – it's the regular customers. Ultra-wealthy non-doms disappear to Monaco and suddenly we're the ones being told we can't book a table unless we commit to spending £100. It's a financial burden shifting downwards, from absent millionaires to the average Londoner just trying to enjoy a meal out. Rising prices, service charges and expected tips mean London restaurants are already among the most expensive in the world. In fact, £100 a head is fast becoming the norm, whether you're dining at a Michelin-starred establishment or just somewhere that takes itself a bit too seriously. It's no longer just a splurge meal – it's a Tuesday night catch-up with a friend where a couple of cocktails and a steak push you into triple digits before you've even thought about dessert. Minimum spends add yet another financial barrier, turning dining out from a treat into an investment. The big question is whether this will work – or whether customers will start avoiding restaurants with minimum spends. This isn't the first time restaurants have imposed extra charges on diners. In 2023, several establishments introduced solo diner charges, sparking controversy. One such example was Café Royal, which imposed an extra fee on solo guests, arguing that single diners take up valuable table space that could otherwise be occupied by multiple paying customers. The backlash was swift, with many criticising the move as exclusionary and unfair. If minimum spends are now following in these footsteps, the question remains: will diners simply accept them as a necessary evil, as part of London's fine dining landscape, or will they push back? The Araki, Mayfair's ultra-luxury sushi restaurant, already charges £310 per head up front. The US is doing it too – booking platforms like Tock and Dorsia are already setting minimum spends across high-end restaurants, and now Dorsia has launched in the UK, with leading London restaurants such as Strakers, LPM, Akub, Bouchon Racine, Lita's and The Barbary already signed up. If it works there, it may well stick here. Restaurants have legitimate frustrations – no-shows, spiralling costs, influencers who want free food – but their solution is punishing the wrong people. While minimum spends might deter influencers and no-shows, they also risk alienating the loyal diners who actually want to eat there. At some point, customers will decide whether these price walls are worth climbing – or if they'd rather just go somewhere else. Because let's be honest: minimum spends might keep the blaggers out, but at this rate, they might just keep everyone else out too.
