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Forbes
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Forbes
A Toddy Shop By An Indian Chef Adds To NYC's Cuisine
Chef Regi Matthew thought New York was the perfect city to introduce an Indian restaurant Chatti in ... More the Garment Center, known for specializing in toddy's, a dish native to India. New York City foodies are always in search of new cuisine to find unique flavors and tastes that stretch their palate. And since 38% of its population consists of immigrants, New Yorkers have a wide-ranging palette. Drawn to New York City because of its international cuisine, India-born chef Regi Mathew opened Chatti on West 37th Street on Feb. 12, 2025 in the Garment Center area in proximity to Times Square and Penn Station. Mathew hails from Kerala on India's southwestern coast, and is known for launching the restaurant chain Kappa Chakka Kandhari in Chenni and Bangalore India, but this is his first international venture. Mathew suggests that Indian food in New York City is becoming increasingly regionalized, reflecting different areas of India, rather than offering the same old-time favorites like chicken curry. He calls Kerala the 'land of spices' since it has traditionally attracted traders and travelers from different areas overseas. He chose New York City, over London or Paris, because 'New York is definitely the best place when it comes to gourmet audiences. They are well-traveled and appreciate good food. I want to present my food on the best possible stage.' Introducing a Toddy Eatery to NYC He describes Chatti as a toddy shop, which leads to dishes called 'touchings' that are slow-cooked and often eaten with one's hands. To develop his personal recipes, Matthew traversed India and stopped at over 70 toddy shops, where he learned that the food 'changes from village to village, shaped by what's available and who's cooking it.' Toddy's are best compared to tapas and function as appetizers, and they combine well with 'great conversation and good drinks,' he explains. Chatti's food, he says, is 'not heavy, not too many allergens, no nuts.' The word 'chatti' refers to the classic container used in curry shops. Pawn Pouches Are One Example Some of his signature toddy's include prawn pouches, consisting of prawns with coconut masala, beef fry, tapioca patties, and clay pot fish curry. He says the prawn pouches are 'delicate and aromatic, steamed in banana leaves,' the clay pot fish curry 'is bold and slow-cooked with pieces' and the tapioca patties are 'crispy, golden and comforting.' Two of the most popular entrées ordered are halibut grilled with gooseberry masala and rice dumplings in coconut milk with chicken curry. He adds that social media has been a useful tool for its guests to send photos of toddy's to friends to get the word out. Yet, he admits that most mainstays of Indian cuisine in the New York City area aren't on the menu so you don't find samosas or chicken curry. 'The food we are preparing is from Indian cuisine,' not Americanized, he suggests. The average dinner check at Chatti's is $60 to $70 per person for lunch and $80 to $100 per person at dinner, excluding liquor. It seats 90 guests in the main dining rooms and up to 70 guests in a mezzanine, used for private events including birthdays, anniversaries, reunions and corporate gatherings. Capitalizing an eatery in NYC is an expensive endeavor. Mathew says he received investments from a select few U.S.-based investors, who were aligned with his culinary vision. Targeting the Curious Diner Bungalow, the well-respected East Village eatery started by chef Vikas Khanna, often attracts a clientele that is 75% Indian people, but Mathew says Chatti appeals to 'the curious, open-minded diner who's ready to explore Indian food beyond the familiar.' Yet he acknowledges that many Indian people are discovering it and bringing their Indian friends with them. For example, a friend of mine who is an Indian Google engineer has already dined there. When this reporter dined at Chatti early on a Sunday evening, he and a friend ordered the prawn pouches and a chicken pouch, then a seafood and coriander chicken dish ending with cloud pudding, a coconut dessert, for a delicious meal. Most diners on Yelp were pleased about their Chatti meal. Beth from White Plains, N.Y. said 'If you're craving bold, authentic Kerala flavors, Chatti is the place to be.' She enjoyed the beef fry appetizer, Trivandrum chicken fry, and calamari and shrimp, and the cloud pudding dessert. And Chripa from New Hyde Park, N.Y. enjoyed her beef curry, the duck curry with the roasted coconut and black pepper, which she scooped up and ate like soup. She liked the touchings, reporting that her table of 4 people ordered 5 of them as appetizers. Mathew says he's only concentrating on making Chatti successful, and not delving into the future and exploring opening a second location. Asked the keys to the future success, he replied, #1 Staying true to the cuisine, #2 The right ingredients, #3 The right cooking style. So in essence, he said the regional Indian cooking will determine its success. Lastly, he adds, most Americans view Indian cuisine as spicy, but he emphasizes that Chatti's food is 'flavorful, not pungent.'
The Hindu
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
Author Prajwal Parajuly discovers the organised charm of Sri City
Novelist Prayaag Akbar had promised that the students were smart. That was reason enough for me to move to Sri City, in the middle of nowhere, sight unseen. Friends and family had reason to be skeptical. For a few years I had been flitting between New York and Paris, convincing everyone that I was leading a rockstar's life. Why then would I abandon that for a city in Andhra Pradesh that no one had heard of? Alas, the rockstar existence I aspired to actually felt like I spent half my life at airports and the other half on planes. Do that in your twenties — it's sexy. You're still doing that once you step into your forties — it's a bit sad. Besides, what was not to like about building from scratch a Creative Writing programme at a new university that was making news for all the right reasons? Yes, I could design my own curriculum. Yes, the faculty-student ratio was excellent. Yes, New York could continue being part of my life. No, Sri City wasn't really a city in the British sense of the word. I had been to Chennai once before and looked forward to rating the best idli and chutney. I'd judge every fault at Avartana and Southern Spice and Pumpkin Tales and Kappa Chakka Kandhari. I'd visit the temples of Mahabalipuram and the beaches of Kovalam. I'd weekend in Pondicherry like the perfectly pretentious snob that I was. On the way back, I'd stop at The Farm. But Sri City? What of Sri City? The information online was scant. Yes, it was what they called a special economic zone, poetically abbreviated to SEZ. And yes, there was a supermarket. Yes, Krea University, where I'd teach, was the city's pride and joy. And yes, Krea's main building was ugly while the newer buildings were pretty. Was that a smirk on my driver's face when I asked him to tell me something about the city? 'So, lots of factories?' I asked the driver. He smirked. 'Have you been to Krea before?' I asked. 'Many times.' He continued to smirk. 'And?' Smirk. Someone would get tipped zero rupees. 'We are almost there,' he said. Outside, the landscape changed. We were fast leaving the chaos and colour of average Indian streets. The roads became wider and smoother. The dividers were more ornamental. They sported flowers. On either side of the tree-lined avenues were tall walls housing well-known brands: Mondelez, Pepsico, Sodexo. This felt strangely familiar. And why was that? I could have been in … Texas. Sure, few things in life were more mind-numbing than American suburbia — I'd sooner live in war-torn Mogadishu than on the outskirts of Philly — but here I was, suddenly excited by the similarity. Finding this level of organisation and cleanliness — what I'd have otherwise dismissed as abject soullessness — anywhere in India felt incongruous. Travel just outside the economic zone, and there they all were: the potholes, the frenzy, the roads snapped in two. But Sri City? Oh, Sri City was Oklahoma in Andhra. So that was how it would be. I'd be living in a bizarre little American sliver of India. I made my way to the university accommodation. It had 'Exotica' in its name. I'd be on the top floor. Of course I'd tell everyone I lived in the penthouse. Outside, a canoodling couple plucked lice off each other — they would be an integral part of my Sri City vista — oblivious to the game of cricket factory workers played on a makeshift pitch. The glaze-tile-floored flat had toilets that didn't have showers in the middle of the room. That was a win. But the two bathrooms were divided by a wall that stopped three-quarters of the way up. You could throw toilet paper across the wall from one bathroom to another. 'You like?' the driver asked when he saw me consider the partition. I ignored him. My colleague Anannya would take me out for lunch. 'Japanese?' she asked. Here? A jittery bus disgorged a gaggle of daily-wage earners next door. I was whisked off to Asagao, which served Japanese and Italian cuisine, and not to Tokyo Ryokan, which served Japanese and Indian. Like I wasn't confronted by an embarrassment of riches already, a third Japanese restaurant named Senri even bragged views. The Sri City expats — many of them Japanese and Korean — working at the various international companies needed their karaage fix. My ramen bowl could have been from any Japanese restaurant in New York or Singapore. 'That was a great meal,' I started to text Anannya on the drive back to Chennai. I'd have to do a social-media post about this strange cosmopolitan experience. 'Best ramen I ate in India,' I'd brag. The driver swerved. A pair of snakes slithered to safety. Prajwal Parajuly is the author of The Gurkha's Daughter and Land Where I loves idli, loathes naan, and is indifferent to coffee. He teaches creative writing at Krea University and oscillates between New York City and Sri City.
Hindustan Times
15-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Katori versus banana leaf: The geography of cuisine
Is South Indian food more messy than North Indian food or is it more sensual? Is it because we eat on a banana leaf which is to food what the napkin/plate/tablecloth combo is for other foods? Is it because North India brings out its katori army, arranged like chess pieces, with one bowl for each dish? Is it because our gravies – think sambar, olan and stew – are more runny than their rajma or rogan josh? How does India eat and why does it eat this way? Is it because restaurants have changed how we eat or is it intrinsic to the food? Chef Sara Jacob links it to the North Indian 'katori system' versus the South Indian eating on a banana leaf. Sara is in Bengaluru to do a pop up called Nair on Fire at Lush restaurant in Renaissance Bengaluru Race Course hotel. She specialises in Kerala cuisine that she markets through Instagram with celebrity endorsement and restaurant pop-ups across the country. Sara tells me how the pop-ups she does in Delhi are different from the ones she does in Bengaluru. In Delhi, she says, she arranges her dishes in neat layers, allowing for people to use a fork and spoon. In Bengaluru, she doesn't have to do any of this, serving her eriseri, puliseri, olan and stews in mud pots. The dozen-odd people at my table all mix the dishes by hand without any self-consciousness and are clearly enjoying themselves, which is why I asked the original question: is South Indian food more messy than North Indian food? 'Not messy. More sensual,' says Chef Regi Mathew who runs Kappa Chakka Kandhari in Bengaluru and Chennai. He describes all the ways in which we use our fingers, which are intuitive and natural to me. In South India, we are not shy about eating. We use our entire hand to work with the food. We have the concept of 'pesanju' which is mixing and mashing with our fingers. It is supremely sensual, I agree, but it also looks messy. There are many advantages to this method of eating. Using your hands tells you the temperature of the food – if it is too hot to put in your mouth. You can mix a banana with the Kerala puttu in this same manner allowing the mashed banana to leak through your fingers, giving you the pleasant sensation of feeling the cold banana with the hot puttu. My North Indian friends cannot stand to even see this leaking banana between my fingers, let alone emulate it. North Indians also have an aversion to using the palms of their hands, perhaps because theirs is more of a roti culture rather than a rice culture. Sure, they use their hands to eat but tend to stick to delicately touching food with the tips of their fingers rather than the, shall I say, more robust way in which South Indians eat. I have known Chennai weddings where we all licked our entire palm when it was coated with curd rice or payasam. To eat a runny rasam-rice with your hand involves a deft centrifugal movement in which you somehow contain the rapidly running rasam-rice into the palms of your hand and then quickly down it in one lick, like a serpent swallowing a vole. This vainglorious (some would call it inglorious) method of eating comes naturally to us in South India, perhaps because we weren't subject to waves of invasion. We are not self-conscious about our ways. Some part of it is also familiarity, as food consultant Aslam Gafoor says. People in Old Delhi are very comfortable eating parathas with their hands in a manner that can also be called messy. But take them to a restaurant and they will use the spoon. So are restaurants the real culprits? Are they the ones who have changed how India eats? I think there is some truth to that. The five-star restaurants of India take their cue from their Western counterparts and – with a few exceptions – expect us to eat Indian dishes with a fork and spoon. This is true of the five-star Indian restaurant-chains like Bukhara, Jamavar, Loya and others. Familiarity with the cuisine is the other factor. The same North Indians who eat chole-bhature with their hands will eat upma (a South Indian dish) with a spoon. South Indians on the other hand, have an aversion to the spoon. Sure, I haven't mentioned the other parts of India but I think the divisions are clear. Katori or banana leaf, rice or roti, fingers or palms, runny gravy or thick, invasions or not. These determine your eating habits. (Shoba Narayan is Bengaluru-based award-winning author. She is also a freelance contributor who writes about art, food, fashion and travel for a number of publications.)
