Sink your teeth into Mumbai’s contemporary dining scene

It's early morning in Mumbai's Lalbagh Spice Market, before the midday heat sets in. I'm standing in a stall jam-packed with hundreds of ingredients in open bins and plastic bags, trying to stop sneezing. The air is thick with a haze of traditional Indian spices: fenugreek, cinnamon, cumin, mustard seeds, green cardamom and fennel seeds. Then there are the hot chillies, separated into huge bags by relative heat, but indistinguishable to the untrained eye. And my untrained eyes are starting to water a little.
The proprietor, a bear of a man parked on a stool, notices me taking notes. "What are you writing about," he asks, incredulous. "Spices?" He hands me his card, which describes him as a ­"master of spices". He asks where I'm from, offers to take me to Mumbai's best new seafood restaurant, and then simultaneously answers two telephones. It's a typically busy day.
My official tour guide for this spice market tour is Prashant Penkar, one of many chefs at the hyper-modern five-star Oberoi Mumbai, a hotel perched on the edge of the "Queen's Necklace", otherwise known as glamorous Marine Drive. Visiting this spice market is a regular errand to collect traditional flavours for The Oberoi's modern Indian restaurant, Ziya, which has served as one of the trailblazers for a new kind of dining in Mumbai. En route from The Oberoi to the Spice Market, a 30-minute drive in dense traffic to the centre of the city, we pass faded colonial mansions, brand-new shopping malls, several slow-moving construction projects and the famed Oval, the massive field where dozens of cricket games are simultaneously played.
The culinary landscape in Mumbai is remarkably varied, and has undergone a significant evolution in the last decade. It's even changed significantly since my previous visit, five years ago, when the hottest place in town was the 50-year-old Trishna, an upscale local favourite for ­seafood.
But while old tradition-based institutions continue to thrive, and the crowds still line up at the 80-year-old Bachelorr's for late-night ice cream and fruit, and 92-year-old Britannia for Parsi cuisine, things are noticeably different since I first wandered the city's cracked sidewalks. New boutique-style establishments are opening, particularly in affluent neighbourhoods such as Colaba, Nariman Point and Breach Candy. There are gleaming industrial parks that highlight Mumbai's financial reach. India's wealthiest man, Mukesh Ambani, has completed construction on his 27-­storey, 400,000-square-foot home. And there's a far more modern approach to both local and international cuisine, spread out in pockets across the city.
One of the hottest culinary additions is The Table, operated by the American chef Alex Sanchez. Like many new restaurants, The Table serves up contemporary fusion cuisine – drawing influences from France to Thailand, in a space with chevron-patterned floors and massive concrete pillars – to the city's young and fashionable. Havana, a brand new restaurant, is introducing Cuban cuisine. Floyd Cardoz, a Mumbai-born, New York chef is introducing his "Indian-inspired" cuisine with The Bombay Canteen. In this increasingly open culinary landscape, Indian chefs are finding more room for creativity.
Contemporary Indian food innovates traditional presentation, ingredients and cooking styles, and has been popular in New York, London and even Bangkok for several decades. But it has only just started to make inroads in Indian cities. India doesn't have much of a fine- or fusion-dining tradition, but now that wealth is multiplying in Mumbai, international travel is increasingly common, and chefs trained abroad are returning home, with all sorts of hip new establishments popping up and challenging ideas about Indian food.
"In 2010, I remember people telling me that what we are serving is not Indian food," says Penkar, as we continue our walk past vendors selling everything from fireworks and shampoo to puffed rice snacks and unblemished vegetables. Since then, Ziya has become one of Mumbai's most popular restaurants, with revenue growing almost 50 per cent year over year. The menu uses many traditional Indian spices, but also makes small bows to fusion, including non-indigenous ingredients such as edamame and shiitake mushrooms, plus the sprinkling of an occasional indulgent drop of truffle oil.
"The food and soul are still ­Indian," says Varun Chhibber, The Oberoi's general manager. But in a country accustomed to sharing dishes family-style, even the idea of pre-plating can be contentious. My dinner at Ziya is recognisably Indian, but still full of surprises. In a sparse, thoroughly modern room – white accented with tones of gold – I'm served flambéed lobster, delightfully spicy with a hint of sweetness; tender lamb boti with caramelised cauliflower; and cashew-­coconut kulfi paired with a banana-bread doughnut.
Masala Kraft, at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel, occupies a space that used to serve heavy and traditional Northern Indian cuisine. It seemed like a fitting match for this landmark property, which was built two decades before the iconic Gateway of ­India. Now, the massive and imposing building is one of the top tourist attractions in the country. Just off the nearby pier, colourful fishing boats bob in the water, the neighbourhood a hodgepodge of pricey boutiques and faded colonial mansions. One of the first speeches announcing Indian independence in 1947 was made from the hotel's grand front steps. But a new kind of liberation has taken hold when it comes to the conventions of ­Indian cuisine.
When Masala Kraft opened its doors 11 years ago, the recently retired chef Hemant ­Oberoi (no relation to the aforementioned hotel) developed a menu inspired by homestyle cooking, but with a dramatically updated look. Tributes to the city's iconic culture include high-design tiffin boxes filled with curries, and an "iron cuisine" trolley – a tribute to the city's vast and colourful laundry yards. One afternoon, I sit in anticipation as a waiter uses an iron to sear slices of lamb, chicken and fish – each in a different classic marinade. I move on to try inspired flavour combinations, such as a pistachio and coriander soup, and classic creme brûlée with faint hints of masala tea. A decade ago, the restaurant was hard to fill. Now, it's consistently packed with foreigners and ­locals.
Mumbai's dining culture is expanding, not just in technique and ingredients, but also spatially. While many of India's most elegant (and expensive) restaurants have traditionally been in five-star hotels, free-standing culinary temples are starting to make their mark. Masala ­Library, which opened in 2013, can be found in a newly built Bandra Kurla business park, alongside a gleaming new Sofitel hotel, sandwiched between a ­Pizza Express, the hot spot Smoke House Deli and an extensive network of newly paved roads.
"Indian cuisine was always at the bottom of the pyramid of choice for the elite," says ­Zamir Khan, Masala Library's marketing director. Khan says that, for decades, Indians with means wanted a taste of the world, typically favouring French, Italian or Chinese restaurants. "Indian food was considered quite boring," he explains. "The ambience at all of the restaurants was pretty monotonous: camels, elephants and maharajas." Masala Library, like so many of these temples of modern Indian cuisine, eschews coziness in favour of a cool, sleek aesthetic defined by polished hardwood floors and pale stone walls.
The key question faced by Masala Library's founder, the local culinary impresario Jiggs Kalra, was how to make Indian food new and interesting, while maintaining the traditional essence of the food. Kalra has described this new venture as "Indian cuisine version 2.0", and he has found ways big and small in which to innovate. The restaurant uses imported Italian San Marzano tomatoes in its butter chicken, and incorporates elements of molecular gastronomy. After a starched white napkin has been dropped across my lap, I'm delighted by a savoury yogurt sphere amuse-bouche and raita made with pearls of pomegranate juice that burst to coat my tongue – touches that are playful and surprising.
Back in the Spice Market, ­Penkar is finishing up just in time. The midday sun is creeping higher in the sky, and ­overheating vendors are starting to fan themselves with considerable vigour. While Penkar loads the traditional spices for The Oberoi's modern Indian cuisine into one of the hotel's luxury sedans, he takes a moment to reflect. "Everything has changed here," he says, with a mix of amusement and surprise. "Everything."
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