Produced by: Manoj Kumar
Forget Michelin stars—home chefs in India are turning living rooms into luxe dining spaces, where ₹3,000 gets you not just a meal, but a story, a new friend, and maybe a secret recipe.
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In this underground food scene, there’s no OpenTable. You slide into a stranger’s DMs, Venmo the fee, and show up at a mystery address hoping for magic—and maybe a mezze platter.
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You walk in knowing no one. You leave knowing what makes a Goan widow’s curry so spicy or why Bengali mustard oil hits different. It’s not just food—it’s edible anthropology.
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From Assamese silkworm tacos to Mexican-Jaipur fusion, Indian supper clubs are playgrounds for culinary crossovers that restaurants wouldn’t dare touch.
Step aside fine dining. Supper club hosts are cooking on charcoal grills in balconies, fermenting batters in antique crocks, and serving eight courses—no uniforms, just unfiltered passion.
There’s no “ordering” here. Guests eat what’s served, when it’s served. Allergies? Maybe. Picky eaters? Don’t bother. The thrill is in surrendering your palate to the host’s vision.
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Some clubs partner with coffee estates, gin makers, or heritage rice growers—turning each event into a tasting tour of India’s forgotten farms and emerging brands.
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Twelve strangers. Six courses. Three hours. One Whatsapp group after. Supper clubs are low-key reshaping India’s social fabric—one shared table at a time.
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With no staff, no storefront, and no food license (yet), these hosts bypass the system entirely. Is it the future of Indian dining—or a regulatory time bomb waiting to burst?
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