Amninder Sandhu launched Palaash in October, 2023, hiring a team of women from neighbouring villages.Tipai by Wildlife Luxuries/Supplied
Amninder Sandhu can’t help but start little fires everywhere she goes. So, in October, 2023, when the award-winning Indian chef had the opportunity to launch Palaash, a 100-per-cent open-fire dining experience on the fringes of the Tipeshwar Wildlife Sanctuary in Maharashtra, it was a dream come true.
Reaching the intimate 25-seat dinner-only restaurant at Tipai (a luxury ecoresort with 15 villas in the remote wilderness, a three-hour drive from Nagpur) is an adventure in itself – but that’s part of its charm.
Smoked baingan at Palaash.Tipai by Wildlife Luxuries/Supplied
Once you’re here, it’s easy to understand why the gas-free restaurant is named after the striking deep-orange-leafed tree known as the “flame of the forest.” The kitchen orchestrates the symphony of service with dancing flames under copper lagans – traditional vessels for cooking – and the glow of smoking embers atop the underground barbecue pit.
“In a city setup, you can’t dig up the ground and put anything in it, then take it out the next morning,” Sandhu says, describing the toll operating a gas-free kitchen of that nature takes on your exhaust system and electricity bill. “It was the perfect setting for everything I always wanted to do.”
Sandhu grew up in a Punjabi-Sikh household in Jorhat, a small town in the northeastern state of Assam. “Regional Indian is a thing now, but I’ve always looked at Indian cuisine that way,” says the only Indian chef to compete on Netflix’s The Final Table. “I’ve grown up eating Naga pork, but I also loved aloo paratha just as much,” she adds, referencing the northeast regional staple of Nagaland and the more ubiquitous North Indian potato flatbread dish.
The chef’s diverse upbringing has only deepened her curiosity for what the country has to offer. During her childhood, picnics in dense forests and cooking alongside her mama (her mother’s brother) were the norm.
“My mama was the first person who ever made me feel like cooking was cool. He taught us how to catch fish. We threw whatever we caught into the bamboo and cooked it on an open fire. As a kid, all of that just felt like magic.”
Nowadays, Sandhu has found her stride with a hyper-local approach while staying true to her childhood memories of cooking gutti aloo (tiny potatoes the size of chickpeas), mejenga (the leaf of Sichuan peppercorn) and Assamese kaji lemon.
Nagpur black crab at Palaash.Tipai by Wildlife Luxuries/Supplied
And there are some things she just won’t compromise on: “I use organic ingredients as far as possible; I don’t use any refined oil,” she explains. “The cost of running a kitchen of that nature is higher, but I’m okay with that because I sleep better at night.”
Succeeding in a male-dominated industry was far from easy. “Twenty-five years ago, Indian professional kitchens were full of illiterate men who couldn’t do anything better with their lives, so they chose to cook,” Sandhu explains. “I was bullied all the time – there is no way I can sugarcoat this.” For years, the young apprentice showed up to a chorus of casual misogynistic remarks like, ‘You’ll get nowhere, so find a rich husband.’
When she decided to employ a team of women from the neighbouring villages – who had never cooked professionally before – to execute her seven-course tasting menu at Palaash, she quickly realized that her impact was much greater than she had ever imagined.
The women worked for the wider resort and were often the breadwinners of their families. Sandhu, who hadn’t yet hired her kitchen team, saw potential in their consistent cooking skills. “I used to see these ladies cook the ‘family meals’ for the rest of the team. Every morning, they were making 400 chapatis that were the same thickness – the same shape – almost as if they were made by a machine,” says Sandhu.
Whatever little she’d teach them – whether a chutney or a stuffed paratha – they were seamlessly able to replicate. In an area with extreme poverty, she thought, “Why don’t I give them a chance?”
Currently, 80 per cent of the work force at Tipai comes from the neighbouring village of Marathwakdi. “Palaash was a defining moment in my career,” she shares. Now, all of her projects are rooted in intention, changing perceptions and giving back.
Her six-person, all-female kitchen team recently accompanied Sandhu for two Palaash-inspired pop-ups: One at Hyatt Centric Chandigarh and the other at Leela Palace Udaipur. “The ladies sat on a plane for the first time. They stayed at a five-star hotel for the first time, and it was just a surreal experience for me,” she recalls with a smile.
Tipai by Wildlife Luxuries/Supplied
For Sandhu, this is only the beginning. “I’ve opened many restaurants, but the teams I’ve put together – and the positive impact I’ve had on their lives – are more important. It goes over and above just creating a unique dining experience.”
The serial restaurateur, who also owns Bawri in Goa and Mumbai, has recently opened Kikli, a 120-seat Punjabi restaurant that’s big on generosity and warmth in the heart of New Delhi in Connaught Place. “Feeding people is every Punjabi’s middle name,” says Sandhu, who acknowledges she had forgotten this, having grown up nearly 2,500 kilometres east of Punjab.
After receiving an overwhelming amount of kindness during her recent visit to her ancestral roots, Sandhu made a promise to herself to give back to the state. “With Kikli, I want to put the right spotlight on Punjab, to document its richness and keep the beautiful aspects of Punjab alive.”
Indian culture is shining bright on the global stage. “Gone are the days when Indian cuisine is modified to suit foreign palates,” she says. “Now, we take more pride in our culture and traditions; we are serving food the way it’s meant to be.”
