In conversation with Atul Kochhar, on being part of a historical moment in Mayfair dining
Born in Jamshedpur, India, in 1969, Atul Kochhar started out in his teens as a kitchen porter at his father’s restaurant. After studying at The Institute of Hotel Management in Chennai, he became a sous chef at New Delhi’s Oberoi Hotel. In 1994, he moved to London to open Tamarind. A Michelin star followed in 2001. A year later, he opened his own restaurant, Benares, which took a star in 2006. Several international dining rooms and four cookbooks came thereafter, as well as Indian Essence in Bromley (2012), Sindhu in Marlow (2014) and Hawkyns in Amersham (2017). He opened Kanishka in Mayfair this year.
The mid-Nineties marked a fascinating time in the theatre of British food. Gordon was teetering around two stars and well aware of his burgeoning reputation; Marco was winning the plaudits for his elevated French cooking at Mirabelle; Jean-Christophe was in his flamboyant pomp; and the Roux dynasty, led by Albert, was setting palates (and purses) on fire at Le Gavroche. The whole drama was playing out at restaurants all within a few hundred yards of each other in select streets of London’s W1.
While the big dogs fought it out in the Mayfair moonlight, a young pup found himself born into the morning’s afterglow. In 1994, a blinking Atul Kochhar arrived in London from India and was granted a kitchen in London’s most renowned restaurant postcode. How did
he feel to be parachuted in to such an environment? ‘These guys were like gods to me,’ breathes Kochhar, as we settle into an after-lunch chat at Sindhu, his restaurant on the banks of the Thames in Marlow, Buckinghamshire. ‘I saw myself as bottom of the ladder in a big way. I was like the menial boy to what they were doing, but they always treated me with equal respect and I took great pride in being in the same room as them. I wouldn’t say any of them taught me anything, but I watched how they treated ingredients and, by proxy, I assimilated a lot.’
Kochhar is being modest. He emerged from India not by luck, but through ability. In the subcontinent he was part of Oberoi Hotels’ much-lauded training scheme, which takes on ten or 12 students a year on a training programme that makes some of the best cooks and hospitality professionals in the world. Among his peers, Kochhar was regarded as the hottest prospect and thus was given the chance to open the group’s first restaurant outside of India. ‘Cooking was in my blood. My grandfather was a baker and my dad ran a small catering business,’ he says. ‘One of my earliest memories is waking up to the smell of fermenting bread in the house. That yeasty aroma would hang thick in the air, and watching as my grandad worked the dough and stoked the ovens is something that I’ll never forget. I’d follow him to the shop just to get a taste of the environment. I’d sit there wide-eyed wanting to take it all in. I’d listen to him screaming and shouting at the workers and it
was so much fun. It was like a caveman era with no rules, but everyone knew their place. The conduct was how the owner wanted it – my granddad was a meticulous man and everyone knew that they had to work clean, and work fast.’
TAKE IT AWAY
Six years after the London opening, in 2001, Kochhar won the world’s first Michelin star for Indian food. After years sampling the Anglicised poor relation of curry, fine-dining Indian shared a stage with Ramsay, Pierre-White and
Roux. It was a refined take on the rogan josh, jalfrezi and korma that Brits had become accustomed to, but it took a while to come to terms with it. ‘To be told that these dishes had a different meaning to what I had been taught was a culture shock. It took time for me to understand the British palate, but I got there,’ he says with a smile. ‘The bottom line is that people like spices here and that makes my job a hell of a lot easier. I took it as a challenge to push the boat out and make people understand what I was trying to do.’
And understand they did. While early reviews for Benares were not entirely complimentary, you can plot a path of improving feedback between 1996 and 1998 as the critical cognoscenti began to realise what he was about. However, it was a visit from his father in early 1999 that marked the point when it all really started coming together. ‘“You’re being too Indian,” he said. There I was trying to present a style of Indian food I had studied and believed in, and there was my dad on his first visit to the UK rallying against it.’ Kochhar recoiled and asked his father what he meant. ‘He said that the responsibility of a cook is to represent the area that they migrate into. He said that I needed to adapt and open my eyes.’ Suddenly, it clicked. ‘I realised that I needed to learn about the local fishing, agriculture cycle and the meat seasons. It all came to me from there. My father was a wonderful teacher.’
Kochhar’s family learnt the hard way that adaptation was key to survival. They were from the Punjab in northern India, but after the Second World War and the country’s partition, they were forced to migrate to the east of India.
‘I lost a lot of my family when borders began to shift. Several aunts were killed. Fortunately, because my grandfather’s baking was seconded to
British camps, we survived.’ SEEING STARS
After his father’s intervention, Kochhar started following the seasons. ‘If salmon arrived, I’d do it with the Indian spices that I knew. People weren’t really worried about the dish description and what it was served with – it was the salmon that mattered. With this new ideology, it made my life a lot easier and opened a new frontier for me. Suddenly, I didn’t have to worry anymore.’
When Kochhar’s star landed in 2001, Ramsay also won the third he’d been chasing, Jean-Christophe Novelli won two and Marco Pierre White’s Mirabelle took two. Overnight, this little corner of Mayfair became one of the best food neighbourhoods in the world.
‘It was funny,’ says Kochhar with a wry grin. ‘My dad was still alive when I won the star so I called to tell him. I explained to him about Michelin and how they acknowledged chefs. He said, “You know what, we have a Michelin here too, and they sell tyres”. I explained the link to him [that the awards were given to encourage motorists to take more journeys] and he laughed like a drain. He said, “Son, don’t you go worrying about these stars. They’re clearly just a commercial exercise.” But he also said that the most important thing was to congratulate my team and take them out and treat them. Looking after those around you has always been really important to me.’
Today, Kochhar sees himself as more of a mentor than front-line chef, as his role in the BBC restaurant investment show My Million Pound Menu attests. ‘When you’ve done high-pressured work for many years, working long hours and spending a lot of time away from your family, it’s time to look elsewhere. Sure, I can still do it, but I took myself too seriously at times. Now I want to take it a little easy and please people.’
The idea of bringing pleasure brings us quite nicely to the great-value £25 two-course set lunch we’ve just finished in Marlow. ‘In London, I could never offer prices like these. Sure, the produce costs the same, but I have to give another £25 on top to the landlord. Opening outside of London has opened a whole different world to me and the pressure feels much less. I give people a lot of joy for their money here and for now, that’s my aim.’ Even though he means what he says about his penchant for the provinces, a glint in his eye suggests that Kochhar’s got at least one real crack at Michelin stardom left in him yet.
‘My dad was still alive when I won the star so I called to tell him. I explained to him about Michelin and how they acknowledged chefs. He said, “You know what, we have a Michelin here, too, and they sell tyres”’