We have just finished no 14 on the degustation menu, and I decide to attempt a photo of the open kitchen at Raga. I’m about to get the shot when the plush curtain behind me opens, and in walks Gaggan with a T-shirt that reads ‘Everyone Sucks’. The formidable chef is notorious for his dislike of phones in the restaurant, and I consider throwing mine on to the seat next to me for a quick save.
We’re both startled. ‘Hello’ I mutter, sticking my hand out, which he gamely shakes.
That was perhaps the only drama I brought to an evening of pure spectacle at the newly opened restaurant. The real production was orchestrated by restaurateur Zorawar Kalra, who convinced the chef behind Bangkok’s Michelin-starred hotspot to take a chance on sadi Dilli.
Raga already has all the trappings to draw connoisseurs in—just two dinner seatings a night, bookings filled for weeks, never-before-seen kitchen equipment imported exclusively for the restaurant, private dining room and a 22-course menu priced at Rs 11,111. But the real star is the food: an explosion of flavours that takes you across the breadth and width that is India, rendered as a contemporary gastronomic tableau.
Layer upon layer of flavour—“a symphony in my head” as Gaggan described it in an earlier Esquire India interview—builds into a harmony that lingers on your palate and resonates with the soul, befitting for a restaurant whose name is inspired by Indian classical music and a chef who loves sound.
It’s the day before the restaurant officially opens when I visit, and although nerves may be running high, they’re masked by efficiency. Located at the 21-A Janpath—the same address where Kalra’s father, the legendary Jiggs Kalra, once housed Masala Library, labelled “Delhi’s culinary crown”—only adds to the weight of expectation. In the waiting area, I run through the fun listicle that is Raga rules. Table-hopping, for one, is strictly discouraged, because keeping track of the courses is an operation in itself.
The dining area, which currently seats 30, is a complete surprise. Reminiscent of a theatre, with heavy curtains, smooth unadorned walls and dim lighting, it has been designed so that all attention is on the table that is in front of you. Feel free to take a peek at the open kitchen, but interrupting the chefs is strictly off limits.
The house rules are important, because it will be no mean feat getting Indian diners to surrender to the discipline that this kind of dining experience requires. For starters, you go in blind—we were offered no menus at the beginning; for most courses, no cutlery, and, with the service team explaining each dish as it arrives, it’s surprisingly easy to lose track of what you’re eating, particularly if, like me, you’re busy photographing it. My recommendation? Don’t. This is an experience as much for the eyes as the palate. Put the phone away and watch the performance unfold.
I chose the non-vegetarian course; there is also a vegetarian option. All dietary preferences are discussed at the outset of the meal. Champagne and wine pairings accompany the menu, adding another layer to the experience. With a glass of champagne (Moet that evening), the service kicks off with a few refreshing courses, cool, tart flavours that evoke chatpata snacks outside your school gates and weekend family outings, only to return in shapes and forms you’d never quite imagined. Gaggan's signature yoghurt explosion turns up as Pink Blossom, a delicate petal-like creation served alongside a pretty-in-pink sphere. Our server encourages us to eat it together, as he does the Golden Egg, another sphere served atop a crunchy nest, which we do. Oh lord, was that papdi chaat? Paani puri? Molecular gastronomy this may not be, but magic? Maybe.
The entire experience is said to take about an hour and forty-five minutes, but we were there for over two hours during which we had the pleasure of Rydo Anton, Gaggan’s longtime collaborator and co-chef (literally the Ra to his Ga), pour us Earth & Grains, a rich, robust broth that would make your toes curl. Other highlights, for me, were the Pyaz Kachori which, unlike its dense original, was as light as its maple leaf design; and Cold Curry, a playful deconstruction of textures and colours that somehow, when brought together, becomes curry.
By the time the six sweet courses arrive, there is still room for surprise. First Dew, a punchy passionfruit palate cleanser, wins my heart, although the Fields of Green and Gold, an exquisitely presented saffron-infused soft serve, is the one everyone seems to be talking about. A Mithaas box, offering among other things a cool take on Pyar Mohabbat ki Sharbat, was another delight.
But preceding the sweet course came the climax of this presentation: a tiered ceramic floral bowl with four compartments. The Nalli Nihari is unlike any I’ve eaten before—smooth, rich and surprisingly light. Kalra points out that his dad may have made the dish famous at Dum Pukht, but this one is better and I can’t disagree. It comes with Brain Pepper Fry —astonishingly, the brain is cauliflower— and Tabak Maaz, melting soft meat beneath a crunchy coating. Only the Sheermal disappoints, but that's forgiven in the company of everything else.
What shines through most clearly, though, is Gaggan and his team's love for desi khana. For all the theatre, technique and presentation, the soul of this meal is unmistakenly Indian. It takes a certain amount of guts to mess with flavours this familiar. At Raga, they are turned inside out, amplified and transformed into something completely new, yet somehow remain unmistakably true to where they began. For that experience alone, it's worth a visit.