For Chef Kunal Kapur, Nostalgia Is His Sharpest Ingredient

Long before the TV shows, the restaurant launches, or the flashbulb moments alongside Gordon Ramsay, Kunal Kapur was just a curious boy in a Punjabi household, watching his grandfather grind spices by hand. The kitchen was where stories were told, not just meals prepared. He remembers the way the room would fill with the scent of slow-cooked dal as relatives debated politics over lunch, or how every festival had its own menu, its own rhythm. “Food was language,” he tells Esquire. “It was how we celebrated, how we showed love, even how we said sorry.” That quiet reverence for food—as ritual, emotion, identity—has never left him.

Today, 25 years into a career that’s stretched from the Taj Group kitchens to global stages, Kapur is one of Indian cuisine’s most recognisable faces. He doesn’t cook for theatrics. Scratch beneath the celebrity polish and you’ll find a chef who’s still chasing that first spark—that memory-soaked plate that made everything else make sense. Whether he’s reviving lost ingredients like kalari cheese from Jammu or distilling the emotion of Delhi 6 street food into a dish at Pincode, Kapur’s cooking is less about invention and more about remembrance. “A single golgappa or a plate of pav bhaji can tell you more about a city’s history, migration, and moods than any guidebook ever could,” he says.

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He cooks for feeling. Whether he’s reviving heirloom recipes or spotlighting forgotten ingredients from rural India, his focus remains the same: food that remembers where it comes from.

Chef Kunal KapurChef Kunal Kapur

It’s this quiet, deliberate philosophy that’s shaped his journey—from Gurgaon to global acclaim. In a world of fusion overload and Instagram garnish, Kapur is bringing it all back to the roots: to technique, to legacy, to flavour that tells a story.

In this exclusive conversation with Esquire India, he opens up about memory-led cooking, why street food deserves a pedestal, and how instinct—not invention—is his sharpest knife in the kitchen.

Excerpts from a conversation.

Growing up in a Punjabi home in Delhi, what did food represent, and what’s your earliest food memory?

Food was language. It was how we celebrated, how we showed love, even how we said sorry. A good meal could fix almost anything. There was no such thing as ‘just food’, everything had a purpose, an emotion, a memory stitched into it.

As for memory, I think it has to be those chaat outings with my dad in the lanes of Delhi 6. The bustle, the smell, the mix of sweet and spicy, it was our little ritual. We didn’t talk much, but we didn’t have to. It wasn’t just about the food, it was about that feeling. That’s still what comfort food means to me.

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Why do you think Indian street food is one of the most powerful vehicles for cultural storytelling?

Because it belongs to everyone. Street food isn’t bound by class or ritual. It’s alive and constantly evolving, yet deeply rooted in place and people. A single gol gappa or a plate of pav bhaji can tell you more about a city’s history, migration, and moods than any guidebook ever could. I don’t see it as casual, I see it as cultural currency.

Can you share one dish that’s particularly close to your heart — and the story, family recipe, or forgotten memory behind it?

Dal Pakwan. It’s not something we made often at home, but every time I tasted it growing up, at a neighbour’s place or a community gathering, it left a mark. The contrast of the crispy pakwan and mellow chana dal, that sprinkle of chutney... it felt celebratory and grounded all at once. It reminds me how food connects us beyond bloodlines.

Pincode by Chef Kunal KapurChef Kunal Kapur

What’s one Indian city you think the world hasn’t fully tasted yet — and why?

Kolkata and Odisha have such unique food stories. Kolkata’s got everything, from street food to slow-cooked classics, there’s a little bit of everything, and it all feels full of heart. Odisha, on the other hand, has such a distinct food culture. Even the vegetarian dishes are packed with flavour and tradition. Both places deserve way more attention for how special their food really is.

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What’s one forgotten or underrated regional ingredient or dish you’re obsessed with reviving right now?

Kalari cheese from Jammu. It’s earthy, indigenous, and has such an incredible story, used traditionally by nomadic communities, and almost forgotten outside the region. We’ve given it a spotlight at Pincode in a way that respects its roots but also brings it into new conversations.

If you had to plate nostalgia, what's on it?

A mound of soft, steaming rice, a ladle of maa ki dal, a smear of homemade pickle, and a piece of ghee-smeared roti on the side. No garnish, no fuss. Just warmth, memory, and everything I ever needed on one plate.

Heritage in cooking is a double-edged knife — it’s rich, but can sometimes feel restrictive. How do you walk that line between honouring tradition and innovating with a light hand?

By listening, first to the dish, then to myself. You have to understand the soul of a traditional recipe before you even think of reinterpreting it. I don’t believe in change for the sake of cleverness. I believe in reimagining, gently. A twist should make the story clearer, not louder.

What do you cook for yourself when you're not performing?

Usually something instinctive, maybe a dal with tadka and rice, or anda bhurji with toasted pav. When you cook for a living, there’s comfort in going back to basics. Cooking without plating. Without performance. Just hunger and memory.

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After all these years, what’s still the most humbling part of being a chef—and what’s next?

That someone lets your food become a part of their story. Whether it’s a birthday, a heartbreak meal, or just a quiet Tuesday night, your dish is in their moment. That’s deeply humbling, and it never gets old.

As for what’s next, my goal is to keep discovering. New stories, new regions, old recipes waiting to be remembered. If Pincode has taught me anything, it’s that there’s still so much more India to taste, and I want to be part of telling those stories, one dish at a time.