Whether in Montreal, where she was born and raised, or in Delhi, where her award-winning brasserie sits, the stylish chef’s love for gastronomy has always run deep. She came to India to chase her passion about eight years ago, after leaving behind an engineering career and having trained at the esteemed ITHQ (Institut de tourisme et d’hôtellerie du Québec). In 2014, she introduced unusual combinations like oysters with charred onion petals, tamarind puree, and rose vinegar when she became the first Indian chef to be invited to host a solo dinner at the James Beard House in New York City. Also presented there was her very own coffee-table book called Eating Stories, packed with charming visuals, tales and recipes.

In pursuit of narratives

“I am studying Ayurveda so, at the moment, I’m inspired by the knowledge and intuition which comes with that, but otherwise I completely live for stories. Those of the people around me — of spices, design forms, music, traditions, history and anything else I feel connected to.”

Culinary muse

“I truly believe that nature is perfect, so I feel privileged to use the ingredients that it provides, while adding my own hues, aromas and combinations…it feels like I get to play endlessly every day.”

After-work indulgence

“My favourite places to eat at are Cafe Lota and Carnatic Cafe in Delhi, and Betony and Brindle Room in NYC.”

Dream dish

“This salad I created called ‘secret garden’. It’s so beautiful to look at and has such a unique spectrum of flavours…all while using only the freshest, most natural produce to create something completely magical.”

Reception blooper

“Most people make the mistake of over-complicating the menu; having too much diversity and quantity. Wastefulness isn’t a good way to start a life together.”

A third-generation entrepreneur from a highly distinguished culinary family, she runs a thriving studio in Khar where state-of-the-art cooking stations and dining tables allow her to conduct a variety of workshops and sessions. Her grandfather is remembered as the man who migrated from Africa to London to found the brand that brought curry to the people of the UK — Patak’s. She took over as brand ambassador, having trained at Leiths School of Food and Wine and taught at one of Jamie Oliver’s schools in London. What’s more, Pathak is also the author of Secrets From My Indian Family Kitchen, a cookbook comprising 120 Indian recipes, published last year in the UK.

Most successful experiment

“When I was writing recipes for my cookbook, I had to test some more than once to ensure they were perfect and foolproof. One of my favourites was my slow-cooked tamarind-glazed pork. I must have trialled this recipe at least six times before publishing it, and after many tweaks I have got it to be truly sensational. It’s perfectly balanced with sweet and sour both.”

Future fantasy

“As strange as it sounds, I’d love to cater my own wedding. You want all your favourite recipes and you want to share this with your guests. I could hire a caterer to create my ideal menu, but I’d much prefer to finalise and finish all the dishes myself so that I’m supremely happy with the flavours I’m serving to my loved ones.”

Fresh elegance

“I’m in love with microgreens for entertaining and events…although not a new trend, they still carry the delicate wow factor and are wonderfully subtle when used well. I’m not into using foams and gels and much prefer to use ingredients that are fuss-free.”

This advertising professional first tested her one-of-a-kind amalgams at The Lil Flea, a popular local market in BKC, Mumbai. Her Indian fusion hot dogs, named Amar (vegetarian), Akbar (chicken) and Anthony (pork), sold out quickly and were a hit. Today, these ‘desi dogs’ are the signature at the affable home-chef-turned-businesswoman’s cafe-***-diner in Bandra, alongside juicy burgers, a fantastic indigenous crème brûlée, and an exciting range of drinks and Sikkim-sourced teas.

Loving the journey

“The best part of the job is the people I meet; the joy I get to see on their faces as they take the first bite. The fact that this is across all ages and social or cultural backgrounds makes it even better. Also, I can indulge a whim — whether it is about the menu or what I can do for a guest — without having to ask anyone. On the flip side, I have no one to blame but myself if the decision goes wrong. And, of course, I can’t apply for leave!”

Go-to comfort meal

“A well-made Bengali khichri or a good light meat curry with super-soft chapattis.”

What’s ‘happening’

“This is a very exciting time in food and entertaining — the traditional and ultra-modern are moving forward together. Farm-to-fork is very big; food is also more cross-cultural, and there is a huge effort to make your guest feel special. Plus, ‘Instagram friendly’ has become key…if it’s not on Instagram, it never happened! But essentially, a party works when everyone is comfortable and happy.”

A word to brides

“Let others plan your menu. You relax and look gorgeous!”

This Le Cordon Bleu graduate really knows her way around aromas that warm the heart. On returning to Mumbai from London, she began to experiment with making small-batch ice creams for family and friends. Now she churns out those ‘cheeky’ creations from a tiny kitchen in Bandra, where customers must ring a bell to get a taste of dark chocolate with Italian truffle oil, salted caramel, milk chocolate and bacon and her signature (a must-try) — blue cheese and honey.

The extra mile

“I’ll never forget the time I created three massive croquembouche towers (choux buns filled with assorted flavours of pastry cream, held together with caramel) for a wedding, and had to deliver them to Thane!”

Menu vision

“For a wedding, I would want to serve something light and fresh to start with, like seared scallops with fresh oysters and uni (sea urchin). For mains, I would serve something hearty and warm — roast duck and foie gras in a red wine jus. Dessert would be individual mini croquembouche!”

Having been raised by big-time foodie parents, the strongest motivation for their decision to take to this path came from their mother, who had two much-loved restaurants of her own while the sisters were growing up — Vandana in Mahim and Bandra Fest on Carter Road. Following the success of the first MeSoHappi in Khar, Mumbai, the duo known for wholesome cooking opened another outlet of the quirky gastro-bar adjoining The Captain’s Table — one of the city’s favourite seafood haunts — in Bandra Kurla Complex.

Chef’s own

AA: “We were the pioneers of the South African bunny chow in Mumbai and, even now, it remains one of my all-time favourites.”

On wedding catering

PA: “The most memorable for me will always be Aarathi’s high-tea bridal shower. I planned a floral-themed sundowner at our home in Cumballa Hill; curtains of jasmine, rose-and-wisteria lanterns and marigold scallops engulfed the space. We served exotic teas, alcoholic popsicles of sangria and mojito, and dishes like seafood pani puri shots and Greek spanakopita with beetroot dip, while each table had bite-sized desserts like mango and butter cream tarts and rose panna cotta.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2016 | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

Terrorism has mushroomed
all across the world.
Greenery here is not less,
some terror must be unfurled.
I 've heard that some desi
terror outfit has taken birth.
More shadowy than shadow,
their secrets difficult to unearth.
Help is required from security
agencies of developed land.
There they lock up terrorists for
years without trial on remand.
They've trained dogs to smell
terrorists before they become one.
Our country is developing fast,
soon it will be second to none.
Full use of the cyberspace
this local foxy terror group makes.
In this virtual world whose
identity is real? whose fake?
This tricksy group makes
bombs sophisticated, smart.
It targets selected only,
suddenly before they can depart.
But few unintended ones died in blast,
must be suicide bombers, Indeed!
Terrorists don't understand political
equations, what is the need?
Now our Police catches
terrorists just minutes after the blast.
Their must be some-kind of relief
for citizens shocked, aghast.
My little brother eats my head,
wants to catch a tiger alive.
Jocularly I advised it is animal dangerous,
flesh and bone it can rive.
Instead we can catch a cat and
with continuous torture and grill
we can make it confess to be a tiger,
with third degree surely it will.

To Begin...
There are things I feel that I need to express. Channeling my emotions this way is something I haven't done in a long time. Sometimes, when you feel that no one else understands or cares enough to understand, this is a good place to start.

I am a young, complex, sophisticated woman at a critical junction in her life. I know inside that everything will be okay, no matter what happens. I know that I have to constantly and consistently strive to be better in everything that I do. I know that no one else can make my dreams come true. I am a strong, proud woman.

I wish, that I didn't have to be so strong.

I've learned that the journey matters more than the destination. My boyfriend first told me this about a semester ago, when things were better between us. He was talking about our exercising goals, but I applied it everywhere. I held fast to his words of wisdom, like golden nuggets shifted and separated from dirt that the tide washed in.

He's right, you know. The journey matters more, especially because most people never reach their attempted destination. Sometimes, we half-assedly try. Most of us are too lazy or preoccupied to become successful quite the way we want, although some of us learn to make a compromised form of success. But that is life, you never know what happens next. The moment you begin to think you have it, you lose it. The moment you realize you have nothing, you find something that is beautiful yet unexpected. That is how it started between me and my guy.

Let me begin with our story. I still remember the moment he walked into that second floor Union building, with a somewhat shy, half naive smirk on his face, clumsily trailing behind his best friend Roney. I might have been wearing a sleeveless black top with small pink flowers, but I am not sure anymore. He was wearing over-washed, light blue jeans, black and white converse sneakers, a yellow shirt depicting a marijuana plant, a brown leather wrist bracelet. He had that amused look on his face, as if he was getting paid to be there. From the moment he walked in that door, I decided not to like him.

That day, I was assigned to handle our first "desi" meeting by myself. We had decided to start this impromptu organization, and they all decided I should be President for the obvious reasons. I was everyone's friend, they respected me, and took my advice. In a way, though they were my peers, they saw me as an elder. Although I made immature decisions in my own life, they saw some sort of leader in me, and I could bring people together. I was well liked, pretty, somewhat popular at one point, talkative, and convincing. I used to have a sparkle in my eyes when I talked, and people easily fell in love with me. Somehow my relationship with my ex-boyfriend had drained me totally. I didn't believe anymore, in anything. For the first time in my life, I was unsure of anything and I felt lost.

I wasn't confident, but that day I had to put on a face and pretend I could command a group of unruly, uncooperative south-Asian desi kids. I felt like I was losing control. He walked into the room, and headed for straight for a group of girls, Pooja and Sweety. No luck. Next, he introduced himself to a group of high school Caucasian girls. Maybe a little bit more hope there. At that time, I was so infuriated that this strange newcomer could frustrate my attempts to control the already unruly group, by flirting in the middle of an info session! "Guys--Quiet!!!!!" I remember trying to get their attention.

He remembers this story somewhat similarly. "You were the diva *****, the queen bee, and all your drones fluttering around to do your ***** work," as soon as he says it his mischievous face breaks into a warm, doting smile, and he quickly kisses my forehead. "I'm kidding, Jaan. Well..." I stare up at him, thinking about getting mad, but I also begin to laugh. Amused, he gathers me into his arms and holds me for a minute.

At first, I tried to dislike him for the mere fact that he was PKI, because one had hurt me before. Then one day, that didn't matter anymore-- G was mine. Just when life had begun to lose its appeal, and I didn't know who I was anymore, he walked into my life and breathed freshness into me. We looked perfect, we were perfect together, and we brought out the best in each other.

A winter flashback, before he left for his studies. "T, I don't ever want to lose you.... You are so perfect." We are sitting in his basement, cuddling in a brown, ethnic shawl. There was snow on the ground, that had fallen on the ground previous nights ago. I had assed my last law school exam of my first semester at W, Hakes Property final, so that I could rush into his comforting arms. He always told me that I can succeed. I knew I was smart, but he told me that I had a great head on my shoulders, and I could do the impossible. And eventually I would learn to believe him.

While we slugged our shots of whiskey and whatever else he managed to dig up, and as his older brother drank alone upstairs, we hugged each other, fearing what would happen to us.

The time he first told me he was leaving replayed over and again in my mind. It was earlier that morning when we first woke up. He didn't want to tell me the first night. "Did you cheat on me?" I had asked him, knowing he didn't. "No, T, never to you I would do that. You mean too much to me." "Well, do you have cancer?" "I wish, that would be easier to deal with." "Are you leaving the country-- flying to Pakistan and living there?," I laughed as I asked that last question, because it was impossible. "Nooo," he laughed with me, looking down. We had this same conversation on the phone every night he called me. "Well?" I waited for an answer. "Jaan, I will tell you in the morning. Tonight, you are all mine, just have faith in me."

The next morning he kissed me awake and held on to me as the sun rose. "Tell me." Fifteen minutes later, I burst into tears. As water endlessly gushed from my eyes and I blew my nose into his shirt, he quietly held me tight. It was that moment, I realized how much he really meant to me, and I to him. My feelings shocked me, but it pleased and pleasantly surprised him. For a few minutes, he teared up too before regaining his manly composure. "Jaan, we can get through this. We are strong. Nothing can come between us, and definatley not this. Just think of it as study abroad." I nodded and blinked back tears as he held me tightly to his chest. We laid there for most of the day, before going downstairs to dramatically drown our cute sorrows in the empty calories of alcohol.

Sometimes I replay these moments in my head, wondering what happened between us. Doesn't he like me anymore the way he used to? What happened to my G, the one who made me feel so happy and free. I wonder why he doesn't call. I wonder why he doesn't respond to my texts, or think about me. I wonder why he doesn't want to know how my week went, and how he doesn't listen to me anymore.

I think about asking him. Then I remember my futile attempts over the past summer, and him telling me I care too much about the semantics of our relationship, and that I am being too dramatic. I know for a fact that I am not being dramatic, but I stay quiet because I don't want to chase him away. I know I am not like other women. I am strong. No other women can put up with my man, because they could never be as strong minded and confident as me. Sometimes, I wish I wasn't so strong.

...The beautiful dream I once saw, etched in silver, on a quiet beach fades away the faster I walk towards it. As I finally catch up to it and open my hand, I realize I am holding only to plain, brown sand. I wish I could just know. I wish I could ask him what he wanted, why he quietly slips away like sand slips through the cracks in one's fingers. What happened to the glittering silver dreams, that danced and teased me on the shoreline? I wonder if I had imagined it all along, but I know better. I know somehow, somewhere in the distance, in a parallel dimension, it exists-- my beautiful silver dream. I can almost reach my hand out, and just grab it-- but I can't see it.

I still care about him, more than he would ever know. I would do anything for him, and always be there for him. I want to know why he is emotionally distant, whether he still has feelings for me, or if he is trying to force feelings for me. He knows I am strong. He knows no matter how badly I hurt inside, I won't ever show it. I will hold my head up high, and smile as confidently as the day he met me. I wish he could know that he means the world to me. I wish he could tell me how he felt- even if it hurt me, I would prefer the truth. I wish he would have enough courage to talk to me.

I am afraid that if things go unsaid, one day we will never talk again. I want to grab him, shake him, and ask him, "Has everything changed for you, or should I leave?" I want him to know that I would never judge him, after all he will always be mine in a way. I want him to know that I can handle it, and whether as a good friend or an enchanting mystery that exists in a parallel dimension, I will always be in his life, if he wants me there.

I want him to know that if he doesn't want me in his life, I will quietly leave forever- like a dream once dreamt that never came true. Because I care about him -  for him I will be strong. I want to ask. But I am afraid to speak.

Imi soptesti vorbe dulci, in timp ce-ti ascuti spinii,
Ca prin vraja ma atragi printre portile gradinii.
Si se-nchid in urma mea cu un scartait incet,
Soarele dispare-n zare lasand cerul violet.

Eu te caut fermcat printre atat de multe flori
Ce ma incanta si m-atrag cu ale lor calde culori,
Frunzele fosnesc in juru-mi, in explozii de ecou
Tu incet prepari veninul in amurgul indigou.

Si pasesc increzator, nestiind ca o sa m-ataci
Fiindca asupra ta vegheaza o armata de copaci,
Si ma zgarie si-mi par un sinistru labirint
Luna imi ghideaza calea cu a ei raza de argint.

Stralucesti printre frunze atragandu-mi privirea,
Caci mirosul tau ma cheama si-mi ineaca gandirea,
Inima-mi tresare tare fiindca tu-mi promiti saruturi
Inauntru o simt *** bate simultan cu mii de fluturi.

Si imi canti incet un cantec intr-o liniste de gheata,
Insusi labirintul verde se trezeste usor la viata.
E o lume de poveste, totu-mi pare ca-i un vis
Tu sirena din adancuri, ma atragi inspre abis.

Simt liane *** se aproapie, si se incolacesc pe mine
Si ma trag tot mai aproape aducandu-ma la tine.
E de ajuns sa te privesc si raman pe loc lovit
Simt doar inima *** bate, caci in rest am amortit.

Nici medusa insa-si cu ai ei ochi patrunzatori
N-ar putea sa ma inghete si sa-mi dea asa fiori.
Cu niste lanturi cuprinzi intreaga mea fiinta
Impietrit si fascinat eu privesc cu neputinta.

Ghimpii-ncep sa ma intepe  si in carne isi fac loc
Simt veninul *** patrunde si *** sangele ia foc.
Caci cu cat m-apropii tot mai mult tu ma ranesti,
Si in crunta-mi suferinta tu continui sa zambesti.

Sfaramat in mii de cioburi, ma atarn de-un fir de ata
Doar prezenta ta himera ma mai tine acum in viata.
Insa tu dai drumu lantului, si ma zgarii violent,
Din atatea rani deschise veninul se scurge lent.

Naucit ca sunt iar liber, tremurand m-am ridicat
Chiar si ghimpii tai uscati, eu incet i-am scuturat.
Doar in inima au ramas, caci mi-e frica-n lipsa lor,
Viata incet mi se va scurge printe gauri s-am sa mor.

Simt un foc adanc in suflet care arde irizat
Si cu infinita lui ardoare, ma consuma infometat,
Caci te vad acum mai clar si incep sa realizez,
Ma ranesti doar stand acolo desi eu ma-ndepartez.

Nu sunt ghimpii ascutiti ce m-au stors usor de sange
Nici veninul tau fierbinte ce din vene mi se scurge
Nu-s nici vorbele otravite ce le spui tu cu blandete,
Caci desi nu vrei s-o faci, ma ranesti prin frumusete.

I spend money like a drunken sailor dating a conniving cheap-skate
who flashed her 'possum in Pittsburgh alleys at ****** she did hate
God Bless all animals that were in the loving care of Lizzie Borden
'cause we are afflicted with a Jesuit pope who's always busy lordin'
In the dark all prostitutes are equal, dependin' on how you're sortin'
as gonorrheal discharges mean nothing to the babies they're abortin'
'cause amputees leaned on stuff before Lucy Ball wed Gary Morton
& hatred grew 'twixt Desi & Lucy when Lucy & Gary were courtin'
before Desi could win back Lucy's hot love which was only sportin'
even though it was with *****-***** that Lucy caught Desi cavortin'
in Cubano bars under tables tequila-drinkin' & *******-line snortin'
on the Black Isle Peninsula of boggish ol' Scotland's West Shoreton
home to sodomitically-apt girls espousing an Apocalyptical portend
that's ******* than Barb Walters' make-it-up-as-you-go-along reportin'
on a rookie L.A. pig with C-4 is preferable to a fugitive with a 4-10