Dhamaka and Its Relentless, Unapologetic, and Very Necessary Pursuit

Now that they’ve got this huge platform — a James Beard under their belts, critical acclaim both here in New York and abroad — Pandya and Mazumdar could take it easy, and absolutely no one would blame them for it. After all, restaurant work is hard and grueling, and success is elusive, not to mention in this unpredictable economic landscape. If you’re lucky enough to make something magical not just once but multiple times, why push your luck any further?

But the thing is that they simply can’t not change. It is impossible for them, or their restaurants, to stay the same. After talking with them both, I understand why: It’s got nothing to do with monetary success, or James Beard medals. But it has everything to do with what it means to be an immigrant in America, about defining what it means to achieve the American Dream today, and being both unapologetic and most of all, relentless, in revolutionizing how we all think about Indian food today, and for future generations.

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Both Pandya and Mazumdar are immigrants, but their respective experiences in America differ from one another. Mazumdar moved to the U.S. as a teenager from Kolkata in 1996, while Mumbai-born-and-raised Pandya moved to America in 2013 as an established chef.

Being an immigrant here in America (or anywhere else for that matter) often means assimilating as a means of survival at every age. If you’re a chef or a restaurateur, that means putting butter chicken on your menu instead of goat testicles, or shying away from anything that might be a little too ethnic, or a little too close to “home.”

But Pandya and Mazumdar aren’t operating that way (although, to be fair there is butter chicken on the menu at Adda — but it’s likely unlike any other one you’ve had before). Unlike many immigrant chefs and restaurant owners before them, they’ve found a freedom here in America. And they’re using it to push forward their goal of sharing their love of their food and their culture with as many people as they possibly can. And doing it on their own terms.

“If we only were doing what people expected, then none of these restaurants would have ever been,” says Mazumdar.

In February, the duo, along with Dhamaka’s chef de cuisine Eric Valdez and general manager Tsepak “Tina” Dolker, traveled to India for a whirlwind three-week tour across the country. It was a homecoming and, in some ways, a powerful reminder why they can’t veer off course from their original mission at Dhamaka — showcasing the “forgotten side of India” — dishes and traditions that aren’t just being erased here in America, but also in India, too.

What struck Mazumdar the most during that recent trip was how “commercial” things had become, and the impact it’s had on the culinary scene: “It’s not as regionally as vibrant as we would like to see,” he says. “There’s so much innovation in India right now, but we’re seeing these dishes, ideas, and people simply disappearing and everything is more factory-based and commercial. The personal touch isn’t there.”

He recalls speaking to an audience of 100 hospitality leaders and asking them if any of them were familiar with the cuisines of Bihar, Orissa, of Meghalaya; fewer than five raised their hands. “That was one of the most alarming things to witness, and an indication of the direct missing links in our own cuisine.”

For Mazumdar, it’s seeing what he loved as a child vanish before his very eyes. For Pandya, it’s not so much about the loss of nostalgia but searching for a way to retain the history of these traditions and dishes; to add context (“the art which goes behind the way it’s done”) to them so they’re more than just something delicious to eat. He acknowledges that even what he’s able to achieve in his own kitchens can’t match the intensity or integrity of what you have (or had) in India. But he’s seen the commercialization take hold, and he wants to make sure we don’t forget where we’ve come from by making these dishes at Dhamaka.

At one point, Mazumdar uses the analogy of being “like an anthropologist, digging through the dirt.” For him and Pandya, you can’t push forward into the future without knowing your past. “There are things that have already been lost, and slowly being covered in the sands of time,” he adds. “But for us there’s this desire to hold on to it, because it also represents us and our own paths and our own childhood.”

In many ways, it’s a reflection of that classic immigrant struggle to retain what you knew of your former home in your new home — except that for them it’s about retaining it in both places, and eventually around the world. It’s something my own grandfather, a Chinese immigrant to America, could never quite achieve with his own restaurants in Kansas, more than half a century ago. For Mazumdar and Pandya, the American Dream isn’t just about having critically acclaimed, profitable restaurants — it’s about sharing their food and culture with everyone, on their terms.

Changing the menu at Dhamaka is an exercise in expanding the exposure that diners like you and me will have to their childhood, and their past. Why stop at 20 dishes when you can push to 200, or 500? In other words, you should expect many more menu changes ahead at Dhamaka in the years to come.

“Two more years later, maybe the name of it will also change” Mazumdar adds. “How do you keep bringing concepts to our cuisines, our heritage and our culture, if you don’t even know where you come from? There’s only a very limited perspective on who we are. I think it’s about expanding that. And that’s the only way I think we’re going to find these inspirations and find these moments that are going to propel us forward.”

Deanna Ting is Resy’s New York Editor. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter. Follow Resy, too.