At the N-th bend, you start to wonder if you should have accepted the little pill that Aashina so kindly offered before getting into the car at Chandigarh airport. “I’m used to it, I don’t get car sick,” I told myself, without considering that in India it’s a whole different ball game. Here, cars zoom past as if they were on a straight highway, and the “almost-encounters,” or rather “almost-collisions,” feel like a constant threat. But a look at the driver, who doesn’t flinch by a millimetre when he nearly brushes against the oncoming truck, is enough to understand that he could do it with his eyes closed and that, when all is said and done, you are in good hands.
The journey is accompanied by a not-so-harmonic soundtrack in the background, and it’s clear that the use of the horn is preferred over the brake. Outside the car window, life flows amidst a multitude of people, colourful saris and clothing, entangled cars, cows crossing the road, overloaded scooters, and street food on every corner. There’s no break for the senses. For those who are “virgins” to the Indian Subcontinent, it might be a shocking welcome, like being woken up with a bucket of cold water, while for those returning, it’s a big hug that screams “welcome back”. India has this power: it grabs you, it kidnaps you, it envelops you. And to fully appreciate it, you must let go and immerse yourself in the wonderful chaos.
Two hours (if you’re lucky) of slalom towards North, leaving the city behind and immersing oneself into the Himalayan mountains. An ascent that seems to never end, with the peak at 1800 meters above sea level giving the false hope of having arrived. No. The road continues, twisting and turning, descending a little bit more until reaching the destination: a cottage with a panoramic view and… complete tranquillity, a cradle of peace. Because this is the other India, the antidote to chaos. A calm and serenity not always visible on the surface, but revealed in the people, in their hospitality, kindness, and genuine willingness towards others.
India has this power: it grabs you, it kidnaps you, it envelops you.
We are in the area of Kasauli, specifically in a small village called Darwa, in the region of Himachal Pradesh, in Northern India, at a latitude of approximately 30 degrees North. On a clear day, the majestic Himalayan range emerges in the distance, painting the sky like a stage backdrop. They are a sort of “Indian Alps,” having the same geological age as the most important mountain range in Europe, but definitely more imposing, with a total area of about 600,000 square kilometers, stretching from northwest to southeast between China and India, crossing eight countries. From Sanskrit, Himalaya means “abode of snow” (hima: snow, and alaya: abode), due to the numerous snow-capped peaks that exceed 6,000 meters – some over 8,000 meters – including the famous Everest. It is a region of great geographical, climatic, and environmental importance, providing water to billions of people, influencing the regional climate, and hosting a rich biodiversity with dense forests and various species of flora and fauna specific to the area, including several endangered ones. It is certainly a lesser-known India, and it is right here that chef Prateek Sadhu, originally from Kashmir (a neighbouring region), has fulfilled his dream of opening NAAR: a small restaurant with only sixteen seats inside the Amaya Resort.
Forget about Butter Chicken for a moment – that emblematic and delicious traditional dish with tender chicken that shreds between your teeth and its creamy and spicy sauce in which dipping your naan is a must. Actually, forget about naan, roti, samosas, and all the other things “typically Indian”. Let’s reset our minds and taste buds and re-educate ourselves about Indian cuisine because India is made up of many Indias. With over 5,000 years of civilization, the subcontinent is a unique blend of ancient traditions and cultural dynamism that is expressed in a diverse way through its 1.4 billion people (equivalent to 18% of the world’s population). With over a hundred languages and more than a dozen religions, diversity is one of its fundamental characteristics. And this is reflected in the incredible culinary diversity of the regions. “Thinking of a single Indian cuisine would be like thinking of a single European cuisine,” explains the chef.
It’s comes as no surprise that Prateek does not like to use the words “traditional” or “authentic.” He explains that many Indian dishes labeled as “traditional” have tomatoes, potatoes, or chili peppers at their core, all three ingredients originating from South America and first introduced in Europe and later in India during the colonial era. In fact, the Portuguese were the first to arrive in India with Vasco da Gama in 1498, establishing bases along the coast and initiating the first commercial routes. It was also the Portuguese who introduced cheese, a completely new addition to the Indian diet as until then, where “dividing” milk was considered a sin, explains the chef. At the end of the day, we are all children of contamination and exotic influences, adopting ingredients and evolving recipes over time, in India as well as in Italy. So Prateek wonders: how can we define “traditional Indian cuisine” when it is based on ingredients unknown before the 15th century? What existed before? And how do we define what is authentic or modern today? Let’s set aside these labels, allowing the country to express itself in its entirety and its immense and rich diversity.
Indian cuisine is currently experiencing a period of rediscovery and revival.
And so, let’s welcome this long-overdue international spotlight on Prateek Sadhu and other chefs like Himanshu Saini of Trèsind Studio in Dubai (the first Indian chef to receive three Michelin stars in 2025), who have been working for years to show the world that Indian cuisine is so much more. The April 2025 cover of Bon Appétit is significant, explains Prateek: it features his Sunderkala, a dish from the Uttarakhand region in Northern India, made with noodles (yes, I said noodles) that would not typically be associated with Indian cuisine but are actually common in some areas of Northern India. It’s an indication that perceptions, fortunately, are changing, and in his Instagram post, the chef writes: “What a defining moment for Indian food.”
But let’s go back to the mountains, where time flows without clocks, and nature offers unforgettable sunrises (and the occasional giant spider attached to the curtain of your room giving you the chills like never before). At NAAR, Prateek proposes a cuisine of the Himalayas. His mission is to unveil the unexplored stories of the mountain range, creating a culinary experience that is not only creative but also an expression of the territory. Here, nature sets the rhythm with its six seasons – spring, summer, monsoon, autumn, pre-winter, and winter – and the menu changes every two months. In summer, there are stone fruits like peaches, plums, or apricots. The latter grow in the surrounding areas, but those at even higher altitudes “are among the best, sweetest, and juiciest in the world”, explains Prateek. During the monsoon season, on the other hand, you can find bushes of berries like sea buckthorn or cloud berries, also known as red berries or “ancient blackberries”. In early April, during our visit, we saw the “golden Himalayan berry” (called Hisalu), a small native orange berry that grows along the path to our walk to the restaurant and, although available only for a few weeks, is included in the menu.
NAAR relies on two F’s. The first one is for foraging: a fundamental part of Prateek’s cuisine and a practice he has been carrying out for over a decade now, which he takes seriously, venturing into specific areas to gather certain seasonal ingredients. He and his team always make sure to “share nature with the birds” and never disclose the location on social media to safeguard the natural ecosystems, embodying a spirit of harmony and balance with nature often found in the Subcontinent. Recently, Prateek and Aashina organised a foraging trip to gather morel mushrooms (apparently another incredible product from the mountain range), but they couldn’t find any. Instead, they stumbled upon beautiful wild strawberries and returned to the restaurant with those; once again, letting nature dictate the ingredients. With the use of techniques like fermenting, smoking, drying, marinating, and ageing, the kitchen manages to capture the essence of each season in their menus.
And the second F is for farming: in the two hectares of garden inside the Amaya Resort, the NAAR team grows “the basics”: chili, onion, garlic, ginger, turmeric, and corn, but also fruits and vegetables like cabbage, sweet peas, or strawberries. NAAR is not a vegetarian restaurant, but there is always the option of a vegetarian tasting menu, a non-negotiable prerogative in India. For carnivores, protein is always present, including options like trout – imported to the Himalayas through an agreement with Norway due to similarities in ecosystems and waterways – lamb, or pork.
For the chef, traveling is also, and above all, a way to deeply investigate the roots and customs of a territory, often undocumented and at risk of being lost, as in many other “marginal” cuisines. “I love going to people’s homes, it’s the best way to learn. In mountain homes, the biggest room is the kitchen. It’s central to daily life, the warmest part of the house, and where the whole family gathers around the fire”, Prateek explains. It is from one of these encounters that his iconic (and delicious) dish, Sunderkala, was born: hand-made black wheat noodles with timru broth (indeed, the one featured on the cover of Bon Appétit). His cuisine doesn’t seek ostentation in presentation; the goal is to create dishes for the soul that offer a sense of well-being. And he succeeds, so much so that a fellow journalist, at the end of the meal, confesses: “It’s one of the few fine dining experiences where I don’t keep track of how many courses are left till the end”. And I couldn’t agree more.
This is as much fun dining as it is fine dining.
With this mindset, care, and dedication, NAAR truly presents itself as a hub of research, innovation, and communication of the incredible regional richness and biodiversity, largely unknown to the average diner (and certainly to “us Westerners”). A “New Nordic of the Himalayas”? Who knows. Surely, the two months that Prateek spent at Noma back in 2010 were memorable.
“I’m a city girl”, says Aashina Kaul, giggling naturally and contagiously. Wife, life partner, and right-hand of Prateek, today she is the jack of all trades at the restaurant. She too hails from Kashmir, but her family was forced to leave, fleeing the violence and geopolitical instability that have long marked the region. It remains a complicated area, contested between India and Pakistan (it is in fact located on the border), with China claiming the northeast part adjacent to it. Prateek was fortunate to get to know Kashmir a little as a child, and now together, the pair is rediscovering their roots. Before settling near Kasauli, the couple lived in the metropolis of Mumbai. City of dreams, city of Shantaram, city of contrasts, where modern skyscrapers coexist alongside slums. Green and humid, with the majestic Marine Drive along the coast that offers a moment of respite and refuge at any hour. Aashina worked in the Indian film industry (in production, distribution, and marketing), while Prateek was at the helm of the restaurant Masque, among the most renowned fine dining establishments in Mumbai (we wrote about it in Cook_inc. 25, ed.). However, already back then, the idea of a mountain cuisine was maturing in him, and his foraging trips had started, collecting and bringing mountain products back to the kitchen in the city.
“In Mumbai, I worked hard for seven years to reach that level. The tasting menu at the beginning was a novelty, and we had to introduce and explain it to the clients.” Then, in 2022, everything changed. Sadhu had decided to leave Mumbai and was working on opening a venue in New Delhi, but everything was stalled, and the necessary permits were not coming through.
“Sometimes you plan your life, but life has other plans for you,” he recounts. “One day I was driving, and I had an epiphany: I thought, ‘fuck it,’ I have to go to the mountains.”
He knew about the opportunity at the Amaya Resort but was not convinced, wondering who would go to eat in such a remote and completely isolated place. In India, it is not common to travel to dine out, and it seemed a very risky thing to do. But the Himalayas were calling him, in fact, they had always called him, and so Prateek understood that the right moment had arrived. It was a radical choice that his family and friends did not understand, even Aashina was a little skeptical: “We had some savings, so I told him: go, try it, let’s give it six months and then we’ll see,” she recalls. Deep down, she was convinced that he would return to the city-life. And yet, like all beautiful unexpected surprises, she was the one to head North and embark on this new life, together. A total change, but well received and, in hindsight, quite right.
“I jumped out of a plane without a parachute and then built the parachute on the way down”, Prateek recalls.
NAAR opened its doors in late 2023. It is the definition of a destination restaurant: you don’t end up here by chance (as was probably clear from my opening car story). It marks the culmination of a personal and professional growth project, the closing of a certain circle, but also, and above all, the beginning of a new chapter full of energy and vitality that permeates every space. Today, the restaurant is always full, with over 90% of the clientele being Indian nationals, proving that people are willing to make the trip there, and it is more of a rule than an exception for the lunch table to linger on that hilltop until sunset.
“Back in Mumbai, I cooked for the guests – Prateek recounts – here I cook for myself, and it’s the people who come to me. It’s essential to love what you do and to keep having fun. If you’re angry or frustrated, it shows. Cooking is done with your hands and eating is done with your hands; the energy flows through there. Happy cooks make good food.”
This spirit is amplified throughout the kitchen brigade, where the chef strives to create an open space for dialogue and growth. After all, it is a destination also for those who decide to work up there, in the silence. It is no coincidence that his sous chef, Kamlesh Negi, has been with him for 13 years and followed him here as well. He is referred to as the “backbone” of the restaurant, and their relationship is beautiful, a complementary duality, to the point that Aashina calls him “Prateek’s second wife” (acknowledging that, ultimately, he was there before her).
Mark this NAAR on your radar. Because Prateek’s new chapter is destined to last. “I want to continue cooking well into my seventies,” he announces, smiling and shrugging slightly, as if it were a given. With a keen curiosity, Prateek lets himself be carried away by the creativity dictated by the pace of nature. And in this little corner of paradise, he has built his dream and is determined to keep it as it is: no expansions, no addition of tables.
NAAR means “fire” in Kashmiri and represents Prateek’s passion, the inner spark that motivates him, the joy and desire to showcase his Himalayas to the world. To me, it also symbolises the fire of that local mountain house, gathering diners around a family-style meal, with pots at the center of the table — just like the final dish on the tasting menu: mushkbudij rice with tomato, marinated egg yolk, yakhni sauce, and barbecued pork.
