Outside of western food media where it’s a buzzword, chaat enjoys the status equivalent to a staple within Indian gastronomy. Propagandist TikTok videos painting Indian street food as unhygienic have not been able to deter staunch desis from getting their regular fix of gol guppas or papdi chaat — or the inquisitive tourist from sampling them. Having a whole Dublin café dedicated to chaat and other street-style Indian food is just another win.
Dharmesh Shah, originally a Dehradun man, worked in kitchens at illustrious hotels like The Oberoi and the Hyatt Regency in Delhi before moving to Dublin. This is apparent in the way he handles both ingredients and his Essex Quay space. He chops onions at a speed that most people are only familiar with because of chefs who have television presence — and brings out dishes in record time. No other staff are to be seen.
“Everything here is homemade,” he tells me. I can taste his expertise in my first sip of the café’s masala chai. It’s drinkably hot, milky, sweet, and has prominent notes of cinnamon: like all masala chai made by Indian vendors who pour it into cups under plastic canopies held up by makeshift poles. This is a big deal because chai in the subcontinent isn’t just a caffeine hit; it’s sustenance for weary bodies and periodic fuel for truck drivers. To see it get the treatment it deserves, evidently without a pre-made masala mix, is reassuring.
I find myself feeling nervous as our plate of pani puri arrives, not because I don’t trust Shah but because I really want him to win. He passes the ultimate litmus test for chaat proficiency with flying colours. To my relief, the pani is sweet and spicy, with its signature, slightly throat-searing characteristic intact. The potato filling calms it down a little, making ideal mouthfuls. My dining companion (my mother) says her throat would have preferred less heat, though.
Shah is honest enough to tell me that the shells he uses for pani puri are store-bought — the only food product in the café that is, but it doesn’t put me off. I only end up empathising with and admiring his decision to run the place single-handedly.
A plate of papdi chaat comes with a generous dollop of sweet yoghurt, drizzles of both mint and tamarind chutney, finely chopped onion, and a sprinkle of sev. We had already been asked if we’d like it spicy, and answered in the affirmative. It lives up to its promise, but without being overwhelming. All I can think of is how it’s the perfect replica of the outstanding plates of papdi chaat I’ve had on Delhi’s streets. Some of the crunchy papdi is crushed and some of it is whole, none of it limp despite the weight of the yoghurt. The chutneys intermingle with the base beautifully and the sev adds another layer of texture.
Besides gol guppas and papdi chaat, Delhi’s street food can also be judged based on how good the city’s momos are. So, getting the steamed chicken ones was a no-brainer. Opaque parcels arranged around a wee bowl of bright, orange chutney, they arrive steaming. One dip into the chutney coats one end of a momo enough, and it doesn’t need multiple bites to know how skilfully they’ve been made. Broth drips from the torn end of the momo, making it a juicy affair, but I’m not conscious of the mess at all. The chilli and ginger chutney is milder than those found at vendors’ stalls in India, but that’s not a complaint. Those chutneys are too fiery, even for me; I welcome the considered use of chilli. It’s still spicy, and that’s a good thing.
Washing it all down with a glass of masala lemonade feels like the right thing to do. Served with a disc of lime on the rim, it’s a real thirst-quencher. Sweet, salty, and peppery, it reminds me of the masala Coke I often drank at Gulzari, a paan shop in my neighbourhood in Delhi that was well-loved for its take on fizzy drinks.
As I approach the counter to pay, Shah informs me that he’s not charging me for the chai because my mum is with me. “Look after her,” he tells me, and I can sense the familiar Indian value system that puts family above everything else.
With its modest advertising that dubs it a “café”, Chai & Chaat definitely under-promises and over-delivers. It’s not a place for chaat noobs — don’t go if you believe fruity, safe, and sweet is the profile of Indian street food. While the chef here might be able to accommodate western tastes on request, the place is really meant for those with more resilient palates.
