Due Coste: When A Slice Of Italy Came To Gurgaon

Does the rain change your palate? Would I experience a certain sweetness or acidity in the same way if it were a hot, sizzling day in May? These were the questions jostling in my mind during the one-hour drive from Delhi to Sector 58 in Gurgaon, towards the Grand Hyatt. The road takes you through a stretch of the Aravallis, where bare rock faces make you wonder what this landscape might once have looked like. Before I could go too far down my self-proclaimed rabbit holes, I had reached the entrance of the hotel.

The abundance of transparent glass walls did not entirely alienate the outside, which I liked. My destination was Cena Pranzo, where Chefs Mauro Ferrari and Fabrizio Berretta had come together for an exclusive Four Hands Experience, Due Coste, from August 7 to 9. I had never tried Italian food prepared by Italian chefs before, so I was equal parts excited and curious.

Into the Kitchen

What immediately caught my attention was the design of the space. The kitchen here was not a mysterious entity hidden behind closed doors. It was live, right across the dining area, where Chefs Ferrari and Berretta cooked, interacted with guests and watched their expressions as they took their first bites.

There was dialogue, discovery and a calm demeanour to the setting that made you want to slow down and savour the experience. I was first served focaccia, with tomato and basil sauce on the side, as the beginning of my journey to Italy. It was served at every table, almost like a rite of passage.

I started with the Capesante, which was highly recommended. It comprised Atlantic scallop carpaccio, stracciatella cheese and black truffle essence. It did exactly what an appetiser should: wake up the palate. I had not yet finished my search for the relationship between flavours and seasons, but this dish seemed capable of doing that job at any time of year.

I struggled to find a flavour to compare it with, or a dish to liken it to. Its tender texture and slightly salty taste were unlike anything I had encountered before.

Learning the Language of Italian Food

I had a brief stint with Italian a couple of months ago, when I was on a language-learning spree. That knowledge suddenly came in handy when diners at the table behind me exclaimed, “È buonissimo!” (“It is extremely good!”). I knew I was in for a memorable meal.

Next came a creamy Carnaroli risotto with Gorgonzola dop, fresh pears and toasted walnuts. This was a risotto in which you could taste each ingredient distinctly in every bite, and that is no exaggeration. The creaminess of the cheese was complemented by the crunch of the walnuts, while the fresh pears softened the intensity of both.

What I soon understood about Italian food, which makes it so different from Indian food (forgive me if that is a naïve generalisation), is that it is not overwhelming but quietly literal. If the whole is said to be greater than the sum of its parts, I would argue that, here, the sum of the parts is greater than the whole. Each ingredient has room to speak.

When I looked towards the kitchen, Chef Ferrari asked me if I was enjoying the food. I responded with an emphatic yes.

A Spoonful of the Sea

I could not wait to try the next dish waiting at the counter: sea urchin spaghetti with marinated tomatoes and chilli. It was surprisingly delectable, as though the chef had put a spoonful of the sea itself onto my plate. As a lover of fish and seafood, I had never quite considered that the flavour of the sea could be captured so directly. I savoured it slowly, taking sips of the Aperol Spritz that had kept me company throughout the meal.

For a moment, I was distracted by the painting beside my table. Was that not similar to the imagery of Bhishma lying on a bed of arrows? Upon asking, I realised that it was indeed the same motif, depicted in an oil-on-canvas work by artist Maqbool Fida Husain. Turning around, I noticed more modern Indian art throughout the space, which served as almost the only decorative element in the dining room.

As I finished my sea urchin spaghetti, a smiling Chef Berretta appeared beside my table and asked how I was finding the food. I told him how overwhelmed I was, in the best possible way, by the unfamiliarity of the flavours and how much I was enjoying them.

I then asked him a question that had been sitting in my mind: for someone accustomed to the flavours of Indian food, how does one learn to appreciate Italian cuisine?

“Just give it some time,” he said. “The appeal of Italian food is not immediate or overwhelming. Let it grow on you.”

From the Plate to the People Behind It

With that thought in mind, I moved on to the next course, again on the chef’s recommendation: Maialino, or slow-braised pork tenderloin in a traditional milk sauce, served with savoury carrot cake. The carrot cake was made from thinly sliced carrots, cooked until the edges were crisp while the centre remained soft. The pork was juicy, succulent and tender. Pork with carrot had never tasted quite this good.

By now, I was full, but only physically. My mind was still crowded with questions. My constant curiosity about the stories behind food, history and culture pulled me away from the comfort of my sofa and towards the kitchen bar. Enough of being the poised diner; it was time to become the curious kid.

Chefs Ferrari and Berretta were gracious enough to engage in a long conversation about their relationship with Italian food, their experiences in India and what it means to cook Italian food for an Indian audience.

How Much Can Italian Food Adapt?

For Ferrari, authenticity is not a constraint but a responsibility. He told me that while he personally enjoys fusion food, when he is cooking Italian food, preserving its character matters. Italian cuisine, he explained, can sometimes appear deceptively simple because a dish may contain only a handful of ingredients. But that simplicity is precisely where the sophistication lies. When there are only four ingredients on the plate, each one has to matter.

Ferrari has been a chef for around 45 years and has spent the last decade in India. His relationship with Indian food, he admitted, has evolved through that experience. The intensity of Indian spices can sometimes be challenging for his palate, but he has developed his own favourites, including palak paneer and biryani. At the same time, he acknowledged that dishes familiar to an Indian diner can feel very different to someone approaching them from another culinary tradition.

That difference in perspective is also what makes a Four Hands experience interesting for the chefs themselves. Ferrari and Berretta may come from the same country, but they express their culinary knowledge differently. Working together allows those perspectives to meet, rather than simply reproducing the same idea twice.

Berretta’s approach begins closer to the street. Some of his dishes draw inspiration from popular street food, while part of his understanding has also been shaped by his family, who have been making wine for four generations. Wine and food have grown together in his culinary vocabulary.

His experience in India has also required a degree of adaptation. Italian cooking depends heavily on the quality and character of its ingredients, and importing everything is neither practical nor necessary. Instead, he has had to learn about Indian vegetables and local produce and figure out how to use them while staying true to the spirit of Italian cuisine.

He admitted that cooking Indian food can be slightly intimidating. If there is one dish he absolutely loves, it is dal makhani, which he described with the affection one reserves for comfort food. The conversation made me realise that authenticity does not necessarily mean refusing to adapt. It can also mean understanding what cannot be compromised while learning what can.

A Tangy Goodbye

Meanwhile, the Limone was being prepared: sorbetto al limone with Prosecco. It arrived wrapped inside a lemon, an appropriately cold and tangy ending to a meal that had expanded my understanding of Italian food.

As I finished the last bite, my stomach and heart were both full. Seldom do experiences manage to stimulate the senses while leaving the mind equally occupied. I left the altar of Cena Pranzo not merely having eaten Italian food, but as a freshly converted lover of it. Perhaps it will now inform my cooking at home as well. I will look a little more closely at my cheeses and meat and think, in the manner of Chef Berretta and Ferrari, “Hm, how do I let these ingredients shine without reaching for the spice box?”

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