In Kolhapur, and after exploring its many iconic landmarks, I find myself in for a surprise at Blue Lotus, one of the city’s upscale restaurants on old P.B. road, Kawala Naka. Sitting in one of the upholstered teal chairs, I am enamoured by how this restaurant harmoniously amalgamates its soaring, cathedral-esque ceilings and resplendently sun-dappled fenestrations with the indulgent comfort. But it was not the wooden accents or the almost architectural precision that drew me here, rather it was the ‘Pathare Prabhu’ cuisine that has remained Maharashtra’s best kept culinary secret for as long as I have known.
When Executive Chef Kishan Gunjal brought me the ‘chimbori che khadkhadle,’ one of the highlights of the PP repertoire, I knew, I was about to taste something epic. In a simple, white ceramic bowl, the upper crust of this crab dish was punctuated with a glistening layer of ghee, paprika-red chillies and chartreuse green coriander leaves. The aroma struck first, a maelstrom of fresh crabs, coconut milk, and something that was passed down through generations. “This is how I fell in love with Pathare Prabhu cuisine,” Chef Gunjal said, as he watched me take my first spoonful. “The name ‘Khad Khad Le’ derives its name from the crackling noise the kolambi (prawns) or crabs make when put in a pan,” he tosses.
I could almost hear the sizzling of the soft crab, as it may have done in coconut milk curry infused with a signature sambhar masala. “Most people think Maharashtra’s coastal cuisine begins and ends with the robust, fiery flavours of Malvani cuisine,” he continued, “but Pathare Prabhu cuisine is its more nuanced, elegant and utterly soul-stirring.” And that first bite took me back through the centuries, to a time before Mughal emperors, clutching never-ending strings of pearls to the heart of one of Mumbai’s most secretive culinary traditions. Pathare Prabhu has crept closer behind shut doors for over seven hundred years, emerging only now through the passionate efforts of chefs like Kishan Gunjal and culinary evangelists like Chef Bimba Nayak.
Sambhar Masala, the Secret Spice
The Pathare Prabhus are basically an aristocratic clan believed to be the very first to have set foot in Bombay (now Mumbai) from Rajasthan and Gujarat, around 700 years ago, in the 13th century. Rich and progressive, the Pathare Prabhus are an extremely small Maharashtrian Hindu community, totalling only around 60,000 individuals according to the estimates of their numbers worldwide. But their imprint on Mumbai’s cultural and spiritual topography, from the Prabhadevi Temple to Kirtikar Market, and from Bhau-cha-dhakka (wharf) to Mahalakshmi Temple, is vastly larger than their numbers. So is their culinary ancestry, though, much of it, is defined by their lofty social status and trove of delights.
Here’s where the magic lies, though, as this community developed a culinary philosophy of restraint and refinement while their Malvani and Goan neighbours celebrated the sea with robust, spice-laden preparations. The PP ‘Prabhi’ sambhar masala by far is the most important ingredient used in any Pathare Prabhu preparation which has strong influences from Gujarat as well as Konkan. Originally a closely guarded secret and every family had its own traditional recipe for this fragrant spice blend. Even though this bevy of 11 to 24 spices: coriander, turmeric, fenugreek, pepper and chana dal is difficult to source. The proportions that a family-recipe mix uses are what make it an heirloom.
The meal that came after was a revelation; each dish told a story of migration and adaptation. The masala in the prawns athala turned simple crustaceans into ruby-red jewels that were both crunchy and comforting. The spice mix didn’t hit my taste buds hard. Instead, it built up layers of flavour that slowly came out, like a piece of classical music. The rose coloured masala kokum sharbat in a vintage-style stemmed goblet complemented it well. The spices in the drink balanced out the tartness of the kokum and cleaned my palate, getting me ready for the feast that followed. The highlight was the kolambi malabar soup. Far from the coconut-laden broths of its coastal cousins, this soup was silkened for plump prawns that had been cooked just to the point, until they surrendered to the barest nudge of a spoon.
The cucumber and pumpkin salad, kakdi bhoplyachi koshimbir, was a coastal drift with a tangy curd dressing. The vegetables were cut with precision. The dressing was rich, with mustard seeds and curry leaves, which complemented the bhujna pomfret served later. The fish itself, caramelised beautifully, was a smoky reddish-orange tandoori preparation garnished with a thin lemon wheel, delicate edible flowers, and micro greens for a pop of freshness. The entire setup sat on a black round plate dusted with fine white salt along the rim, and I have to say, this dish wasn’t just cooked, it was styled. “The bhujna pomfret showcases the cuisine’s sophisticated approach to seafood,” notes Chef Gunjal, who underscores how, unlike some fishing communities, the Pathare Prabhus historically valued quality over quantity.
“Their cuisine reflects finesse, making sure that the star ingredient, the fresh pomfret isn’t drowned in the masalas,” he says, adding, “Pomfret is a luxury fish in Mumbai markets, firm but tender, rich without being oily, and perfect for absorbing dressings.” In Pathare Prabhu homes, it was often prepared whole, especially for family feasts or when entertaining guests. Chef Gunjal tells me, “Cooking it tandoori-style is a relatively modern twist, but the flavour DNA such as the spice rubs and accompaniments such as raw onion, mint, and pickled salad still pay homage to the old recipes. The banana leaf base is a cultural carryover from coastal feasts, where the banana leaves were the original plates.”
Tandoori masala here includes stone-ground red chillies for both heat and deep colour, green cardamom and cloves for a faint sweetness, roasted coriander and cumin, dried coconut for mellow depth (a nod to coastal Maharashtra), and fennel for a subtle liquorice lift. “This version lets you taste the fish and the sea.” The chicken bhujing, cooked in a brown-gold and glossy ghee sauce was comfort elevated to an art form. It had been cooked in a sauce that was brown-gold and glossy with ghee. With its gentle layers of onion and garlic, this dish chose complexity over heat. However, it was the signature sambhar masala that created the delicious base of the sauce that begged to be sopped up with the coconut milk roti that accompanied it.
The Gode (meaning sweet) mutton stole the show. But this wasn’t saccharine—it was the natural sweetness of onions and meat that had been mellowed over hours of slow cooking, with patience and love. It was both rustic and refined. The kolambi bhaat (prawn rice) was aromatherapy in a bowl. Then arrived the bobbatlu—golden flatbreads, their surfaces burnished to perfection, and their filling of jaggery and banana-lentil creating a sweet conclusion, reminiscent of puran poli but carrying its own personality.
The Renaissance of a Secret Cuisine
While many of the recipes still remain guarded, culinary ambassadors such as Kishan Gunjal, Bimba Nayak from the Pathare Prabhu community, and Vijaykars, have made it their mission to introduce this cuisine to the diners through pop-ups you will see in eateries across India. But why has something so beautiful been kept a secret for so long is the question that lingers in every bite of Pathare Prabhu cuisine. Chef Gunjal shares, “The history and character of the community hold the key to the answer. Their high social standing guaranteed a certain detachment from Mumbai’s larger food scene.” This cuisine was developed for and by a community that placed a high value on tradition and refinement; it was not the result of commercial ambition or necessity.
“The recipes for many of the dishes prepared by the Pathare Prabhu community are handed down from generation to generation and are specific to them,” he adds. Some of the signature dishes worth hunting down are bombil green curry, khichadi keema, mutton loncha, keema curry with salli, sungtacha bhujna and Pathare Prabhu sambhar masala curry. And sitting at Blue Lotus in Kolhapur, quite distant from the busy streets of Mumbai, as I finish the last spoonful, I understand why Chef Gunjal has been so enthusiastic about bringing this cuisine to Kolhapur.
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