The Kashmiri Kebab At Bombay Brasserie Is The Real Deal

I walked into the Bombay Brasserie outlet in Cyberhub on a humid Gurgaon evening, and the crew greeted me with a calm confidence that already set the tone. The Gurgaon outlet is the newest addition to Bombay Brasserie’s growing family. It’s barely a few months old but already brimming with energy.

The restaurant seats about a hundred diners and feels like a postcard from a city that doesn’t take itself too seriously. The long corridor of seating unfurled before me. Subtle décor, warm lamps that dipped low from the ceiling, a strategically placed mirror begging for selfies, abstract art in modest frames. Soft background music allowed conversation without raising voices. It felt cosy, even though it aimed for chic. The first impression? Stylish, but not the kind that demands an outfit change.

Bombay Brasserie has always done something rather clever:  it lets India’s culinary past flirt with its cosmopolitan present. The menu reads like a road trip through regional kitchens.

Even the bar is an ode to nostalgia. Cocktails arrive in cheeky quarter bottles, a playful wink to prohibition-era “aunty bars”. The concept might sound gimmicky, but the execution is polished. The mixology is rooted in memory: Indian spirits, local ingredients, a sense of humour that keeps the experience from ever feeling stiff.

When I arrived, Shashi — the manager — ushered me in with the warmth of someone who knows the place sells itself once you sit down. The evening was mellow, the tables were half full, and there was that perfect restaurant soundtrack: clinking glasses, low conversation, and a playlist that didn’t compete with your thoughts.

Naturally, drinks came first. The Patiala Balance, a gin-based cocktail, was an instant refresher — citrusy, a bit cheeky, and precisely the sort of drink that sneaks up on you mid-meal. Its companion, the Bombae Rita, a tequila number, was zestier and sharper, a desi cousin of the margarita with more personality than salt. Both arrived in those playful quarter bottles — a nudge that Bombay Brasserie wants you to have fun, not posture.

And then came what would later become the dish of the evening — the Kashmiri Naan Kebab.

A plate that smelled like poetry: finely pounded mutton seekh spiced with kabab chini and laid atop a warm naan, flanked by pickled onions and a Kashmiri walnut-yogurt chutney called doon chetin. The kebab melted like it had no bones or ego, the chutney was creamy and nutty with a hint of tang, and the onions did their pickled pirouette in between. My only gripe? The naan was a tad dry — not a deal-breaker, but a minor flaw in an otherwise perfect love story. Paired with the cocktails, it was divine. It’s the kind of dish that lingers in memory long after dessert has done its job.

Before I could fully recover from that high, the Thecha Prawns stormed in. They looked harmless, glossy even, but they carried Maharashtra’s fire in their bellies. Tossed in green-chilli thecha, garlic butter, coconut, and crushed peanuts, they demanded respect. If you can’t handle spice, steer clear. But if you can, this dish is a party. Loud, proud, and irresistibly addictive.

Between courses, I reached for the Kairi Sherbet, a mocktail made of unripe mangoes. Tart, cool, and perfectly timed, it played saviour to my palate after the thecha assault.

Then came the Himalayan Cheese Mushrooms, with lakhori yellow chilli from Uttarakhand — mild heat, deep umami, and the earthy flavour of mushrooms bound by soft cheese. It’s not a show-stopper, but it’s a good supporting act.

By the time the main course arrived, my tongue had travelled across half of India. The kitchen decided it was time for a southern detour. Out came Coconut Rice wrapped neatly in banana leaf: soft, aromatic, with that faint coastal whisper of coconut milk. Alongside it stood the Chettiar Pepper Chicken, tossing up a heady mix of coconut, fennel, and stone flower in Chettinad’s signature style. It was bold, fiery, and exactly what I needed after all that spice: a flavour that asserts itself but still feels comforting.

This is what Bombay Brasserie does well. It gives you the thrill of discovery without ever alienating your taste buds. You recognise the flavours, but they arrive dressed differently — smarter, sharper, more polished.

No proper Indian meal ends without dessert, and one name on the menu instantly caught my eye: Kaapi Misu. Think of it as Tiramisu with a South Indian passport. Crisp rusk soaked in Chikmagalur’s chicory-rich coffee, layered with whipped mascarpone, topped with coffee and nut crumble. Each spoonful was an ode to comfort and caffeine. The texture was perfect: a sweet mix of crunch and cream. It was indulgent without being heavy, the ideal finale after the spice parade.

Bombay Brasserie isn’t trying to reinvent Indian food. It’s re-introducing it, with flair and good taste. The flavours stay, the experience lingers, and the restaurant makes good on its promise: to let India’s kitchens shine, one plate at a time.

The Gurgaon outlet of Bombay Brasserie strikes that rare balance between sophistication and warmth. It’s stylish but not sterile, artsy without pretense. You could come here on a date, for a family dinner, or even a solo evening and it would fit every mood. It’s the kind of place where you can take your time, order another drink, and still feel you’re in the right spot. While there isn’t an outdoor seating section (yet), the indoor ambience compensates with its layered aesthetic, all balanced by a sense of calm that’s rare in Cyberhub’s usual chaos. Dinner is the best time to visit. The lights, the music, the general buzz, though lunch here wouldn’t disappoint either.

When I stepped out, the hum of Cyberhub felt a little quieter, and all I could think was: yes, I’d come back — maybe just for another round of that kebab, and a cheeky quarter bottle to go with it.