A few weeks ago, while scrolling through Instagram, I came across a reel asking a question that was clearly designed to spark a fight in the comments section: “Do Bengalis really put drugs in their food?”
The answer was posto, or poppy seeds.
No Bengali worth their mustard oil would call posto a drug. Yet, the ingredient has acquired a curious reputation outside Bengal because poppy seeds come from the same plant that produces opium. The reel was exaggerated, but the association has survived long enough to become a joke.
Which is perhaps why one of the first dishes at The Calcutta Table is called “Nesha”—the Bengali word for intoxication or addiction.
The dish arrives as a rice cracker topped with chingri posto. The reference is intentional.
“I named it Nesha because it has posto,” says Culinary Storyteller, Ayandrali Dutta with a laugh. “Poppy seeds are obtained from opium.”
That sense of humour runs through much of The Calcutta Table, a one-day collaboration between Dutta and Chef Aaditya Mohan at Refuge in Greater Kailash 2 on June 20. The 10-course menu borrows heavily from Bengali food, but very little arrives in the form diners might expect.
“As the name is very self-explanatory, it’s The Calcutta Table, but it is not,” says Dutta. “If you have eaten Bengali food, it is very unlikely that those dishes have been presented this way. The flavours remain exactly the same.”
Another clever wordplay among the dishes follows in the form of Chop er Dhop. In Bengali, dhop (or, dhop er chop) loosely translates to a false statement, exaggeration, or outright rubbish. The dish itself is a beetroot croquette paired with smoky scamorza cheese. Earthy, rich and crisp, it tastes far more serious than its mischievous name suggests.
Bengali Food, But With A Touch Of France
At the preview, the evening began with a series of dishes that play with form rather than flavour. Call it “Bengal Meets France,” perhaps?
The collaboration works because both Dutta and Mohan are careful not to erase the identity of the dishes.
Take the Beguni, for example. The humble Bengali favourite—slices of aubergine coated in gram flour batter and fried until golden brown—arrives drizzled with truffle oil. The addition could easily have felt forced, but instead creates an interesting bridge between Kolkata’s street-food culture and Mohan’s European training.
“We have tried to incorporate a lot of French techniques and Western ideas,” says Dutta. “It’s Bengali, but with an upgrade,” she added.
The Standout Dish Of The Evening
If one course deserves a second helping, it is the Dim er Devil.
The Bengali version of the Scotch egg is already a favourite across Kolkata’s cabins, clubs, and old-school eateries. Refuge’s version keeps the familiar structure intact but executes it with enough precision to make it memorable.
The moment the knife cuts through, the yolk spills onto the plate.
It immediately brings to mind The Chicken à la Kiev, where breaking through the outer shell is part of the experience. Rich without being heavy, it was easily the most delicious dish on the menu.
A small shot of tamarind juice follows as a palate cleanser before the menu moves into a more experimental territory.
Shukto Without The Vegetables
One of the conversations during the menu planning revolved around Shukto.
For many Bengalis, the bitter vegetable preparation is a meal starter rather than a crowd favourite. Mohan was initially sceptical.
Dutta insisted.
“I told him, let’s have a Shukto,” she recalls. “There’ll be no vegetables visible, but they’ll all be there.”
The resulting dish features bitter gourd (karela) wrapped in Gobindobhog rice and placed over a Shukto sauce. No vegetables float around on the plate. No chunks expose themselves. Yet the taste is unmistakably Shukto. Every familiar note survives; only the texture changes.
There Are No Borders
The course likely to provoke debate among Bengali diners arrives next.
Gobindobhog rice cooked in coconut milk is topped with bhetki fish.
For traditionalists, it might seem almost blasphemous because Gobindobhog is more commonly associated with vegetarian preparations, festive offerings, and temple food.
Mohan sees no issue.
“We are Refuge. There are no borders. Cuisine does not have borders,” he says.
The chef’s approach has been shaped by years spent working in London’s French kitchens before returning to Delhi. His references move comfortably between cuisines, and the confidence shows in the menu. French sauce accompanies one course. Truffle oil appears elsewhere. Traditional Bengali ingredients remain constant.
The result sits somewhere between a Bengali feast and a modern tasting menu.
Sunday Kosha Mangsho, Repackaged
The most nostalgic course of the evening arrives disguised as a tart. Called Kosha Mangsho Crumble, it takes the flavours of slow-cooked Bengali mutton and packs them into a crisp shell.
One bite and the comparison becomes obvious.
It tastes remarkably close to luchi and kosha mangsho eaten on a lazy Sunday afternoon. The texture has changed. The flavours have not. Dutta had promised a little drama on the plate without compromising authenticity. This dish delivers precisely that.
Mango Before Mango
Before dessert, diners are served Aam Kahini, a mango gratin. Cold, sharp, and light, it clears away traces of mustard, spices, and meat from the preceding courses.
Only then does dessert arrive.
Payesh forms the base. Above it sits a cloud-like mango foam. The payesh provides familiarity. The mango foam brings freshness and acidity. Together, they avoid the heaviness that often accompanies the final course of a tasting menu.
To accompany the meal, Refuge has also created two cocktails for the evening. One is gin-based, while the other uses vodka. The raw mango picante, served with a slice of kairi, is likely to be the crowd favourite.
What makes The Calcutta Table interesting is that neither Dutta nor Mohan appear interested in reinventing Bengali food. Instead, they keep returning to the same challenge: can a dish look completely different while tasting exactly as people remember it?
“If you know what kosha mangsho tastes like,” says Dutta, “it will be exactly the same. But it will not look the same.”
That sums up the evening rather neatly.
The posto is still posto. The Shukto is still Shukto. The kosha mangsho remains kosha mangsho. What has changed is the presentation.
And yes, if anyone is still wondering—the drugs in Bengali food are still just poppy seeds.
Read more: Kolkata’s 5 Most Iconic Dishes And Where To Find Them
Also read: A Peek Inside Kolkata’s Modern Pice Hotels
