New Delhi [India], January 24 (ANI): The air in Goa carries a whisper, a promise of something sacred yet untamed, as if the sea and sky conspired to write a love letter to the earth. In that breeze, amidst the golden sands and the rhythmic lull of waves, lies Jolene–a sanctuary perched high above Anjuna, embodying a spirit so alive it feels like she’s breathing. Jolene is not just a place; she’s a pulse, a presence, a muse. Today, her doors open, and with them, a story unravels–a story of time, taste, and transformation, stitched together by the hands of a chef who once hid in the pleats of his mother’s saree and now stands under the spotlight of a culinary stage he never imagined.
I didn’t know what I was looking for as a boy in Delhi, but I knew I hadn’t found it. There were no mirrors that reflected me, no icons who whispered truths about who I was or what I could become. I felt like an aberration, a stain, a shadow flitting between shame and fear. There was no name for the way I felt, no vocabulary to explain why I didn’t quite fit the world’s mold. But in the kitchen, I found solace. My mother’s saree, the fragrant swirl of turmeric and cumin, and the quiet, precise movements of Panditji, our Brahmin chef, created a cocoon where I could hide and, paradoxically, begin to emerge. It was in that small kitchen, with its symphony of spices and the soft hum of devotion, that I began to taste a life beyond the confines of self-loathing.
Panditji was a master, each dish a hymn to tradition, a meditation on flavors rooted in the soil and soul of India. My mother, on the other hand, was a rebel. She baked in a city where ovens were rarities, conjuring trifles, cookies, and cakes that seemed almost magical in their creation. She brought airiness to the density of our days, lightness to the gravity I carried. Between her whimsy and Panditji’s rigor, I discovered not just a love for food but an understanding of its power–a force that could heal, transform, and connect.
Years later, I left Delhi, carrying with me the aromas and memories of home, like an invisible talisman. Bombay was a blur of longing and learning, a city that taught me how to improvise, adapt, and recreate the dishes of my childhood in borrowed kitchens and on borrowed time. But it was New York that shaped me, that tested me, that turned me from a boy who cooked to a man who dared to claim the title of chef. I arrived in Manhattan wide-eyed and determined, studying graphic design by day and cooking by night. First for myself, then for friends, and soon for strangers who became believers in the alchemy I could conjure with a skillet and some spices. The word spread–a young Indian boy, barely more than a whisper of a man, cooking meals that people said tasted like stories, like history, like home.
Cooking led to catering, catering to recognition, and recognition to the opening of Devi, a restaurant that dared to dream big in a city that demanded nothing less. Devi was where I learned what it meant to be fearless. It was where we introduced the world to a degustation-style menu that treated Indian food not just as sustenance but as art, as poetry on a plate. The Michelin star we earned wasn’t just a star; it was a comet, blazing through the culinary cosmos, announcing that Indian cuisine had arrived on the global stage. Yet even in those triumphant moments, I felt tethered to something deeper, something quieter–the memory of that small Delhi kitchen where food was more than a career; it was a calling.
When Jolene called me to Goa, it felt like a return to that calling, a homecoming of sorts. Jolene is a woman of many moods, and her spirit resonates with mine. She is bold yet gentle, adventurous yet grounded. She is the taste of salt on the skin and the sound of laughter carried by the wind. Her essence is woven into the very fabric of this restaurant that stands like a beacon above the sea. Every inch of Jolene reflects a story–a design crafted with care, a menu that whispers of travels and traditions, a bar that pours poetry into every glass. She is a place where simplicity and sophistication dance, where every detail feels intentional yet effortless.
I am deeply grateful to Amrita Arora Ladak, Shakeel Ladak, Gaurav Batra, and Ankit Tayal for believing in me and supporting me. They are my dream makers. People with immense visionary minds and gentle daring souls. Being at Jolene with them is a blessing. Together, we’ve brought Jolene to life as a reflection of passion and purpose, a sanctuary that feels both eternal and new.
The food at Jolene tells tales of Goa’s abundant soul and the world’s boundless flavors. Each dish is an offering, a bridge between the familiar and the extraordinary. We’ve drawn inspiration from the markets of Kochi, the beaches of Morjim, the streets of Beirut, and the bustling corners of Madrid. Dishes like Kochi Lobster Cornettos and Tunisian Aubergine Caviar aren’t just meals; they are memories waiting to be made, journeys waiting to be savored. Even the cocktails at Jolene are imbued with personality, like the Peaches and Cream, which feels like liquid velvet, or the Ya Ya Ya Coco Jumbo, a playful nod to the tropics. Every bite, every sip is an invitation to linger, to laugh, to lose yourself in the magic of the moment.
And yet, as Jolene opens her doors, I find myself reflecting not just on the present but on the past, on the winding roads that brought me here. I think about the journalists who once sat across from me in New York, their pens poised, their questions probing. I see myself in their hunger, their boundless energy, their eagerness to learn and uncover. Now, at 52, I find myself on the other side of the table, sitting across from young, eager writers who remind me of the person I was–bold, curious, and striving to understand the world. They carry a spark that fills me with joy, a reminder that the world keeps turning, keeps renewing itself with every generation.
In these exchanges, I feel the weight of responsibility–not just to tell my story but to tell the truth. To speak of the grit behind the glamour, the sleepless nights behind the Michelin stars, the sacrifices that make the successes possible. I want these young minds to know that being a chef isn’t about accolades or applause; it’s about love–love for the craft, for the people you serve, for the team that stands beside you. It’s about staying curious, staying humble, and never losing sight of why you started.
Jolene, for me, is more than a restaurant; she’s a testament to what happens when passion meets purpose. She’s a reminder that food is not just sustenance but a medium of connection, a way to bring people together and make them feel seen, heard, and loved. She’s a culmination of everything I’ve learned, everything I’ve fought for, everything I’ve dreamed. And yet, she’s just the beginning of a new chapter, a new story waiting to unfold.
As the sun sets over Anjuna and the sky blushes with hues of gold and crimson, I stand on Jolene’s terrace, looking out at the horizon. The sea stretches endlessly, a reminder of life’s infinite possibilities. And I think about the boy I was, hiding in the folds of his mother’s saree, too scared to dream. If only he could see me now. If only he could taste the life we’ve created. If only he knew that the thing he once feared–his difference, his otherness–would become his strength, his signature, his gift to the world.
Today, Jolene opens her arms to the world, and with her, I open mine. To the diners, the dreamers, the seekers, and the storytellers, I say this: Come, sit, taste, and belong. Lose your inhibitions, find your joy, and let the flavors of Jolene remind you of what it means to be alive. Because at the end of the day, that’s what this journey has been about–not just the food, not just the fame, but the moments that make life worth savoring. And here, above the sands of Anjuna, those moments are waiting. Welcome home. Welcome to Jolene. (ANI/ Suvir Saran)
Disclaimer: Suvir Saran is a Masterchef, Author, Hospitality Consultant And Educator. The views expressed in this article are his own.
Disclaimer: This story is auto-generated from a syndicated feed of ANI; only the image & headline may have been reworked by News Services Division of World News Network Inc Ltd and Palghar News and Pune News and World News
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