Indian Accent has always been special to me. It was where my family went for every celebration, a milestone birthday, a first anniversary. But for me, it was always about something else, the chance to meet Chef Manish Mehrotra.
I still vividly remember the day I ate the mutton boti, back when Indian Accent was at The Manor, close to 17 years ago. I had to meet the chef who had created this dish. And sure enough, out came Chef Manish. With his kind, always-smiling face and mischievous laugh, he pulled up a chair, sat down, and began explaining how he achieved that melt-in-your-mouth texture. From that day on, I knew I was a fan.
So when he announced his departure in 2024, the collective intake of breath from India’s dining community was almost audible. For many of us, Mehrotra wasn’t just a chef we admired; he was a constant we depended on.
Even legends, though, need rest. Sometimes only so they can return sharper.
His long-awaited new restaurant, Nisaba, feels like exactly that return.
Located in the up-and-coming new complex near the Humayun Museum, he couldn’t have chosen a better spot. If you crane your neck just enough, you can almost see The Lodhi, where Indian Accent now stands—close, but not too close. A quiet metaphor, perhaps, for a chef who hasn’t completely disowned his past but is onto his next phase. That sense of proximity, of continuity, is something I felt throughout my experience at Nisaba.
The space is elegant and minimal, yet it moves away from the white-tablecloth fine dining we may have been expecting. This feels more Manish—right down to the decision to ditch white serving plates in favour of earthy pottery. It’s a vast space: you enter through a lounge and bar before walking into the main dining room. Floor-to-ceiling windows run the length of the restaurant on both sides, flooding the space with natural light.
As we entered, we were greeted by Chef Manish himself, personally welcoming guests. He looked nervous, yes, but more than that, he looked excited, almost bouncing on the tips of his toes, eager to get started. He was clearly happy to be back in his element and couldn’t wait for people to try his food.
The menu spans most of India, notably omitting the Northeast. When asked about this, he candidly admitted it was a region he hadn’t travelled through enough—yet. What is represented are recipes gathered from people he knows, roadside meals he remembers, flavours that stayed with him, now reinterpreted through his lens for the Indian diner of today.
We began with the Mushroom Butter Tea, served alongside little blue cheese naans. This was identical to the opening course at Indian Accent, which immediately made me curious. Was everything going to feel familiar? I was wrong. Like any great leader, this felt like a respectful nod to the past—before confidently moving on.
Next came the samosa chaat: tiny, bite-sized samosas nestled on a bed of Moradabadi dal, finished with an ‘everything’ chutney. The chutneys were presented beautifully, but it was only when I tasted them that I truly understood the name. Because wow—that chutney really was everything.
By now, my tastebuds had been jolted awake from a slumber I didn’t know they were in. I put my cutlery aside and ate the way I can only assume Chef Manish intended—with my hands. Perfect timing for the next chaat course: Lucknow white mattar tikkis, best scooped up with crisp mathris that were, quite frankly, to die for.
Unfortunately, for a meat-lover like me, the non-vegetarian starters didn’t excite me as much. In the mutton seekh with blue cheese butter, the naan and butter overshadowed the seekh itself. And while the tiger prawns were perfectly cooked, the bacon wrap felt almost unnecessary on an otherwise excellent tandoori prawn.
Heading into the mains, I’ll admit I was a little nervous about the non-vegetarian dishes. The vegetarian starters had won me over completely, but the Chef I remembered truly excelled with meat. So I ordered the clay pot Motihari mutton with hing and sattu kachoris.
Allow me a brief aside. My dinner companion has eaten a lot of meat in his life. He dove straight into the mutton before I could, paused mid-bite, and loudly declared—to no one in particular—that this was the best mutton he had ever eaten. I had to see for myself. And sure enough, the meat slid off the bone and melted on my tongue with a butter-like consistency I didn’t know mutton was capable of. This was the result of years—decades—of culinary experience, distilled into a single dish.
The sarson ka saag, served with makki ki roti, could have ended there. It tastes like home—my mother’s kitchen, no less, which is the highest compliment—but Mehrotra elevates it subtly with crisp pine nuts and jammy eggs. It’s familiar, but smarter. I make a mental note to steal the idea.
I could go on, dish by dish, but the common thread is clarity. Nothing is trying too hard. Every flavour knows its place.
For dessert, I bypass the recognisable favourites and land on something unexpected: potato chips with vanilla ice cream. When I ask Mehrotra about it, he tells me there’s no great back story. It is just simply two guilty pleasures, one bowl. Salty, crisp housemade chips against cold, creamy vanilla—simple, indulgent, and strangely perfect.
The bar at Nisaba is easy to overlook. Despite being the first thing you see upon entering, most people are understandably focused on the food. Don’t make that mistake. From a thoughtfully curated cocktail and zero-proof menu to an extensive, impressive wine list, there’s something here for everyone.
We tried the Pickled Pear—a beautifully balanced savoury-sour cocktail—and the Thyme Paani from the zero-proof menu that had just the right amount of refreshing zing to cut through the richness of the food.
Nisaba isn’t trying to prove anything, and that’s precisely its strength. There’s confidence here, the kind that only comes from knowing exactly who you are.
Service runs seamlessly. The staff is assured, informed, attentive. Tables are reset quietly, timings are precise, and nothing feels rushed or rehearsed. You sense a professional hand guiding every detail.
This is what it’s like to hear a concerto performed by a true maestro. Every note placed exactly where it belongs.
In the end, Nisaba feels unmistakably like Chef Manish Mehrotra—pure flavour, deep experience, and the quiet assurance of someone operating at the height of his craft.
Address: First Floor of the Humayun’s Tomb World Heritage Site Museum, situated at Humayun’s Tomb – Sunder Nursery, Nizamuddin, New Delhi – 110013
Restaurant Timings: 12 noon to 12 midnight
Table Reservations: +91 98109 06091
Instagram: @nisabarestaurant
Website: www.nisabarestaurant.com
