Dining out has quietly become a slightly anxious affair. What was once about loosening your shoulders, ordering something indulgent, and getting on with some friendly banter with the people you love is now often a performance. Every dish arrives with a backstory, a philosophy, a provenance trail, and sometimes a gentle expectation that you listen closely before you eat. I love a good story as much as the next food writer, but there are days when all you want is to sit back, be left alone, and eat something delicious without feeling like you have signed up for a lecture.
Towards the end of last year, as food writers collectively took stock on Instagram, one fatigue echoed louder than most. We are tired of excessive storytelling. We are craving easy, breezy dining again. Places that let food do the talking and diners do the unwinding.
A few weeks ago, I found myself at Trouble Trouble in Greater Kailash 2 the newest chapter from chef Radhika Khandelwal. Her decade old Fig and Maple was once among the city’s earliest ingredient-forward restaurants, thoughtful, research-led, and influential. Trouble Trouble feels like a conscious shedding of skin.
“Trouble Trouble is what happens when you allow yourself to start again without nostalgia getting in the way,” Khandelwal told me. “It gave me the freedom to be more playful, more instinctive, and more reflective of where I am today, creatively and personally. What hasn’t changed is the commitment to sustainability, seasonality, and ingredient-led thinking. Those values are foundational, regardless of the format or name on the door.”
We sat on the sun-drenched terrace, winter light warming the table, and ordered instinctively. A watermelon, coconut and sesame salad that tasted like relief. A clean, delicate tofu carpaccio. Her now-famous prawn toast, indulgent and confident. Churrascia done just right, tenderloin and potatoes cooked with restraint and assurance. Everything felt fresh, distinct, unfussy. As someone who ate often at Fig and Maple, I could see both the evolution and the continuity. The ethos remained, but the mood had softened. Playfulness had entered the room. Most importantly, we were left alone. No hovering, no interruptions, just space to eat and talk and linger.
That sense of being allowed to exist carried over a few days later at Perch at Sundar Nursery. The Humayun’s Tomb Museum area has become a gentle hive of alfresco cafés, all winter sun and green views, even as the air quality remains its usual contradiction. I claimed a corner table beside an old banyan tree, ordered a strong coffee and a caramelised onion and cheese sandwich that tasted like comfort, and opened my book.
Around me were people of all ages, quietly coexisting. A sweet indie dog wandered over, wagged his tail, and decided to sit beside me. We kept each other company. No one rushed me. No one explained the sandwich. The place simply let me be.
When I asked Khandelwal how she sees Delhi’s dining scene evolving, especially given her own shift from Fig and Maple to Trouble Trouble, she reflected, “Delhi is at a fascinating crossroads. There is a surge of capital-driven, visually polished restaurants, but alongside that there is a growing hunger for personality and point of view. Diners are more informed, more curious, and less impressed by surface-level novelty. The next phase will favour places with a clear voice. Sustainability, restraint, and originality will stop being buzzwords and start becoming expectations. The city feels ready for that shift.”
Journalist Shouvik Das put it more simply, and perhaps more honestly. “If I am going out for a fine-dining dinner with friends who are really into food, I want storytelling and technique,” he said. “But it is important that a restaurant explains the concept and then lets the diner experience it on their own.”
That, perhaps, is the sweet spot we are circling back to. Tell us your story if you must. Then step back. Let the food arrive warm. Let conversations wander. Let silence be comfortable. Sometimes, the most luxurious thing a restaurant can offer is the freedom to just sit, eat, and feel quietly human again