The slow, steady, and nuanced rise of South Indian food in North India

The presence of South Indian cuisine in North India has gone from a niche curiosity to a cultural reset. Fine dining is embracing it, pop-ups are making it cool, and social media is turning dishes into viral sensations

When Thomas Fenn and Zachariah Jacob moved to Delhi from Kottayam, Kerala in the early 2010s, they weren’t looking for a fine dining experience—they just wanted a taste of home. What they got instead was a limited menu of stereotypes—a triad of idli, dosa, vada along with the allied chutneys. 

Back then, authentic home-style South Indian food was confined to hole-in-the-wall spots near hospitals, largely catering to the nurses who hailed from Kerala and doctors from Tamil Nadu. The only exceptions? The now-shuttered restaurant Gunpowder which served Coorgi and Kerala fare, and Toddy Shop—also now shut—which was  more of a venue for music gigs.

So, in 2015, when Fenn and Jacob opened their restaurant Mahabelly in Delhi, they wanted to introduce the capital city to authentic Malayali cuisine and fill a specific gap in the market. Diving deep into non-vegetarian fare and leaning into coastal flavours, they served mutton, pork, buff, chicken, sardines, anchovies, mackerel, prawns, and crab. No basa, of course.

“The idea of South Indian cuisine was just vegetarian, but even North Indian cuisine goes way beyond butter chicken. We were lucky to start [Mahabelly] when people had just started focussing on regional cuisine,” says Fenn, who now runs a delivery kitchen in Gurugram, restaurants in Delhi’s Greater Kailash 2 and Saket neighbourhoods, an outlet in a food court at the O.P Jindal Global University in Sonipat, and a base kitchen in Lado Sarai in Delhi. He’s also expanded with Mahabelly Canteen, a more affordable, fast-service spin on the original concept. “I get embarrassed that I am selling a parotta for ₹ 70; in Kerala it would cost ₹10, maximum,” he adds. The menu at Mahabelly Canteen mirrors Kerala’s ‘hotel’ (family restaurant) culture incorporating the Middle Eastern influences in Malayali cuisine today. “As those who moved to the Middle East for work return to Kerala, dishes like shawarma and Yemeni Mandi Rice adapted Kerala’s spice profile. Al faham (charcoal-grilled chicken with the skin but with a different spice mix to make it more Kerala-style), is quite popular back home,” says Fenn. 

South India's regional diversity is redefining Indian cuisine

For decades, those living in North India clung to a singular, sanitised idea of South Indian food—vegetarian, budget-friendly, quick service. Most of these 'newer' variations may come as a surprise to many who haven’t eaten out in Kerala. And when people don’t know any better, they opt for what is familiar. For instance, Ruchira Hoon, chef-founder of Dakshin Canteen in Delhi, had a customer ask her to use basmati rice in the Chettinad biryani served at the restaurant. “Even though there’s a certain type of short-grain rice (seeraga samba) used only in this preparation, people only know basmati because they’re trained to see just one thing,” she explains. Having lived in Delhi for 20 years, Hoon struggled to find a place that served proper Tamil-style chicken curry—runny, flavoured, and best mopped up with a dosa. Or crab. Or good quality prawns. So she built Dakshin Canteen in 2025, serving everything from Chettinad Crab, Ghee Roast Crab, and even a Sri Lankan variant.  

“South Indian cuisine is mostly unexplored, even though it’s so diverse,” says Hoon. “Take a simple chicken curry and it varies across different regions, from Coimbatore to Madurai even within Tamil Nadu, and then Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram. There’s a stark difference in flavours even between North and South Karnataka,” observes Hoon, whose restaurant also serves podi prawns that have chammanthi podi–a dried coconut-based chutney from Kerala– coated over prawns. 

Dishes vary across regions too: “A Malayali sambhar is thicker, with more lentils and vegetables in fatter cuts, making it ideal to be eaten with rice as a curry. A Tamil sambhar, meanwhile, is lighter, and sambhar from Karnataka is sweeter,” informs Fenn.  

Paras Chaudhary, who grew up in Chennai, is breaking another stereotype: “The notion that South Indian cuisine is pocket-friendly and quick, and not meant for fine dining,” says Chaudhary. At his restaurant Vellam in Gurugram, dishes like tamarind-based Tamil stew kuzhambu and Andhra Gongura are given modern avatars. His spice fish taco uses a Karnataka-style  red masala rub, while the roast mutton in a steak form comes with pepper salan jus and bun parottas. 

“Being well-travelled sets a benchmark for expectations,” says Fenn. "People today know a fish curry from Alleppey, Kari meen fry (pearl spot fish fry)  from the backwaters, appam and stew from central Kerala, vegetarian meals from the South.” What’s also helped is the fact that food from any of the four states in southern India is usually dairy free, gluten-free, and vegan, by default. It’s primarily rice-based if you ignore the parotta, and dairy-free too, as the base  for several preparations is coconut milk. 

The role of pop-ups and social media in transforming regional cuisine in India

It’s not just fine dining that’s catching on. Pop-ups at restaurants like chef Shriya Shetty's are making  unfamiliar cuisines accessible. “There is a specific focus on regional Indian cuisines, with diners actively seeking out authentic, lesser-known dishes. The South, in particular, is seeing a lot of attention because of its diversity—each state has its own unique flavours, and even within states, the food can vary widely based on the community and geography,” says Shetty. Her Mangalorean Pop-Up in Delhi's Chor Bizarre this year had dishes like Kori Roti, Ghee Roast, Bafat, and Sannas, reflecting the bold coastal, spice-forward flavours of Mangaluru—which are fermented, smoky, coconut-rich, and subtly sweet elements that effortlessly balance the heat. 

Though rooted in tradition, Shetty crafted the menu to appeal to a wider audience, adapting to ingredients available in Delhi: Pork Bafat with Toddy Sannas with custom-blended spices for Bafat Masala, along with the toddy fermentation process that was adapted to work in the city’s temperatures. “The core essence of dishes remained unchanged. I experimented with Jowar Tartlets filled with Red Amaranth and Bajeel (tempered, beaten rice), and Ridge Gourd Tzatziki as a refreshing contrast to the rich flavours,” she explains. “Pop-ups also work because when people see a dish on Instagram and get curious about it, they want to try it for themselves. Instagram has helped chefs like me connect directly with an audience that is eager to learn about and experience new flavours,” says Shetty. 

Social media is a key player in not only drawing people to restaurants, but also cultivating a community for regional cuisines. Fenn credits the success of their Sadhya to Instagram—it’s a traditional vegetarian meal comprising 22 dishes, their colours making it visually appealing and Instagram-esque. “The pachadi is pink, the banana leaf is green, khichdi is yellow;  there’s built-in tableside drama, with dishes being served one after the other. Sadhya was our window into selling regular food,” says Fenn. 

Restaurants like Kokkam—one of the first in Lucknow to serve non-vegetarian South Indian cuisine—relied heavily on social media when they opened in 2024. “In cities like Lucknow, Jaipur, and Chandigarh, people are more open to trying authentic tamarind rice, lemon rice, and curd rice too if they know where to go. This wouldn’t have been possible a decade ago,” says owner Raag Verma. His restaurant boasts of Mutton Ghee Roast, Andhra Pepperfry Chicken, Meen Moilee and Appams, besides Munakkaya Mamasam, Karnataka Benne Dosa, Mangalorean Ghee Roast, and Andhar Kodi Koora. “I wanted to give a range of flavour bombs: tangy tamarind rasam, the heat of Chettinad curries, and the coconut profile of Malayali dishes,” he adds. It also comes with its own challenges—there’s no b**f available in North India, besides having to restrict to mutton/chicken or just vegetarian in order to serve the locals.

This shift, however, isn’t just about food—it’s about identity. South India, long relegated to the cultural periphery in the northern parts of the country, is a powerhouse in politics, pop culture, and now food. The acceptance of South Indian cuisines reflect a broader change in how India engages with its own diversity—with food being the most accessible (and delicious) way to experience it.

The inclination to experiment extends to coffee as well. India's growing coffee culture, with consumers now appreciating specialty brews, single-origin beans, and traditional brewing methods, has found its way to filter coffee. “It has gained a cult following, drawing attention to the South Indian breakfast-and-snack culture, which pairs beautifully with it,” adds Shetty, whose café BuCo in Mangaluru only serves filter coffee. Meanwhile, Hoon’s Dakshin Canteen has taken the love for filter coffee to the next level with a filter kaapi softy ice-cream. 

How South Indian cuisine is evolving to fit North Indian tastes

Adapting dishes to suit the local palate while staying authentic can be tricky. Fenn had to fight the idea of coconut oil and the assumption that everything in a South Indian kitchen would reek of it. “My job is to spread the gospel of Kerala, even if it means I have to tone down the spice a bit. We ask ourselves: Are we authentic enough for Malayali customers and are we accessible enough to non-Malayali customers? And hit the point where those two roads meet,” he says. 

Staying authentic is important to Hoon too, who kept checking in with her grand aunts while figuring out the recipes for dishes like the Iyengar sambhar, which tastes sweet but is quite balanced, especially when you add idli or dosa to it. She even arranged Zoom classes for her kitchen staff to learn until what point something needs to be roasted so that it tastes a certain way. She’s also refusing to compromise or cater to customers who walk out of her restaurant because of the availability of meat, which has occurred already, even though it opened only in December 2024. 

“People walk out [from restaurants] in Chennai as well. There will always be brands that cater to the ‘pure vegetarian’ crowd, but that doesn’t mean that great South Indian is only vegetarian and can’t include meat,” says Hoon. She is using festivals to do pop-ups—menus celebrating Ugadi (30 March) and Vishu (14 April), and Ramzan to serve different kinds of biryanis–Moplah, Ambur, and vegetarian Hyderabadi Qubooli with chana dal. Accompanying these preparations is  the story of how diverse a single dish can be within a span of just a few kilometres in a country as culturally rich as ours.

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