Step inside Chatti on West 37th and you might forget you’re only two blocks from Times Square. Earthy greens and greys meet gleaming copper, while a wall dotted with metal dragonflies nods to Kerala’s tropical skies. The bar shakes up a Sam Bar (yes, that’s actually a clarified sambar martini) and waiters float out plates of bite-size food. Steering this sensory teleportation, if I might add, is Chef Regi Mathew, a true pioneer who spent three years road-tripping through Kerala’s toddy shops and home kitchens - tasting, tweaking, and archiving more than 800 recipes before planting a clay pot in New York.
Hold on a moment, though, before we jet to Midtown, a quick confession: my first brush with Regi’s food happened 600-plus kilometres away via air cargo. A devoted friend braved Bengaluru’s Koramangala traffic, grabbed flash-frozen beef from Kappa Chakka Kandhari, sprinted through airport security and hand-carried the haul straight to my dining table. Hours later, reheated at home, every bite still sang. If his dishes can survive Indian road rage and cabin pressure, imagine what Chatti can pull off with ingredients landing directly in its own kitchen.
I rang the chef just before dinner prep—he was on a brief two-day ‘break’ in Miami and peppered him with questions about sourcing headaches, toddy futures and why every brisket still simmers for 90 minutes, Manhattan rent be damned. Here’s the (slow-cooked) scoop.
Spice is a flavour, not a punishment
You travelled across Kerala, visiting hundreds of homes and toddy shops. What single discovery surprised you enough to land on Chatti’s menu? Regi’s biggest research takeaway? ‘Spice is flavour, not pungency.’ Kerala mums and toddy‑shop cooks taught him to coax warmth without numbing lips, so Chatti’s dishes finish feather‑light. Taste the overnight‑matured Clay‑Pot Fish Curry, and you’ll understand that there is no post‑meal bloat, just layers of coconut, tamarind, and pepper that fade as gracefully as they arrive.
Importing the soul, not just the spices
How do you ensure authenticity when sourcing ingredients and replicating cooking methods in New York’s very different environment?
Authenticity isn’t a buzzword here as it’s a logistical tangle Regi had to solve before the first plate left the pass. Peppercorns from Wayanad? Check. Marayoor jaggery? Also check. The pots themselves, too, like the earthen chatti, no less. These were shipped across the ocean because a standard New York stew pot just wouldn’t do. ‘Our beef brisket still takes 90-plus minutes,’ he laughs as Manhattan rents may soar, but the beef fry won’t be rushed.
Why toddy shop culture clicks in NYC - What makes NYC ripe for a toddy-shop experience?
So why roll the dice on toddy shop cooking in the over fed capital of the world? Because, Regi says, New Yorkers crave exactly what Kerala’s taverns have offered for centuries: food, drink, and conversation, and maybe all at once! Chatti thrives on tapas-style small plates that land in rapid-fire succession, keeping the table buzzing. No one’s leaning on one mammoth entrée; you’re grazing your way through chilli roasted calamari, duck mappas, and jackfruit cutlets between sips of a banana and coconut Elephant Whisperer. The vibe is less formal, and more democratic, free for all like the toddy shops back home.
Toddy becoming the new kombucha? Please hold:
Could toddy be the next kombucha in the West?
Is the sap fermented toddy about to dethrone kombucha on Brooklyn wellness shelves? Regi isn’t betting the farm just yet. Chatti can’t legally serve toddy, so he peddles the culture instead: ‘Good food, good drink, good talk,’ he says, paraphrasing every toddy shop owner he’s ever met. Still, he concedes the lightly alcoholic palm nectar could blow up… eventually. For now, settle for the Malayali Old Fashioned, spiked with jaggery bitters and toasted coconut, to get into the spirit.
Field notes that made the menu:
Can you share a memorable chat with a home cook or toddy-shop owner that changed how you make a dish?
Ask about an aha moment with a home cook, and Regi talks about simplicity. ‘Mothers don’t overthink plating; they cook, taste, and adjust. If it’s perfect, it goes on the table.’ That mindset surfaces in Chatti’s presentation: clean off white crockery, an occasional banana leaf liner, zero tweezered micro greens. The real flourish is in the flavours, not the flourish itself. Balancing Kerala earthiness with Manhattan polish came down to what he calls ‘elegant honesty.’
The hardest nut to crack:
What aspect of your research was toughest to translate into the New York menu, and how did you overcome it?
‘Ingredient logistics,’ he admits. After weeks of combing city markets, he mapped out vendors that could consistently supply Kerala staples. Little by little, he stitched together a supply chain.
Taste First, Thesis Later:
If someone orders a dish at Chatti, how much of your fieldwork would you like them to know?
‘Enough to taste the promise,’ he says. Diners needn’t read a thesis at the table, but they should sense that the pepper came from Wayanad farmers, and the beef fry still obeys toddy-shop timing. Integrity is the secret seasoning.
A Recipe Bank 800 Dishes Deep, and Counting – Where do you see your research leading next? Is there a Kerala dish you’re eager to introduce to the world?
With an 800-recipe archive, Regi’s menu R&D could run for years. Each newcomer must balance the spice spectrum, suit diverse palates of the West, and tell a Kerala story. Research, he insists, ‘never stops.’ Every trip home yields another trick to stash for future menus.
Chatti isn’t chasing the same old ‘modern Indian’ trend. It’s Kerala, unfiltered: pepper-bright, coconut-velvety, slow-cooked in clay. For Malayalis, the menu feels like a WhatsApp call from home; for everyone else, it’s an edible atlas to a region the curry houses never mapped.
I highly recommend you reserve a table, sample the small-plate parade, sip a clarified sambar martini, and let the clang of copper spoons in earthen pots drown out Midtown traffic.
New York has plenty of restaurants, but this is the only one that hums like a waterfront tavern 8,000 miles away, powered by his mother’s love and legacy.