Check In, Cuff Up: The Love Hotel Is Delhi’s New Flirt Den

Plunge someone into a space that feels like a well-kept secret—meant more for private affairs than public pleasure—and odds are they’ll instinctively recoil. In a society reared on restraint and the delicate art of euphemism, the idea of sipping cocktails in a setting inspired by Japan’s notorious Love Hotels can feel ever so slightly scandalous. Or at the very least, like something you’d enjoy immensely but never confess to in polite company.

Enter The Love Hotel, quietly nestled in a corner of Lodhi Colony—Olive’s latest and cheekiest outpost. A sly, stylish riff on the concept, it’s a subtle, suggestive spin on the genre—mercifully toned-down, many would say (though only under oath and never within earshot of their aunties). But make no mistake: this is no throwaway gimmick. It’s a genuinely clever little bar—more playful than provocative and sharp enough to know the difference.

What’s most delightful about this reimagined space—once the private dining room of Guppy—is that The Love Hotel shape-shifts with the moment. It’s your cosy Tuesday night den, your third-date dreamscape, your midweek pick-me-up. The mood is intimate but not intimidating: low lighting, sultry decor, and a few flirtatious games thrown in for good measure. It’s made for sexy, slightly silly fun—the kind that lets you unwind without taking your shirt (or your sensibilities) off.

When asked what sparked the idea, AD Singh, Chairman and MD of the Olive group, offered a knowing smile: “The world is opening up like never before, and today’s diners want to be surprised. It’s fresh, sexy, and effortlessly edgy.”

And perhaps that’s exactly why it works. The quirks are cheeky, never crass. They flirt—they don’t pounce.

Now, let’s talk about the cocktail menu—because it’s downright sense-ational. Sweet. Sour. Salty. Bitter. Umami. The five fundamental tastes serve as both compass and muse, guiding a drinks list that’s anything but ordinary. Each cocktail is anchored in one primary flavour profile but designed to tease, tingle, and awaken all your senses—with clever infusions, theatrical touches, and a generous dash of mischief. The programme has been dreamt up by celebrated mixologist Nitin Tewari, alongside Shiva Kant Vyas of The Open Art Project.

Think of it less as a cocktail menu, more as a sensory escapade. You don’t merely sip a drink here—you experience it. Some arrive cool and mysterious, others with a flourish or a wink, and one or two might make you giggle before the first sip (yes, pink cuffs included). But beneath the sexy packaging lies some serious craft. 

Texture takes centre stage—foams, tinctures, edible garnishes, things to scoop, swirl, and slurp. A cocktail may begin with a bright tartness, morph into smoke mid-way, and finish with a velvet whisper of umami. It’s a liquid tightrope walk—equal parts technique and temptation—with not a misstep in sight.

Whether you're a negroni purist, a tiki thrill-seeker, or just someone who orders whatever sounds vaguely flirtatious, there’s something here to tickle your fancy—and possibly even coax out your alter ego.

Take The Cuffing, for instance—a martini-paloma hybrid that’s tart, umami-rich, and served with a pair of pink handcuffs. You’re meant to link wrists with your companion before taking a sip. It’s kinkier than your average party trick, and far more fun than it has any right to be.

Or try It’s Not Bedtime, a tiramisu martini topped with choco-grapefruit foam and a dainty spoon to scoop it all up. The presentation alone sets the stage for a flurry of innuendo, but don’t be fooled: this drink is a knockout. Suggest it to your date, and thank me later.

Flying solo with a cocktail and a throwback ‘90s pop playlist? The classics have all been reimagined with a wink. Ask for Rooms by the Hour—their take on a Negroni—or Late Checkout, a matcha-spiked Old Fashioned. (Even if you’re sceptical about matcha, this cocktail is surprisingly convincing.)

The food menu, though compact, is quietly confident. Curated by chef Saurabh Sharan, it features a dozen small plates with a fresh, contemporary Asian twist. The sushi canapés are witty, but the wakame seaweed salad? A tidal wave of flavour (pun entirely intended). The crunchy summer wraps keep things breezy, but the pan-tossed atsuage tofu and the brie-chilli tempura? Absolutely irresistible.

My only complaint? That I couldn’t sneak a bowl of Guppy’s ramen across from next door. Perhaps one day. A girl can dream.

The space itself is moodily lit—equal parts noir and neon—and thoroughly inviting. With just 20 seats, it’s intimate without being exclusive. Reservations are a wise move. And on a rare but much-needed cultural note, diners are encouraged to leave on time once their slot is over. A small gesture, but a rather grown-up one—and long overdue in Indian dining culture.

It’s these thoughtful details that mark the slow, seductive evolution of India’s bar scene, with more intentional menus, a sense of occasion without snobbery, and a rising comfort with spaces that flirt with fantasy while staying decidedly chic.

I was hosted at the table—but would I go back? Absolutely. And next time, I’m bringing the cuffs.