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Food

The Kitchen’s Last Song Of The Night

When the guests are gone and the kitchen goes still, five chefs show us what remains — the rituals, the quiet, and the warmth that never leaves the stove.

| Manasvi Pote
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When the last guest steps out and the doors finally close, the kitchen begins its quiet metamorphosis. The clang of ladles fades, the scent of caramelised onions hangs in the air like perfume, and the stainless steel counters, still warm from the day’s rush, begin to gleam again under softer light. The soundscape changes — knives no longer hit cutting boards in rhythm; instead, there’s the low hum of exhausts winding down, an occasional burst of laughter, a familiar song playing off someone’s old playlist.

It’s in this hush that the kitchen exhales. The chaos has passed, but its echo lingers — in the steam, the stains, the fatigue that feels almost holy. For a few stolen minutes, the people who feed others all day turn to feed themselves. Some share a quiet meal of staff curry and rice; others sit alone, tracing the day’s memories in their heads. It’s not resting exactly, but more like a reflection dressed in the scent of garlic and metal.

In these late hours, new ideas take root. The next day’s menu begins as a half-formed thought. Notes are scribbled in the margins of order sheets. Someone experiments with a leftover sauce, another tests a recipe remembered from childhood. When the noise finally fades, what remains is the heart of it all — a devotion to the craft that only reveals itself when no one’s watching.

The Night Belongs To The Baker

Chef Dina Weber, SAPA Bakery, Mysuru

For Dina Weber, the end of the day at SAPA Bakery feels like an exhale. The rush of customers fades, but the bakery still hums with life. “Usually, we put on our favourite songs while closing down,” she says. “If I get the playlist, it’s Ezra Collective. No one’s watching, so I just dance a little.” Around her, the team cleans and chats with the last few guests who linger. “It’s a fabulous in-between space,” she says. “The rules soften, and conversations deepen.” When SAPA moved to a new, larger space, Dina would stay long after everyone left. “I’d come back after putting my daughter to bed and sit alone till 1 a.m., just listening to music,” she says. “It felt like I had to befriend the space—to fill it with intent.” Those late nights became a quiet ritual, a way of making the space her own. “I love walking through the empty bakery when it’s spotless and still,” she says. “It’s serenity. For a moment, it feels like the place belongs to you. But you also know it doesn’t—it belongs to everyone who’s ever baked, eaten, or laughed there.”

Gratitude At The Bar

Chef Seefah Ketchaiyo, Seefah, Mumbai

At Seefah, the Thai restaurant she runs with her husband Karan, Chef Seefah Ketchaiyo’s evenings end in quiet gratitude. “When service ends, I like to just stand still for a moment,” she says. “It’s peaceful. You can still feel the energy from the night, but it starts to settle.” As her team wipes down counters and stacks plates, she watches in silence, taking it all in—the movement, the calm, the satisfaction of a day done right. “It’s my way of saying thank you to the kitchen and the day,” she says. Sometimes, she sits at the bar with Karan for a final drink. “It’s our way of closing the day together.” The quiet often brings back flavours from Thailand—memories that spark new ideas. “Some dishes start here, when I remember something from back home and want to bring that feeling back,” she says. Her reflections remind her why she cooks at all. “Those moments remind me that I’m still learning. It’s not about fame or rush. It’s about loving what I do, every single day.” For Seefah, silence is not emptiness. It’s gratitude. It’s the hum of the fridge, the clink of a glass, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing that everything she loves begins and ends in this room.

The Five-Minute Pause

Chef Varun Pereira, Comal, Bengaluru

At Comal, when the last guest leaves, Chef Varun Pereira finally gets to sit. “It’s like hitting pause,” he says. “You grab a bite, light a cigarette, and breathe.” His open kitchen, alive with conversation all evening, suddenly turns into a lab for experimentation. “We can’t test dishes during service because everything’s visible to guests,” he explains. “So post-dinner, that’s when we play.” The playlist shifts from Latin beats to heavy metal once the team leaves. “That’s when the kitchen becomes mine again,” he says with a grin. Sometimes, he just sits at the back, in complete silence. “No sound, no people—just me,” he says. “The whole day you’re talking, tasting, teaching. But at night, you just cook again, quietly.” It’s during these hours that new ideas take shape. “Most of what ends up on our menu starts here,” he admits. “You taste, adjust, scribble notes, and think about tomorrow.” But for Pereira, it’s not just about creation. It’s about presence. “The silence resets you,” he says. “You remember why you started cooking—to lose yourself in it.”

Espresso, Notes, And Stillness

Chef Sandesh Reddy, a Madras-based restaurateur behind French Loaf, Radio Room, and Sandy’s Chocolate Laboratory

For Chef Sandesh Reddy, the kitchen doesn’t close when the restaurant does. “When the house is quiet and the kids are asleep, that’s when my mind starts working,” he says. He brews an espresso—strong, dark, familiar—and opens his notebook. “I make notes throughout the day, then reread them at night. That’s when I see clearly.” He calls this his most honest hour. “It’s when I’m brutally honest with myself about my shortcomings and progress,” he says. “That’s what helps me grow.” His home test kitchen often lights up at 2 a.m., the smell of chocolate or spices drifting through the silence. “Ninety-nine percent of what I create starts during these hours,” he says. “It’s when the noise fades, and ideas finally speak up.” After two decades in the industry, this time alone has become essential. “I use those moments to check in with myself—not as a chef, but as a person who loves what he does,” he says. “The quiet reminds me that even after all these years, I’m still excited to learn.” For Sandesh, the espresso is a reminder that creation doesn’t always happen in chaos; it happens when you finally sit still.

The Family Table

Chef & Food Content Creator Nehal Karkera 

When the last guest leaves, Chef Nehal Karkera’s kitchen comes alive again, but this time for the people who make it run. “After service, everyone—kitchen and front of house—sits together for a staff meal,” he says. “It’s usually rice and sabzi, Bollywood music in the background. It feels like home.” The clinking of plates and the hum of conversation replace the rush of orders. “There are nights when no one talks,” he says. “Just the sound of tables being wiped, cutlery sorted, the exhaust turning off. That silence carries its own calm. It’s the sound of a day done well.” Festive nights are their own kind of celebration. “While others are out partying, we’re here working,” he says. “But when it’s over, we share sweets, light a few firecrackers outside, and laugh together.” Those moments, he says, build a different kind of family. “You realise the people around you have become your people. You’ve fed hundreds that night, but this small meal—it’s yours.” For Nehal, hospitality is not just service. It's a community. “You spend the whole day taking care of others,” he says. “And at the end of it, you finally take care of each other.”

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