When it comes to fine dining, I am woefully inexperienced, so I imagine high ceilings, Italian marble and teaspoon-sized portions of food seasoned with gold dust. At Naar, I got none of that. Instead, I was greeted by a simple, cottage-like structure set against the Himalayas—a vision far more awe-inspiring than crystal chandeliers could ever be.
The 16-seater restaurant in Kasauli first opened in late 2023 under chef Prateek Sadhu. The menu, which changes six times a year, reflects the shifting seasons of the mountains, using local ingredients, many sourced from the restaurant’s own farm. But Naar doesn't shy away from experimenting with flavours outside of Himalayan cuisine. To kick off 2026, chef Sadhu collaborated with chef Jorge Vallejo of the renowned Michelin-starred Quintonil in Mexico City, bringing their two distinct cooking philosophies together with a little help from Don Julio tequila.
The first few courses were served in an outdoor patio—“the salon,” as operations manager Sonakshi Soni tells me it’s called. Bundled up in a scarf, with a heater overhead, I sipped on a winter broth with green pepper oil. The effect was immediate: warmth spread through my body as I tried to identify the flavours in my mouth. Strong, smoky and a little spicy, but overwhelmingly comforting. My expectations for the rest of the meal began to soar. I was very excited.
We started with a hemp and honey cocktail—Don Julio, hemp seeds, fermented coriander and sweet chilli. It had a light kick, more of a gentle pat and went down easy. The hemp seeds added an earthiness, while the sweet chilli nudged things up a notch. Next, came a rice cake with lamb brain and a curry leaf emulsion. After years of eating bheja fry, I thought I knew what lamb brain would taste like, but served on soft rice cakes, it melted in my mouth.
The tostada—our first taste from chef Vallejo—featured mussel with mole de mar. Mole is a family of Mexican sauces known for their velvety texture and blend of dried chillies, nuts, seeds, spices and fruits; ‘de mar’ pairs this richness with seafood. I’m not ashamed to say I scarfed mine down.
After a few more courses, we moved to the dining room—a small, cosy space that’s half dining space, half kitchen, separated by a shelf that showcased chef Sadhu’s love for all things panda. We began with a beignet stuffed with aubergine and pipián verde, a spicy, herby green Mexican sauce. It looked like a very pretty pani puri, resting on a bed of chutney, but the crisp outer shell gave way to the most delectable aubergine filling inside.
I paired it with a smoked strawberry cocktail. The Don Julio was smooth as ever and I noticed something new with every sip—the tang of the strawberries, the woodiness of the rosemary. Bartender Dixit Kaundal even brought me some self-fermented, pre-muddled strawberries to taste on their own. It was strong, to say the least, but fun to sample.
Next was smoked trout with adobo de cocopache and pickled mushrooms. The trout was soft, its layers coming apart at the lightest touch. Adobo is a thick, dark red, tangy Mexican marinade. And cocopache? A bug—one that the chefs graciously offered us to try on the side. The whole insect was crispy and salty, but surprisingly snackable.
After more trout, we were served DIY pork tacos. I never imagined I’d eat some of the best tacos of my life in Himachal Pradesh, but there I was, smiling to myself as I wrapped green tomato chutney and apple salad into a tortilla. I paired it with a Himalayan pickle cocktail—Don Julio, pickled kiwi and orange liqueur—perhaps my favourite drink of the night.
The last savoury dish was lamb neck with manchamanteles (a fruity Mexican mole stew), sornu rice, garden greens and apple honey. The rainbow of colours on the table looked almost too pretty to eat, but faced with the prospect of more good food, aesthetic appreciation quickly faded. I dug in without a second thought. As I scraped the last bits off my plate, I felt something unfamiliar: I was too full for dessert.
Soon after, I was served a cold seabuckthorn concoction with white chocolate and black pepper. A few seconds later, the bowl was empty. The final dish was persimmon with melipona bee honey—produced by stingless bees—crème fraîche and caviar. The cream was sweet and refreshing; the caviar saltier than I expected. I was Remy from Ratatouille (2007), fireworks going off as the flavours collided. It was the perfect last bite.
I’ve found the secret to happiness to be quite simple. On most days, all it takes is the right combination of good food, good music and good company. At Naar, I found all three.
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