The Dishoom King’s Cross story

ONE JANUARY MORNING in 1928, a young Irani – not long arrived in Bombay – was waiting to collect a parcel at Victoria Terminus. Unusually, the train was running late. The Irani waited, patiently; then, growing hot and bored, he decided to stretch his legs. He wandered amongst the station crowds and then down a side track, off the main terminus.

Quickly, he found himself in a vast, airy shed filled with the hubbub of a thousand industries crossing paths: freight trains pulling in with a squeal, wagons being loaded and unloaded, men and machines labouring with their cargo. Railway workers shouted to one another in a dozen languages: Hindi, Marathi, Gujarati, Bihari. Goods of every conceivable sort ebbed and flowed through the station, a veritable artery linking the Indian subcontinent to the Western world via the trading port of Bombay.

The Irani was of an astute business mind. He had come to Bombay with almost nothing, and he was always seeking an opportunity to strengthen his toehold there. He also understood how this city could be hard on her people. That day, standing there in the vastness of that old godown and watching the men at work, he felt a keen sense of opportunity. These men, weary from their toil, should surely be able to quench their thirst and sate their hunger.

The very next morning, he began selling his Irani chai and a few baked goods from an impromptu stall in an inconspicuous corner of the godown. The railwaymen came in their dozens to sample his offerings. The news spread, passed on from worker to worker, supervisor to babu, and the little stall flourished. The Irani introduced a few additional items here and there: a rickety table, some chairs, a shelf displaying plump fresh pau, a wooden bench to sit on. It wasn’t luxury by any means, but all who spent a moment there were glad of it.

Although at first wary of being ousted from his borrowed corner, he soon became bolder: the station guards were grateful for a ready source of chai, and would happily take their baksheesh in spicy keema. The Irani ‘café’ inched outwards appropriating its own space in the large transit shed, buoyed by the burgeoning number of loyal patrons. In almost unnoticeable little steps, it gradually started dominating the godown.

Decades later, the Irani’s hair has turned from jet black to grey, his jacket is cut from better cloth, but his smile is just as it was. His beloved India has changed dramatically. She has fought for her independence and has been torn asunder by partition. The gora sahibs are long gone, and a young nation is forging its identity. And from a small corner of the shed, the humble stall has grown into an established café – in truth, even something of an institution. The renown of the Irani and his hospitality has spread far; everyone – labourers, smartly-uniformed train supervisors, well-heeled sahibs – comes for a cup of cutting chai, a quick breakfast, a hearty meal. Railwaymen, angadias and passengers meet there and dawdle together, reading their newspapers, loudly exchanging jokes and political opinions, mopping their plates clean with the Irani’s hot pau. And at the end of a long hot day, a refreshing beer (discreetly passed from a hidden box of ice) is a most welcome reward.

Even after so many years, the Irani never fails to greet each one of his guests with a nod and a smile. Whether it is an omelet at daybreak, a big bowl of Nalli Nihari at lunch, an afternoon snack or a sly peg of liquor from a bottle before home-time, his welcome is as warm as the chai is hot, and every guest goes on his way feeling that he has found a small source of solace and joy in the old godown behind the great Victoria Terminus.

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Thoughts from Rachael Anderson, Head of Schools at Magic Breakfast

We began working with Magic Breakfast in 2015, supporting them in their goal of ending hunger as a barrier to education in the UK. Over the years, we’ve developed lasting and loyal friendships with the incredible team and their partner schools. This month, we celebrate reaching the milestone of donating 10 million meals to hungry children in partnership with Magic Breakfast and Akshaya Patra. Magic Breakfast’s Head of Schools, Rachael Anderson, has kindly taken the time to reflect on the last six years of our work together, as well as sharing her thoughts on the profound impact the past twelve months have had.

Children sit cross legged at school

10 million meals for children

Since 2015, for every Dishoom meal you’ve enjoyed (whether in the cafés, via delivery, or as a meal kit), we’ve donated a meal to a child that might otherwise go hungry. A meal for a meal. This month, as we reached the milestone of donating 10 million meals, we had occasion to catch up with our dear friends and long-term charity partners, Magic Breakfast and Akshaya Patra. The work both charities do to end hunger as a barrier to education is simply incredible and we’re extremely proud to be able to support them and the communities they serve in the UK and India, respectively. We kindly invite you to take a moment to hear their reflections on our partnership and on the impact of the very important work they do. 

Dishoom Uttapam Stack Recipe

Uttapam are a fluffy savoury dosa, made with rice. They're usually enjoyed with savoury toppings but we particularly like ours with lashings of jaggery syrup and a thick, strained yoghurt. Chef Naved has shared his recipe for making an extra fluffy stack at home.

How to Serve the Permit Room Old-Fashioned

Our Old-Fashioned bottled cocktail takes its name from the Permit Room bar, found in every Dishoom and so named after the official term for all Bombay drinking establishments, in which, according to the Bombay Prohibition Act of 1949, only permit-holders may consume alcohol. Herein, liquor can be sold and imbibed, but only for the goodness of one’s health.

Though the doors of the Permit Room are closed for now, you can still enjoy our tipples in bottled form at home. Follow our lead to achieve the perfect pour, and transport yourself back to a cosy corner of the bar.