The Kitchens That Made Me: Lessons in Food, Culture and Community
- Arpana Gvalani
- Jun 23
- 6 min read
When people ask me where I learnt to cook, they're usually expecting the name of a culinary school, a restaurant, or perhaps a chef who took me under their wing.
The truth is, I've learnt from many kitchens.
Some were family kitchens filled with curiosity and experimentation. Some belonged to restaurants and hotels. Others were makeshift spaces where hungry friends gathered late into the night. A few taught me discipline. Some taught me hospitality. The best ones taught me community.
These are the kitchens that made me.
The Family Kitchen
My first kitchen was home.
My parents loved food. Not just eating it, but experimenting with it. Long before food television and social media made culinary curiosity fashionable, they were trying new recipes, ingredients and combinations simply because they enjoyed the process of discovery. Cooking was never a chore. It was something shared. Even my younger brother Anit grew up with that same instinct, finding his own joy in the kitchen.
Food in our home was never rigid. Recipes weren't sacred texts. They were suggestions. There was always room for improvisation, discussion and the occasional happy accident.
Then there is my Maasi, Rekha, the first person in our family to study hotel management professionally. She is an exceptional cook, an even better baker, and perhaps the first person who showed me that cooking could be both creative and disciplined.
Together we made Black Forest cakes, chocolates and sweets that felt impossibly sophisticated at the time. She shared the kind of professional tips that rarely appear in recipes. One of the dishes she taught me was a simple vegetable soup that I made for my grandfather almost every day. Decades later, it remains one of my favourite comfort foods.
And then there are her paneer pakoras. The recipe remains a closely guarded secret, though she's always happy to make them on request.
Looking back, I realise that while my parents planted the seeds of curiosity, Maasi Rekha quietly introduced me to discipline. The organisation, attention to detail and respect for ingredients that would later be reinforced by professional kitchens had already begun at home.
The dining table became my first classroom.
The Kitchen of Hungry Friends
While I was still in college, I started designing, manufacturing and selling western clothing to boutiques on a small scale. Fashion seemed like the future.
But food always found its way back in.
My friends became willing guinea pigs for milkshakes, snacks and whatever culinary experiment had caught my attention that week. Even more so were my younger brother's friends, who somehow always ended up at our house late at night.
Looking back, I wasn't just experimenting with flavours.
I was discovering the pleasure of feeding people.
The smiles, the conversations and the requests for second helpings were often more rewarding than the food itself.
The Blue Mountains Kitchen
My original dream was photography and films. That dream didn't go down particularly well at home.
Then life took an unexpected turn. My clothing business came to an abrupt end when my production unit was destroyed during the Mumbai riots of the 1990s. Not long after, Australia happened.
What felt like a detour became one of the most important chapters of my life.
At the Blue Mountains International Hotel School, I found myself surrounded by students from all over the world. Japan, Korea, Indonesia, Thailand, Sweden, Malaysia, Lebanon, Germany, the United States, Australia and many more.
For the first time, culture wasn't something I read about.
It was sitting across the table from me.
Every classmate brought stories, traditions and food memories from home. Every conversation expanded my understanding of the world.
Among my group, I was one of the few who genuinely enjoyed kitchen duty.
Except baking. Baking demanded precision and patience, qualities I resisted for years before finally making peace with them when I returned to study baking professionally in Mumbai more than two decades later.
The most important lesson from Australia, however, came from Chef Julie, my first real mentor.
After a semester, I lived with her for a few months and learnt more than any classroom could teach. She showed me the value of organisation, discipline and treating every person in a kitchen with equal respect.
To this day, whether I cook for four people or forty, I like my workspace neat and organised. Respecting your workspace is respecting your craft.
That lesson began with Julie.
The Community Kitchen
Australia taught me something else too.
Community.
For a brief period, I managed an Indian restaurant. In the same complex were a Greek restaurant, an Italian restaurant and a small movie theatre. On certain nights, businesses collaborated to support one another, and after service, owners and staff often gathered behind the restaurants to share meals, stories and a few pints.
There was no talk of networking.
There was simply community.
Restaurants recommended one another. Staff exchanged meals. Regular customers were treated like extended family.
Later, while working as a concierge at a luxury hotel in Sydney, I was exposed to restaurants, clubs and cuisines from around the world. What impressed me most wasn't the luxury.
It was the generosity.
The best hospitality always makes people feel welcome, regardless of the setting.
That idea stayed with me.
The Community Kitchen, Mumbai
Eventually, those lessons found a home in Gostana.
People often remember the food, the burgers or the music. But when I think about Gostana, I think about the people.
Every lesson I had gathered over the years found its way into that space. The curiosity I inherited from my family. The discipline I learnt from Maasi Rekha and Chef Julie. The sense of community I had witnessed in Australia. The belief that culture is something you nurture.
One of the things I loved most about Gostana was watching people bring their passions into the space and make it their own.
At the Food Bloggers Awards, through a mutual friend (Hi BKSS), I met Yeshi, who had won an award for her baking blog, My Butter Half. Before long, her baked goodies found a home at Gostana and she was helping manage weekends. Guests warmed to her instantly, and she quickly became part of the Gostana family.
And naturally, part of Zizou's social calendar.
Many weekends, Zizou seemed convinced he was the guest of honour at Yeshi's girls' nights out, happily settling into the middle of the group and soaking up attention.
Later, Shweta, who would go on to start The Blue Mango, also shared her baked creations at Gostana.
What I loved most was seeing people grow. A baker testing new ideas. An artist putting up an exhibition. A musician finding an audience. A photographer finding a wall to display their work.
Over time, Gostana became far more than a place to eat.
We hosted music nights, open mics, film screenings, stand-up comedy, vinyl gatherings, art exhibitions and pop-ups for independent creators. The food may have brought people through the door, but it was culture that encouraged them to stay.
Looking back, I realise I wasn't trying to build just a café.
I was trying to build the kind of community I had experienced years earlier in Australia. A place where food, music, art and friendship could comfortably sit at the same table.
For a few years, we weren't just serving meals.
We were creating a place where people felt they belonged.
The Kitchen I Have Today
These days, my kitchen is smaller than it's ever been.
Life slowed down for a while as I spent several years caring for my ageing pets. Plans changed. Priorities shifted.
Instead, Acoustic Flavours emerged. A small studio space at home where recipes meet stories, songs inspire dishes, and food continues to act as a bridge between people, memories and culture.
There are no restaurant shifts anymore. No freezer inventories. No late-night supplier meetings.
Just a camera, a recipe, a song and the freedom to explore. (As often as possible).
Looking back, I've realised that the most important thing I learnt wasn't how to cook.
It was how food creates culture.
Every kitchen taught me a recipe, but the most valuable lessons were always about people, community and the simple act of gathering around a table.
Those lessons have travelled with me from my family kitchen to Australia, from Sydney to Mumbai, from Gostana to Acoustic Flavours.
And they're still teaching me something new every day.
(A very special lemonade found it's was to Gostana, all the way from Australia. We named it.......)
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