There’s no front door at Da Box. You won’t find any moody lighting, curated playlists, or a host showing you to a table. As a cloud kitchen, the draw here is in the deliberate act of pre-ordering and waiting.
“People have forgotten the culture of waiting,” says chef-owner Nikhil Thambiraja Lamech. “Earlier, you had to wait for everything, movies, products, even food deliveries without tracking.” That thought stays with you even after the boxes finally show up. “I’d rather make 15 bibimbaps that are excellent than 500 burgers that are just average,” he elaborates.
Da Box itself began in 2020, at a moment when the hospitality industry had come to a standstill. Returning to Chennai after a stint abroad, he started small, cooking out of his home kitchen, putting up menus on Instagram, and working entirely on pre-orders. For nearly two years, it was a one-person operation, with every element, from cooking to logistics, handled independently. Today, it has grown into a small, tightly run kitchen, but the philosophy remains unchanged: make food that feels personal, and make it well.
That shift, from large-format kitchens to something entirely his own, has also altered his relationship with food. Working in hotels, he says, often meant volume and repetition, following established systems. Now, “every dish carries a bit of you.” The focus has moved towards ingredients, process, and care, with time becoming just as valuable. It’s a balance, learning to build something without losing the space to step away from it.
The pre-order model, then, is not just logistical but intentional. It allows the kitchen to cook exactly what is needed, reducing waste and maintaining consistency, while also shaping the menu itself. Dishes are designed to travel, holding their structure and flavour through a 30 to 45-minute journey.
We begin with the Chicken katsu sando, and it’s immediately clear why this sits at the centre of the menu. The ratio is almost mathematical: crisp, juicy chicken held between impossibly soft bread in a 1:1:1 balance. The crunch gives way to tenderness, the slaw cuts through with just enough bite. It’s indulgent, yes, but controlled. “We brine the chicken overnight to keep it moist,” he explains. It is then coated in Japanese-style breadcrumbs made in-house using only the soft centre of white bread, and fried before being dipped in a tonkatsu sauce built from oyster sauce, ketchup, sriracha, and sugar. It’s layered further with a coleslaw of purple cabbage, green cabbage, and carrots, all tucked into bread sourced locally.
Next, the Chicken gyoza. The filling is juicy, but the journey hasn’t been entirely kind, the skin slightly soggy by the time it reaches us. It’s a small reminder of the format: this is food designed to travel, but not everything escapes that distance unchanged.
The Sesame soba is where things shift gears. A mix of bell peppers, purple cabbage, carrots and wheat noodles arrives with a dressing oil on the side. You can toss it in and deepen the flavours, or leave it be, and suddenly, it becomes something lighter, salad-like.
The Ebi katsu curry comes with crisp prawns, still holding their bite. The curry, unmistakably familiar, carries a certain warmth. “I think “authenticity” is just an idea. Food evolves over time, ingredients travel, cultures merge. Even Japanese curry has Indian influences brought over by the British. At Da Box, we make our own Japanese curry powder using local spices instead of store-bought cubes. So naturally, it leans Indian. I’m cooking for an Indian audience, so the flavours reflect that. Food doesn’t belong to one place, it’s meant to be shared and adapted.” The curry leans into local flavours while still holding onto its Japanese roots.
The same balance appears in the Ebi katsu sando, where the prawn’s crunch meets a tartar layered with gherkins, pickled onions, and egg, rounded off with a hint of spice.
Then comes the Chicken bibimbap, sticky rice layered with grilled chicken, mushrooms, greens, pickled cucumber, kimchi, each element distinct, yet working towards a whole. At the bottom, a sauce ties it together. You mix, you dig in, and it never once feels heavy.
Dessert was called Paati’s biscuit pudding, with biscuits, chocolate, cream, walnuts, a hint of rum. “This is something I’ve grown up eating,” he concludes. “I’ve put my own spin on it, using Barry Callebaut chocolate and candied walnuts instead of plain ones. But the core idea is hers.”
Meal for two: Rs 1,800 AI. Available on pre-order basis, with delivery slots announced periodically.
Email: shivani@newindianexpress.com
X: @ShivaniIllakiya
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