A midweek dinner in Kala Ghoda turns crowded, generous and slightly unruly

We went on a Wednesday night expecting a certain emptiness. The kind that lets you hear your own cutlery, that encourages one drink and an early exit. Portal had other plans. By the time we settled in, the room was already leaning into itself. Chairs pulled closer, voices rising just enough, the bar filling in patches and then all at once.

Punam H. Singh’s restaurant Portal has a looseness to the way the place runs that feels deliberate

This is Punam H. Singh’s return to the floor, and there is a looseness to the way the place runs that feels deliberate. Not inattentive, just uninterested in directing the evening too firmly. You find your own rhythm, or fall into someone else’s.

A brunost waffle lands first, darker than expected, its edges sticky and almost burnt in the best way, the centre giving way under the fork. The honey mustard alongside feels slightly too sweet at first, then settles into the cheese’s deeper notes. It disappears quickly. The onion parmesan bites follow, all flakes and shards, leaving behind a richness that lingers longer than the plate does.

The room itself holds onto you. Arched ceilings stretch overhead, the light shifting from a late afternoon glow into something warmer, dimmer. A mirrored panel above the bar catches gestures mid-air, a flicker of movement that repeats itself if you look long enough. It is not a space that reveals itself immediately. It accumulates.

In the kitchen, Gregory Bazire’s menu moves restlessly. A lamb kimchi sando arrives overfilled, juices threatening the plate, the sharpness of the kimchi cutting through just enough before the fat takes over again. The Grand Paratha leans heavier still, its layers crisp but dense with confit garlic lamb and sweet onions. It satisfies, though it asks you to slow down.

The Gateway Rawas shifts the tone. The idli crust gives a soft resistance before breaking into a cleaner, more delicate centre, the garlic broth around it steadying the dish. A rice sandwich with miso-brushed tofu and avocado feels gentler, though it fades a little against the stronger plates.

Drinks keep pace without trying to steal attention. A margarita edged with calamansi and chilli carries a quiet heat. A gin cocktail threaded with purple yam pickle leans savoury, almost curious in its aftertaste. We stop tracking what we ordered after the second round.

By the time the vinyl hum settles in, the room has filled completely. Not chaotic, just full in a way that makes leaving feel slightly abrupt. What began as a midweek check-in stretches longer than intended. Plates stack up, conversations drift, and the night edges forward without much agreement from anyone at the table.

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