Inside Chef Sherry Mehta’s Ingredient-Led Menu at Trident Hyderabad's Kanak

The experience opens with kanji—fermented black carrots, mustard seeds floating gently on top. It’s sharp, probiotic, unmistakably winter-born. Kanji is something people drink in winters. It warms you from the inside. That philosophy: food as internal warmth, threads through the entire menu.

Then we begin the appetizers with wheat, because as the chef explains, in Punjabi it literally refers to wheat and symbolically it is gold. Punjab is one of the largest suppliers of wheat in the world, and this deconstructed chaat is her way of honouring that agricultural landscape. A portion of ginger oil is poured generously followed by a rock salt based chaat masala inspired by roadside peanut sellers in Punjab, followed by soaked wheat that has rested in water for over 24 hours. Peanuts follow, green chillies add their spark, and suddenly the chaat feels elemental and honest.

As plates keep arriving, a hotel spokesperson explains each one with the ease of someone who has lived these flavours. Paneer comes coated in two layers, one of yoghurt and spices, the other of mint and coriander, but inside sits aloo bukhara, the tart dried plum common to Afghan, Kashmiri and old Punjabi kitchens. Kulath ki tikki made from horse gram just melts in your mouth.

The non-vegetarian dishes are just as restrained. One chaap draws inspiration from a famous street in Lahore where lamb chops are seasoned with little more than rock salt, then follows a whole chicken cooked in the tandoor, tastes clean and deeply chicken forward. “Salt is the hero,” she says. “That’s how Northwest Frontier food works. You should taste the meat, not the masala.” Even the mildly flavoured prawns rely on hemp seeds, yoghurt and turmeric, nothing more. And my food companion is already relishing every bite.

Breads carry stories too. Doli ki roti, a fermented whole wheat bread stuffed with lentils, was once sent with brides on long journeys so they would not go hungry. Peshawari naan here is studded with nuts and mawa, with just the right hint of sweetness that the chef insists is essential. Simple Lahori dal, finished with aam ka achaar masala, brings back memories of her grandmother’s cooking, when tadka was optional and flavour came from instinct.

Seasonality runs through the menu. Water chestnuts appear in pani phal ke kofte, black carrots shine in kanji and halwa, bathua gets its moment beyond sarson ka saag, and hara chana finds its way into biryani. “People think Punjabi food is butter, ghee and cream,” she says. “This is the real food. Clean flavours. The produce is the hero.”

Desserts stay true to that philosophy. Panjiri, the winter superfood made with gond, flour and nuts, becomes an ice cream that even childhood sceptics fall in love with. Kaala gajar ka halwa relies only on black carrots and reduced milk, no sugar at all. Seb ki phirni layers apple compote with saffron scented rice pudding, drawing from Afghan and Punjabi influences alike.

The food popup is not about nostalgia alone. It is about correcting myths, recovering lost recipes, and reminding diners that Punjab’s cuisine has always been subtle, seasonal and deeply ingredient driven. At Kanak, Trident Hyderabad, that story finds a warm, generous table.