Sheena Dhanaraj
Google
At Cafe Tiffin in London, we found a humble haven, tucked away from the city’s noise, yet alive with the kind of warmth that feels like stepping back home.
With a name like Cafe Tiffin, we expected the familiar comfort of idli, dosa, and the classic South Indian spread.
But what awaited us was an unexpected delight—
my first taste of Bangla food.
Often mislabeled as “Indian,” it deserves its own honor,
its own rhythm, its own rightful place at the table.
For me, it was love at first bite.
For my son, it was devotion—so swift,
he declared his review before we even stepped out the door (see Rohit Jacob’s verdict).
Bangla food is now our newfound favorite,
and Cafe Tiffin, a reminder that food is never just food—
it is connection, it is belonging, it is home.
Craving spice, craving tang—
Mohib listened, as though he could hear the hunger behind my words.
And what arrived was nothing short of magic.
The Naga chilli mutton—flavourfully fiery,
brewing a storm with every bite.
The chicken in chilli garlic—a dance of restraint,
the burnt garlic bold yet never overwhelming,
instead lacing each mouthful with a quiet delight.
And then, the dish that stole my heart—
dal with prawns.
A pairing I had never imagined,
yet now it lingers in my memory as the very definition of comfort.
Chef Saeed, it seems, cooks with a kind of alchemy,
turning unfamiliar combinations into instant favorites.
But it was not just the food—
it was Mohib’s warmth, his stories,
the generous way he welcomed us not only to the table,
but into his life.
Tales of joy and struggle, of belonging and hope,
woven between courses,
turning a meal into something far more intimate—
something divine.
And like the woman in the picture,
I find myself longing still—
to wander further into the world of this cuisine,
to return to this place where food is not only eaten,
but shared,
where strangers become kin over spice and story.
