At this restaurant in Goa, culinary memory finds a new address

There is a stretch in Panjim where the road loosens its grip, the river widens, and you find yourself glancing sideways without fully meaning to. Hotel Mandovi sits there with studied indifference — the kind of building you pass often enough to stop seeing, until one day it returns your gaze with questions. It feels paused rather than abandoned, as though it has simply stepped out of the present for a moment.

That feeling followed me this December, when I was in Goa for the launch of Sabores, run by Akshay Quenim, of Tataki and Shoyu, whose family history is entangled with the now-defunct hotel. Over meals and casual conversations with locals, after my visit to Sabores, Mandovi surfaced instinctively. “That’s where we took visitors,” a local told me, as if reciting an old rule. “If you wanted crab done properly, you went to Rio Rico.” The name of the restaurant carried the weight of old cinemas and clubs — spoken with affection, and the understanding that something formative had once taken place there.

The reverence makes sense when you look back. Conceived in the early 1950s for the exposition of the relics of St Francis Xavier, the Mandovi was Goa’s first starred hotel. It welcomed dignitaries, including Jawaharlal Nehru, alongside waves of clergy, pilgrims and officials moving through Panjim at a moment when the city was learning how to host without spectacle.

Listening to people talk about it, another Panjim begins to take shape. A slower, civic Goa anchored to the Mandovi river. Bureaucrats and journalists lingering over drinks. Families dressing up for Sunday lunches that slid gently into evening. Plates of prawn curry, pork vindaloo, crab xec-xec arriving with confidence.

Walking past it now is a reminder that Goa has always offered more than one way in. Beyond beaches and shacks lie caves, petroglyphs, village museums, old palaces and riverfront hotels that once shaped its rhythm. Places like the Mandovi sit at that intersection — easy to overlook but impossible to replace.

Akshay is clear that while that legacy follows him, Sabores is not an attempt to recreate it. “We’re putting our spin on food this region is known for, but often diluted,” he says. Located within Clube de Palma, a private residents’ club in Bambolim, the 60-seater restaurant leans into Goan-Portuguese architectural cues without slipping into pastiche. Laterite walls remain exposed, contemporary chandeliers hover overhead, and booth-style seating allows for intimate, unhurried meals.

The culinary programme draws from Goa’s Hindu and Christian traditions, with Portuguese influence running quietly through it. As with any new restaurant, there is an adjustment period — a kitchen learning to handle the ferocity of orders, seasoning finding its footing, and proteins settling into consistency. That said, several dishes already show a clear point of view.

The chicken corrado, a house interpretation of Goan chilli fry, is confident and well-balanced, heat held in check by restraint rather than dilution. Rissóis de camarão, served with a smoky tomato aioli, are crisp, correctly filled, and unshowy — done the way they should be. The charred pork belly with amsol glaze is tender and deeply flavoured, the kokum lending acidity without sharpness, while the slow-cooked pork roast is smoky, comforting, and quietly indulgent.

The bread programme — poie, onde, pão and celebratory dinner rolls — is thoughtful rather than ornamental, especially when paired with house-made butters ranging from a subtle choriso note to a classic café de Paris.

Not everything lands, however. The Goan green beef curry, though hearty, feels muddled where it should be precise, its freshness dulled by excess weight. The Chapora, a Rio Rico classic reimagined — a coconut-forward curry meant to deliver soft tang and coastal comfort — lacks the depth and clarity.

The cocktail programme, developed with Pankaj Balachandran of Countertop India, is disciplined and largely assured. The Flor de Palma, built on frangipani-infused vodka, is effervescent — a drink that knows when to stop. Ain’t No Sol-shine, a tequila cocktail with kokum and plum, carries tang, soft sweetness and a refined sour finish, like a tropical monsoon held neatly in a glass.

The standout is Vindaloo — pork-fat-washed gin, Cointreau, chilli-garlic honey and citrus, finished with egg white. It is bold, refined and quietly explosive, the kind of cocktail that lingers in memory rather than demanding attention. Mango Verde, however, disappoints: a highball that promises brightness but falls flat, its raw mango note failing to cut through as expected.

What stands out at Sabores is that it offers proportion — an understanding that heritage does not need to be replicated to be respected. Between the plates, the drinks, and the small gestures — postcard-style comment cards, and the promise of regular Fado nights — there is an attempt to keep memory active rather than embalmed.

Address: Clube de Palma, Phase 2, Aldeia de Goa, Bambolim, Goa; meal for two costs ₹3,000 (inclusive of alcohol)