Where Kings Cook:
A Konkani Thali at Sawantwadi Palace
The Savants,
erstwhile rulers of Sawantwadi, once swung swords to win wars. Who would have
imagined those swords resting in scabbards on museum walls, while a descendant
wielded a spatula? How Time alters fortunes.
Palace
Resort
Sawantwadi
Palace Resort is a charming, chef-owned boutique hotel with six suites, each
named after an avatar of Vishnu and thoughtfully appointed with heirloom
furniture and Ganjifa décor. Less than two hours’ drive from MOPA, Goa, it
offers a quiet, unhurried Konkan retreat—far from the overrun beaches and
crowded nightclubs of Goa.
The Savants,
who claim descent from the Rajput royals of Udaipur, ruled this coastal strip
from the 17th century. Once vassals of the Bijapur Sultanate, they were later
brought under the Maratha Empire after Shivaji’s campaign in the region.
The palace
itself is modest—eschewing the flamboyance of wealthier kingdoms. In the drone
video on the hotel’s portal, it resembles a velvety ladybird nestled in a
verdant coconut grove, or an ochre-red Ganjifa motif sprouting miraculously
from the earth.
It does not
dominate; it settles gently amidst coconut groves, overlooking the Moti Talab
and the distant Narendra hills, a lesser offshoot of the Western Ghats.
The tall
British arches are quaint, but the spirit is unmistakably desi—laterite stone,
timber, and the signature courtyard. The interiors step softly into a covered
veranda, which in turn embraces the open-to-sky courtyard—the house itself
seeming to hesitate, then yield, to the outdoors.
Museum or
Lunch?
Two ladies
in elegant Paithani sarees welcomed each guest with a ceremonial tika and a
rosebud. After a welcome drink, the guide suggested a tour of the museum and
Ganjifa gallery.
The senior
citizens, however, had just come from a mango orchard—out of season. The fruit,
still in early promise, disappointed; the heat and humidity added to their
fatigue. Thirsty and slightly irritable, they were in no mood for culture.
“May we have
lunch first?” the group leader requested. “And perhaps another round of cold
drinks?”
Some drifted
to the bar for chilled beer.
The Guests
They had
begun the day with a leisurely breakfast and were not particularly hungry.
Well-travelled and seasoned, they belonged to the been-there-done-that tribe.
How, then, to surprise such a palate in a small Konkan town? The chefs must
have pondered this.
They were
ushered into the dining space—the verandas skirting the courtyard. Separate
tables had been laid for vegetarian and non-vegetarian meals, but the guests
rearranged themselves freely: the ladies claimed the courtyard view; the men
settled for walls and conversation.
Additional
chairs appeared swiftly for the extra guests. The setting grew a little
cramped, but no one minded. A small inconvenience—for a royal meal, served by
royals who were also trained chefs.
A Konkani
Thali
The chilled
kokum-coconut drink worked like magic. Spirits lifted.
Then came
the thalis—placed in quiet synchrony, almost like a ballet.
Even before
the aromas rose, the Konkani thali was a feast for the eyes. A riot of colours:
pristine white amboli; reddish prawn curry; deep brown chicken curry; a dark,
crisp slice of tawa-fried kingfish; pale-yellow cashew curry with ivory
kernels; pink solkadhi; a deep-fried red chilli; green coconut chutney; and a
golden papad.
Each dish
had a distinct identity. The three curries—prawn, chicken, and cashew—shared no
common base. Malvani masala, a blend of many spices, revealed itself
differently in each. Spiced, but not excessive; rich, but not heavy. Nothing
deep-fried except the papad.
Eating
the Landscape
The kingfish
carried the muted roar of the Arabian Sea; the prawns echoed the stillness of
estuaries; coconut spoke of the lush coastline; the amboli and rice of fertile
valleys between the Ghats and the sea.
The diners,
in effect, consumed the Konkan landscape in a single sitting.
Prince,
Chef, Host
The young
prince—owner, chef, and entrepreneur—appeared in a simple white kurta-chudidar,
greeting guests with quiet warmth before withdrawing unobtrusively. His wife,
also a trained chef, was not present, though her presence is evident in the
conception of the resort.
The
transformation of palace to boutique stay seems very much the vision of the
young couple—Yuvraj Laklakshyaraj Bhonsle and Yuvrani Shraddha Bhonsle.
A King in
Hawai Chappals
After lunch,
one guest, mildly unimpressed, extended his critique: “Was it worth it? And why
was the king in Hawai chappals?”
A friend
replied, “You noticed his footwear, but missed his impressive beard and
dignified bearing. And must a man not walk freely in his own home?”
The
patriarch, H.H. Khem Sawant Bhonsle, is known for his warmth and accessibility.
He and the late Queen Satvashila Devi revived the traditional Ganjifa art,
sustaining local artisans through palace patronage.
Despite his
title, he carries himself as a host rather than a ruler—approachable,
unassuming, and present.
A video in
the resort’s portal shows the royal family with the king seated on the throne
in the Durbar Hall in regal splendour—golden attire, red turban—every inch a
king, even as history has moved on since the accession of 1947.
The
Visit: A Curated Thali
The visit
itself felt like a curated thali: the ceremonial welcome, the personal greeting
by the prince, the unexpected encounter with the king, the thoughtfully
prepared meal, the museum, the Ganjifa artists at work, and glimpses of Raja
Ravi Varma’s paintings.
A
composition of experiences—balanced, layered, and quietly memorable.
Like the thali itself, it lingered—long after the delicate dessert of lentil,
coconut, and jaggery.
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