Discovering How Whisky Complements India’s Festive Fervour By Nikhil P Merchant
India, during this time of the year, in my opinion, is in its best spirit. The weather’s on the cooler side, there’s a subtle chill in the air, and one can almost soak in a waft of that festive fervour that begins with the festival of lights and continues all the way till the end of the year, and sometimes even beyond. And this festive spirit is not just outside but also inside our homes. Thorough cleaning, new home decor, the unravelling of that special crockery set reserved for this time of the year… the best food comes to the table, and the gastronomical marathon takes off.
The kitchen aromas drift lazily through the house, carrying the scent of butter, cardamom, nutmeg—sweet, savoury, and spiced. There’s a dreamy quality to it, a sense of anticipation: sweets being rolled, cakes baked, farsaans fried, chickens roasted, and countless other delicacies slowly coming to life. You can almost hear the clatter of utensils, the voices rising above it, and the occasional burst of laughter that escapes from behind closed doors.
At some point, a neighbour, a friend, or a relative would welcome you in, with that familiar warmth we are all too used to. Once inside a home, plates would appear, carrying textures that ranged from crisp to soft, light to dense, and flavours that spanned every corner of the palate—sweet, salty, spiced, hot, comforting. By evening, despite all the variety, a calm would surreptitiously take over. The doors would slowly close, the doorbell rung in honour of guests, and then the whiskies would make their appearance.
This moment of togetherness feels complete. It’s more common than you think across many Indian homes. When I called up Rajan Sethi, the man behind Delhi’s heritage Indian restaurant Ikk Panjab, he laughed and said that in about thirty minutes, he’d be doing exactly what we were talking about. “In our homes,” he told me, “we don’t open the bottle until everyone’s at the table. It’s not about the drink, it’s about the moment when the family is finally together.”
For him, festivals aren’t just about the sweets, the lights and the music; it’s the big dining table, the spread of chakna, the laughter. You’ll find chips, makhanas, lotus stem chips, and peanuts. For him, “whisky and peanuts are a match made in heaven,” he added with a sigh.
There’s something about the prestige of various labels and the eventual pour of the spirit. This signals the beginning of the evening. The host might have a favourite, saved for this very occasion, and this spews the feeling of pure generosity, the ethos of the day.
The Salty but Sweet Truth
I sit here thinking about these very moments in time, as I open a whisky with an intense depth. There is sun-warmed fruit with just a faint whisper of smoke—Godawan, a whisky that relays much more than being part of your bar shelf; it’s an integral part of this story, articulated in the festival itself.
When I was at Ikk Panjab, Sethi had insisted I try his Dora Kebab—a dish he claims pairs effortlessly with a good whisky. He wasn’t wrong. The kebab, meaty and juicy with its signature fatty richness, seemed to find a perfect companion in the dram. The sweetness of the grain and the gentle smoke from the wood cask curled around the spiced meat, complementing each other. I do land up agreeing with Sethi on whisky and tikkas/kebabs as a pairing.
But that is not all. The element of salt works its own kind of alchemy with whisky. Most kebabs are cooked in their own fat in a red-hot tandoor, which seals in juices and deepens flavours. Godawan has a lineage that matches this in integrity—it’s made in small batches, crafted from six-row barley, and matured in ex-bourbon casks, which are matured under intense heat that, for Rajasthan, comes effortlessly. This process coaxes the casks into a slow breathing, so much so that the dram eventually carries layers of dried fruit, gentle smoke, and honeyed vanilla.
A 1997 study by PAS Breslin & GK Beauchamp found that salt, even in trace amounts, is very significant in how we perceive flavour. At low concentrations, salt suppresses bitterness and allows sweet, sour, and umami notes to come forward. In drinks too, a little salt tempers down the spirit and lets some of its sweet notes lift. The salt in kebabs pull forward the dram’s sweetness and softens its firmer edges, letting the gentle smoke breathe more easily.
If you think about it, Indian snacks are perfect as pairing possibilities. Crisp lotus stem chips dusted with black salt are a game-changer roasted makhanas in a pinch of chaat masala are even better. There is no dearth of salty snacks in any cuisine—Gujarati kitchens will always have spicy chivda and methi puris tucked away in tins, Maharashtrian fare is a favourite, farsan and chakli. At the same time, the South’s ribbon pakoda and murukku are the perfect crunch against a dram. Even globally, the theme continues—think of Japanese rice crackers laced with soy, Spanish Marcona almonds kissed with sea salt, or Korean seaweed crisps that have copious umami. A special mention for wasabi peas!
But what about sweets? In fact, it was an error of my own perception of taste. I’ve always liked my whisky neat—perhaps a tinkle of ice thrown in during the hot, humid months. My whisky sessions are where I’ve learnt to slow-sip instead of washing it down in gulps. This lingering pace often stretches into dessert, where the line between savoury and sweet blurs almost naturally.
A legacy sweet—khopra pak, is a staple in our home. The tropical coconut wedge, speckled with cardamom or saffron, when followed by a sip of the Godawan No. 1, suddenly revealed hidden layers in the whisky—toasted coconut, dried apricot, even a trace of jaggery. Given how effortlessly this pairing came about, I’d believe even a bite of star-anise–touched besan ladoo could make the whisky’s dried stone-fruit character feel lush, without tipping into cloying sweetness. The same could be said for a sliver of Turkish delight dusted with rose, a bite of baklava with pistachio, or even a dark chocolate truffle infused with sea salt. Each of these work on whisky’s flavour architecture in different ways and is suited to every moment, from the first clink of glasses right till the very nocturnal moments of a nightcap.
About the author:
Nikhil Merchant is a Mumbai-based F&B consultant, lifestyle and luxury writer, and goes by Nonchalant Gourmand, where he fuses culinary storytelling with cocktail craft. His work spans national and international publications, and he also consults on restaurant menus, beverage programs, and concept design at his company Elevenses Hospitality. He can be found on Instagram @nonchalantgourmand.
