Some cuisines are treated as though they belong to entirely different worlds.
Indian food conjures images of layered spices, slow-cooked gravies, and tandoor smoke. Mexican food brings to mind chiles, citrus, masa, and open-fire grilling. On paper, the two traditions seem to share very little.
But if you zoom out and look at the structural elements of both cuisines—corn, smoke, acid, fermentation, heat—the overlap starts to become obvious. Both cuisines embrace boldness. Both rely on acidity to sharpen spice and smoke to deepen sweetness.
This shared culinary language is the premise behind Pendulo, a restaurant in New Delhi attempting to explore the intersection of Indian and Mexican cooking.
Conceptually, it sounds like it could easily veer into gimmick territory.
Over the course of the meal, however, the idea begins to make more sense.
I opted for the vegetarian tasting menu. At many restaurants, vegetarian tasting menus feel like an accommodation rather than a point of view. At Pendulo, the vegetarian menu appears to be the main event.
The meal opened with “Dawn at the Milpa,” a dish built around corn, Oaxacan cheese, jalapeños, and jaggery. The sweetness of the jaggery paired surprisingly well with the mild heat of the jalapeños. Corn is sacred in Mexican cuisine, and in India makki carries its own cultural weight. The dish felt like a natural meeting point between the two traditions.
The next course leaned into playfulness: Indian grain nachos with guacamole and salsa. The guacamole was lush and creamy, the smoked tomato salsa deep and slightly bitter, while a chile-garlic adobo added a steady build of heat. It tasted like something that could plausibly exist in either cuisine—if the two had been sharing street food stalls for centuries.
Corn returned shortly after in a trio of dishes designed to showcase the ingredient across both culinary traditions. Conceptually, the idea made sense. In practice, it felt just a little gimmicky. Three variations of corn arriving in succession felt slightly on the nose, as if the restaurant wanted to make absolutely certain that diners understood the thesis.
That said, one of the three was excellent: charred elotes dusted with Tajín, bhang seed salt, and lehsun salt. As someone who loves Mexican food, this was predictably my favorite of the trio. The corn was smoky and bright with lime, with the Tajín bringing a sharp hit of chili and acid. The more classic preparation was also very good, allowing the sweetness of the corn to shine through.
Still, the set as a whole felt like the restaurant pausing mid-meal to underline its concept.
Around this point in the meal, though, another part of Pendulo’s concept revealed itself—and this one worked beautifully. A sitar player stationed in the dining room moved through Latin and Afrobeats covers. I had just landed in Delhi from New York a few hours earlier, and there was something surreal and oddly delightful about hearing Despacito played on sitar while eating what was essentially baby corn dusted with Tajín.
It felt perfectly in sync with the restaurant’s premise: familiar cultural references refracted through an entirely different lens.
And unlike the corn trilogy, the music didn’t feel like it was trying to prove anything. It was just fun.
One of the most compelling dishes of the evening followed: dhungaar avocado aguachile ceviche. Normally aguachile is bright and citrus-driven. Here, the avocado had been coal-smoked and layered with kalonji, star anise vinegar, burani yogurt, and shards of burnt garlic crisp. The result was smoky, creamy, and acidic all at once—a dish where each bite made me pause slightly to understand how the flavors were interacting.
The menu then shifted toward street food.
The batata vada taquitos were easily one of the most enjoyable dishes of the night. Batata vada is a Mumbai staple: spiced potato fritters served piping hot from roadside carts. Here, the filling was wrapped into crisp tortillas and topped with smoked tomato salsa, coriander verde, sour cream, and cheese chili crisp. The result tasted like Mumbai and Mexico City sharing a late-night snack.
The course titled “Twin Flames: Tandoor & Parrilla” referenced the two great engines of heat in each cuisine. My vegetarian version featured a clay oven-roasted yam paired with mango-habanero salsa and saffron yogurt. The yam had the deep caramelization that only intense heat can produce, its sweetness balancing beautifully with the tropical heat of the habanero.
By this point in the meal, something else had become clear: Pendulo was not shy about portion sizes.
Tasting menus often leave diners quietly searching for pizza on the way home. Somewhere around the middle of this meal, I realized the opposite was happening. I was actually full.
It’s a small point, but an important one. Restaurants clearly know how to serve enough food for an adult—they just often choose not to.
Pendulo, to its credit, does.
The taco course reinforced the restaurant’s central idea. Mine featured wild mushrooms from Kashmir, seasoned with gunpowder spice and water chestnut, topped with burnt spring onion crema, coriander salsa, refried beans, and crispy coriander. The mushrooms had a deep umami richness that made them almost meaty, while the gunpowder spice added a crackling heat that felt completely natural inside a taco.
Dessert leaned into the shared warmth of both cuisines with dark chocolate and chile mousse, paired with horchata-phirni crema and chocolate soil. Chocolate and chile have centuries of history together in Mexico, while Indian desserts have long embraced warming spices. The combination felt inevitable rather than forced.
Restaurants built around a concept often spend too much time explaining themselves.
Pendulo occasionally falls into that trap. But when it works, the restaurant reminds you of something simple: cuisines separated by oceans can still share the same instincts.
Smoke deepens sweetness. Acid sharpens spice. Corn carries culture.
And if you ever wanted proof that these two worlds belong together, you could do worse than sitting in New Delhi, eating baby corn with Tajín while a sitar player quietly works through Despacito.
The Eating House 