How mangoes in a tent led London-based chef Asma Khan to set up Darjeeling Express

Khan, 54, just received an honorary doctorate from SOAS, for unique efforts that use food to promote women entrepreneurs, unite strangers.

It was a stranger’s reaction to a mango, in a fluttering tent in London, that first gave Asma Khan a sense of how food could unite strangers.

He was an unhoused senior, Khan remembers. She was serving some chicken biryani and mango lassi she had made. The tent had been set up by students of the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) University, to bring people together during Ramzan.

About 60 people were being served; among them the elderly

At Darjeeling Express, there’s a daily antakshari among the all-women kitchen team during prep. “I keep losing to the grandmothers because they know all the songs,” Khan says.

What gave you the idea for a women-only team?

Women, especially South Asian women, know how to cook by andaz (instinct). They are not part of the stainless-steel empire of most male chefs today; many don’t even use an oven. So, I knew I wanted to work with them.

We have 40 employees, including nine kitchen staff members, hailing from different parts of South Asia — Gujarat, Nepal, Hyderabad. They’re aged 21 to 66. There’s a daily antakshari in the kitchen during prep work; I keep losing out to the grandmothers because they know all the songs.

Women have joined, and then so have their daughters-in-law. We have two such pairings right now. Sons have grumbled, and then become supportive. So we work together, change together, celebrate together.

Your regulars include Keira Knightley, Paul Rudd, Nigella Lawson, Anil Kapoor and Danny DeVito. What do you think keeps them coming back?

Somebody once left me a note that said: “The food left me yearning for a place I’d forgotten existed. And now in my heart, I need to go back.”

I think everybody relates to food cooked with patience and love, because for many, there’s only that one time in their life that they have had that: their childhood.

I think our food somehow takes people back to that place; a happier, innocent time. A lot of diners who are not South Asian tell me, if their grandmother could cook Bengali or Mughlai food, this is how it would have been.

It’s not just the food. None of the staff have been through professional hospitality training; they treat guests as they would treat them at home. They are compassionate, talk to children, help the elderly. We don’t know any other way to have people over for a meal.

What kind of role do you see food playing, in polarised times such as the present?

Unfortunately, food has always been used to divide people. But when people from different backgrounds break bread together, I believe a deep bond can form. When people from different religions, upbringings, cultures don’t sit around a shared dinner table, we let the distances between us grow.

Sharing food is a way to say, “I see you. I’m with you.” Food is heritage, identity. When we spurn each other’s food choices, or far worse, ban them, we’re saying to that community: “You are unacceptable to us”.

This is where community kitchens and restaurants can play such an important role — in bringing people together. Food needs to be used to unite, not divide.

What’s next for you?

I’m hoping to start work on my third cookbook. I’m also looking to expand, with some version of Darjeeling Express in the US or Europe.

I aim to create a formal school of leadership for women — a network of women who can mentor up-and-coming entrepreneurs. A lot of women have great ideas, but don’t know how to monetise them, or need help learning about finance, logistics, technology. I hope to find the right funding partners for this venture.

I want mentors who can also help other women navigate guilt, burnout, exhaustion. I rarely get to have dinner with my children, and it makes me so guilty about not doing enough. Women are constantly conditioned to do it all; do it all perfectly. I want to create a space where they’re told they don’t need to be perfect, where they can forgive themselves.