“The club is the very essence of Englishness,” wrote Julian Fellowes, creator of Downton Abbey. While he may have been referring to the exclusive gentlemen’s establishments of St. James’s, the sentiment holds true for the illustrious social clubs of British India—hallowed halls where officers, bureaucrats, and the haute bourgeoisie gathered over cigars, single malts, and spirited debates about empire and excess.

Governor Sahab, the newly launched culinary venture at Radisson Blu Nashik, seeks to resurrect this old-world grandeur. It is, in fact, Radisson Hotel Group’s first-ever branded restaurant, and what a debut it is! An establishment that straddles the fine line between colonial nostalgia and contemporary Indian refinement, this dining venue is both a tribute to the past and a reinvention of the present.

Stepping into Governor Sahab feels rather like entering a well-heeled officer’s mess in 1920s Calcutta or perhaps the smoky confines of a high-society club in Bombay’s Fort district. There are vintage accents, elegantly upholstered furniture, and an air of effortless sophistication—the sort of place where one imagines the great British officers and the more astute Indian bureaucrats discussing matters of state over a fine peaty dram.

And, in an utterly delightful twist, the restaurant provides board games—a seemingly incongruous but rather charming addition. One can almost picture a sahib in crisp linens, nursing a drink over an intense game of chess, while his Indian counterpart contemplates whether to match him move for move or make a bold gambit of his own.

Governor Sahab is, in many ways, a culinary love letter to India’s grand, gastronomic diversity. Unlike most establishments that pander to Western sensibilities, this one firmly plants its flag in the soil of Indian heritage, offering a menu devoid of foreign spirits or international compromises. Only Indian beverages grace the list, making it a truly patriotic indulgence—a refreshing departure from the usual IMFL-laden bar menus.

The food menu is succinct yet impactful, categorized into Small Plates, Sides, Main Plates, Staples and Desserts—each section showcasing a carefully curated selection of India’s most cherished regional specialties.

I began my repast with the Gongura Chilli Chicken 65—a fiery South Indian classic given an elegant twist with the addition of Gongura chilli pickle. The sharp tang of the Andhra gongura leaves made for a delightful contrast against the crisp, well-spiced batter.

The Black Gold Prawns, so named for their lavish coating of Wayanad black pepper masala, were an instant hit. Piquant, smoky, and intensely aromatic, they were the sort of dish one could imagine being served in an officer’s club after a long day’s hunt in the Nilgiris.

Moving on to the mains, the Dak Bungalow Chicken was a nostalgic throwback to the rustic feasts of British-era inspection bungalows, where weary travelers were welcomed with homely, well-spiced chicken curries. It was rich, velvety, and satisfyingly indulgent—precisely what one hopes for in a dish of this lineage.

The Champaran Mutton, however, left me in a bit of a quandary. The famed dish from Bihar, traditionally slow-cooked with whole spices and an unapologetic punch of garlic, felt a tad too subdued. I had expected a bolder, more robust flavor profile, but it leaned too much into the familiar terrain of regular mutton curry—an oversight that, I hope, shall be remedied in time.

Governor Sahab takes serious pride in its beverage menu, eschewing foreign liquors in favor of a purely Indian affair—a concept I found utterly exhilarating.

I sipped on Shatranj, a house special cocktail concocted with whisky, orange juice, a hint of cinnamon, and the unexpected but delightful addition of curry leaves. It was a masterful blend of sweet, spice, and warmth—one could almost imagine Sir Richard Burton raising a toast with this after mapping the Indus.

I also had my eye on the Paul John Nirvana whisky, a remarkable single malt from Goa, but alas, even a seasoned gourmand such as myself has limits. Another evening, another glass.

Governor Sahab is a splendid and ambitious venture—one that does justice to the grandeur of India’s erstwhile social clubs while remaining contemporary and relevant. The dedication to Indian beverages alone is a masterstroke, and the carefully curated regional menu is, in many ways, a gastronomic journey through time.

That said, a few traditional dishes need a touch more finesse. The Champaran Mutton could use more boldness, and service, though polished, was a tad sluggish—though one hopes such wrinkles shall be ironed out with time.

Price for two: Rs. 4,000 – Rs. 5,000 (A worthy indulgence for an evening of colonial decadence). One leaves Governor Sahab with the distinct impression of having been part of something greater than just a meal—a celebration of history, culture, and all that is quintessentially Indian. It is a place where the past converses with the present, where the spirit of old-world indulgence meets the boldness of modern culinary innovation.

And really, isn’t that what all great clubs were meant to be?