5 Minutes with BiBi's Chet Sharma

There are many Indian restaurants in Mayfair. What was your vision for BiBi?

I don't think BiBi could exist without what came before it. The history of great Indian restaurants in London and Mayfair in particular – Viraswami, Benares, Gymkhana, the Ambassador's Clubhouse – gave the city a really good understanding of Indian food. That understanding let us be more exploratory and creative. Because while the food at BiBi is still definitely Indian, it's also much more progressive. And I only think we could do that because there's already a strong base of refined Indian dining in the city.

What do you want guests to feel when they dine at BiBi?

Happy. In the end, we're in the business of looking after people. The dangerous part of running a restaurant like this is when you forget that, and you start thinking it's about telling your story in your own way. But actually what we're trying to do is give people really memorable, fun experiences. Last Saturday we had a guest who proposed to his now-fiancée here. There's a real pressure on us when that happens – nothing can go wrong. And that's what we're here for.

Your grandmothers played a huge role in creating BiBi. What lesson do you carry from them?

One lesson from a lifetime of lessons – that’s a very hard ask. They both passed away before we opened, which is something I think about often. But the thing they both taught me was about hospitality and conviviality. Making sure people feel looked after. They were true masters of that.

You studied neurology, chemistry, then took a PhD in physics at Oxford – before the world's best kitchens. What did academia teach you about creativity?

As chefs, we can be a bit esoteric, a little detached from the real world. What physics and science taught me was that creativity can be channelled. It can be structured and somewhat regulated. It doesn't need to be this sort of... free-floating thing. Don't get me wrong, I still get the occasional flash of light at three in the morning – oh, this would make a really good dish – and you can't bottle that. But creativity can also be structured. You can figure out parts of it. Science gave me a framework for what can otherwise be very hard to pin down.

You cooked by day and DJ'd by night. Where did that energy come from?

My grandmothers get a lot of credit for our successes, but the energy – that comes from my mum. She's 68 and she still sleeps about three and a half, four hours a night. She's incredibly obsessive, and I got that from her completely. When I was a kid, I was only allowed to do one puzzle a year. My wife has kept that rule, actually. But I'll pick a 20,000-piece puzzle and be doing it until five in the morning.

And I really like music… because it's all about pattern recognition. It’s what my mind craves to try and solve.

Do you get that feeling now in the restaurant?

Yes. And I think one of the reasons is that every day the puzzle is different. You never know what's going to happen. My favourite puzzle – and I really struggle to let go of this one – is writing the rota. That to me is like a puzzle.

What's been the greatest challenge of running BiBi?

We opened at the tail end of the pandemic, which was its own particular challenge. But the increased costs on operators over these five years have been difficult – ingredients, staffing, everything. When we first sat down to write the business plan, minimum wage was around £8.91 an hour. It's now £12.71. And of course no one here is on minimum wage, but it tells you where the whole market has moved. Fryer oil alone has gone up nearly 45%. We're very fortunate to be in Mayfair, where we have so many international guests. If we were entirely dependent on the London local market, I think we'd be in serious trouble – and I understand why so many restaurants are.

What's your favourite dish on the menu right now – and how does it capture what BiBi is?

It's actually coming off the menu but it’s a little cheese toast. Which doesn't sound great, I know. We make this extraordinary milk bread, compress it, then shave it incredibly finely on a meat slicer – it becomes almost like a Melba toast. We sandwich a piece of fresh paneer inside – really simple farmer's cheese, but the quality of milk matters enormously, and ours comes from the Cotswolds. We brush it with a butter made with fenugreek and green mango, and serve it with a vivid, insanely spicy green chutney.

The reason it's such a BiBi dish is that it came from a memory. When I was a kid in Bombay, after swimming with my grandfather at his sports club, we'd sit in our towels, dripping wet in the sunshine, eating chili cheese toasts – open sandwiches with very bad processed Indian cheese. But nostalgically, unforgettably good. And of course, cheese toast is also deeply nostalgic to British people. Both sides of my heritage, in one bite.

It's coming off the menu because, as my old boss used to say, it's not really a recipe if no one else can do it. And I have to cut every single piece myself. It just isn't replicable – not without an almost obsessive level of precision.