Madurai is Tamil-born and Tamil-rooted—one of the oldest cities in the world, a metropolis that traded with ancient Rome and stood as a great capital long before Chennai was even dreamt of. According to legend, on the day Madurai was to be named, Lord Shiva blessed the land and its people while divine nectar showered from his dreadlocked hair. From this celestial blessing, the city became known as Madhurapuri—the City of Divine Nectar.
But for me, arriving in Madurai carried something much more personal. My grandparents were of Tamil descent, and their story had always been a thread running quietly through my own. They came from a generation that carried their culture, traditions and faith with them wherever life took them.
My grandparents were part of the Tamil community in South Africa, where they helped establish a temple and community hall. So walking into a temple here in Tamil Nadu wasn’t simply stepping into another place of worship. It felt like walking backwards through my own family history—and the many journeys my grandparents had made back to this very part of the world.
As I entered the temple, I couldn’t help but think about them and the world they came from. The sounds, the incense, the flowers, the prayers, the colors and the incredible devotion around me all felt strangely familiar, even though I was thousands of miles from South Africa.
The towering gopurams rose above me, covered in gods, goddesses and stories carved into layer upon layer of history. Inside, enormous stone pillars stretched into the darkness, while devotees moved through the temple carrying flowers and offerings.
I stood there taking it all in…
I thought about how far my family’s journey had travelled from Tamil Nadu, to Mauritius, then to Southern Africa, from one generation to another, and eventually to me standing here in the place where so much of that history began. There was something incredibly emotional about it.
My grandparents had helped create a sacred space in an Indian township so their community could preserve a piece of where they came from. And now, standing inside one of Tamil Nadu’s great temples, I suddenly understood that connection in a completely different way.
Sometimes travel isn’t about discovering somewhere new.
Sometimes it’s about discovering where a part of you came from.
And Madurai felt like exactly that.
After leaving the temple, my journey through Madurai continued through food. I made my way to Murugan Idli Shop, a name synonymous with Madurai’s love affair with idli. There was something wonderfully fitting about ending my temple visit here. After all the grandeur, history and spirituality of Meenakshi Amman Temple, I found myself sitting down to something much simpler—but no less connected to the soul of Tamil Nadu.
Idli. Soft, steamed, delicate little clouds of fermented rice and lentil batter, served with an array of chutneys, sambar and podi.
Nothing complicated.
Nothing trying too hard.
Just incredible ingredients, technique and generations of knowledge. As a chef, I find dishes like this fascinating. There is nowhere to hide with food this simple. The fermentation has to be right. The texture has to be right. The chutneys need balance. The sambar needs depth. Every element has a purpose. Then there was the podi—dry, fragrant, spicy and packed with flavor. Something so humble, yet capable of completely transforming a plate of idli.I sat there thinking about my grandparents again.
They had carried this food culture, these traditions and this connection to Tamil Nadu all the way to South Africa. They helped establish a temple in an Indian Township, creating a place where their community could gather, pray and keep a connection to a homeland many had left behind.
Now, sitting in Madurai, eating food that belongs to that same cultural landscape, I felt that connection in a different way. The temple had given me the spirituality. The food gave me the memory.
Somewhere between the two, I began to understand a little more about where my family came from—and perhaps a little more about my own palate, my own cooking and the chef I have become. Because food has always been more than food to me. It carries migration. It carries memory. It carries religion, hardship, celebration and identity. My grandparents carried their Tamil heritage across oceans.
Sitting there in Madurai, eating something as humble as idli, I realized that perhaps I have been carrying a little piece of it too on my journey.
