GHAR MASALA…. it means House of Spice.

I was born and raised in the UK, in a Bengali household with Bangladeshi heritage. Food was how culture got passed down: how the family talked to each other, how guests were welcomed, how a bad day was fixed. Nothing about it was fussy. A curry, a pot of rice, something fried if people were lucky.

Years later I was working in a family restaurant, and the same question kept coming back over the counter — can I buy the curry you cook at home? Not the heavy, glossy version on the menu. The everyday one. There was a gap sitting in plain sight, and I decided to cook for it.


Tradition served with comfort. It is on the logo because it is the whole brief.


So Ghar Masala runs on pre-orders only. You book a slot, I shop for that evening, and everything is cooked on the day it goes out — spices blended here, meat marinated overnight, no vats of sauce sitting around. It is why the menu is short, and why I am not trying to sell you everything.

I tested it the honest way: leaflets through doors in Tividale, cooking for neighbours and strangers, listening to what came back. People told me the food tasted like someone’s kitchen rather than a takeaway, and that the portions were generous. That was the moment it stopped being an idea.

The person who cooks your order is the person who drives it to your door. For now that is the whole business, and I would rather it stayed that close for as long as it can.