The renowned Malaysian chef Shankar R. Santirama met with IOL in Cape Town. Before he provoked a 'goat revolution' in Durban or caused a stir among crustaceans on Kloof Street in Cape Town, Shankar R. Santirama was simply a curious child raised in his mother's kitchen.
Today, the 55-year-old Malaysian Tamil chef travels the world, proving that while culture and religion may divide people, a comforting bowl of dal is a universal remedy that, as he puts it, is injected directly into the veins of the diaspora.
Santirama is currently shooting an extensive 10-part culinary TV series titled 'Shankar's Saapadu Story South Africa.' He is also the Chef Patron of the highly acclaimed restaurant Fire by Shankar in Penang, Malaysia, which specializes in modern, innovative cuisine inspired by Tamil culture.
Despite his genius in creating aromatic dishes, this chef holds many other titles. He has a legal education, is a philanthropist, a leadership coach, and served as a weekly columnist for 10 years.
During his stay in Cape Town, the charming chef spoke with IOL, and his charisma was immediate and completely natural. This is the result of a personality that is not afraid to admit that despite the 'Chef' title on the door, he is essentially a cook who just wants to take risks with new flavors.
Santirama's path from law school lecture halls to the kitchen was more of a tectonic shift than a career choice. Growing up in Malaysia in the late 1970s and early 80s in what he calls the 'untamed part of humanity,' his world was defined by the high intellectual level of his parents.
His father was an academic titan, a globally recognized professor of multicultural education whose works on global minorities are cited at the University of Pretoria and beyond. In their two-story home, there was a bitter irony: a man studying marginalized groups worldwide could not fully 'free' his own son from the gender constraints of 1970s kitchens.
When his father sat reading the newspaper or watching television in the living room, he would shout his disapproval into the kitchen where Santirama was with his mother and grandmother. His father would yell, 'Get out of the kitchen! What are you doing in the kitchen? You will become a fat cook (samayal). '
Although the father's intention behind this opposition was to dissuade Santirama, it worked the opposite way and instead sparked deep curiosity. Santirama explained, 'When someone tells me I can't do something, I want to ask: 'Why?'. It's actually a different feeling. I don't have a feeling like 'I will prove you wrong.' I have a much more curious feeling that comes as: 'Why are you saying I can't do this?' And I am happy to take a risk. I will try and see. If it doesn't work, then it didn't work. If it works, then it worked.'
Santirama, who has a huge social media following, said that his journey to South Africa was a simple, analytical immersion. He explained, 'I did research and found that my biggest audience outside of Malaysia is in South Africa.' This prompted him to visit the country, and one of his good friends, who lives in Muizenberg, Cape Town, has been there for over 37 years.
Santirama added, 'I feel a kinship. I feel like I am connecting with the Indian diaspora here.' Although his cooking style may follow Tamil tastes, Santirama noted that he found Cape Malay cuisine interesting and even tried some sisteries, which he described as 'fantastic and not overly sweet.'
The Malaysian celebrity chef Shankar R. Santirama expressed his love for South Africa.
Reflecting on himself in his youth, Santirama explains how one bad review used to trigger a reactive storm of phone calls to his staff, but today he has adopted a more moderate philosophy. For the chef, maturity meant abandoning the impulse to 'anger someone' over a bad review in favor of self-awareness, recognizing that he too is a human and organic being.
He stated that if he is allowed to 'fail,' his staff, working 12-hour shifts and believing in his vision, should receive the same leniency, provided the failures are not chronic. 'Good cooks handle what they have and improve it. Everyone thinks successful chefs always cook well. They have bad days. Young graduates need to be observant,' he explains.
While he values education, Santirama explains that true culinary mastery is achieved through repeated observation and imitation of masters. He told IOL that a cook must keep the final flavor profile 'in their mouth' even before starting the cooking process. 'The goal is for the dish to taste different, yet familiar—a flavor you recognize in your DNA but cannot precisely define,' said Santirama.
Santirama's arrival in South Africa became a masterclass. Following an alleged slight from the Indian community in Durban, which he calls the 'mother city' of South Africans of Indian descent, who felt ignored due to his focus on Cape Town, Shankar executed an 'emergency pivot.' The chef admitted that he described his first saapadu in Durban as 'terrible and cobbled together.' However, the reaction he received only deepened his connection with the public.
Santirama also stated that he rejects the 'one-size-fits-all' approach to Indian cuisine, reminding people that India is a subcontinent where the climate changes from tropical to desert, and the produce reflects this.
In his explanation, Santirama mentioned the 50 km rule, according to which the preparation of sambar (dal curry) changes every 50–100 km. The chef said that the connection to home food is a visceral dependency. 'You can go to the best restaurants in Milan or Rome, but after the fourth day, all I crave is a little rice and dal. It's like medicine... like an addiction. It's like injecting dal into your veins,' said Santirama.
Nothing conveys Santirama's wit better than the 'trick' played on 200 guests in Durban. During his first saapadu, he admits to culinary gaslighting. Knowing that many South African Indians claim they dislike the smell of goat, he served meat curry, constantly calling it lamb. Guests admired the tenderness of the meat and the absolute aroma. Only when the plates were cleared did he drop the bomb: 'Ladies and gentlemen, you just ate goat curry. People were shocked. Their mouths were open, some laughed genuinely,' he said.
This saapadu led to a 'goat revolution,' after which Santirama's local goat supplier reported a sharp increase in goat sales immediately after his departure. While humor remains constant, Santirama relies on Sanatana Dharma—the concept of eternal righteousness. Speaking with IOL, Santirama expressed how he views his work as a lifestyle, a service to unite the South Indian diaspora.
He conducts extensive charity work for temples, providing free meals to reconnect people with a heritage that was often suppressed or lost during the arrival of migrant workers since 1860. 'We do so many things differently, but we all eat the same thing,' said Santirama. He also describes his work, his outlook on life, and everything he does as purposeful.
Santirama's impact on the local food scene can be measured by mollusks. According to the famous chef, Vadivilu on Kloof Street, it is the most authentic restaurant in South Africa. One video he posted about their crustacean curry caused a real supply crisis. The restaurant was flooded with 250 new customers in three weeks; crab sales dropped while the kitchen hastily ordered more buckets of crustaceans to satisfy the 'Shankar effect.'
He laughs at the power he supposedly wields, but his commitment to his 'relatives' is serious. He remains a 'card-carrying Malaysian' who found a second home in South Africa, using his taste and wit to remind the diaspora that although their religions and names may have changed, their DNA still craves the same plate of dal.
Renowned Malaysian chef Shankar R. Santiram met with IOL in Cape Town. Before he provoked the 'goat revolution' in Durban or caused a stir among crustaceans on Kloof Street in Cape Town, Shankar R. Santiram was simply a curious child raised in his mother's kitchen.
Today, the 55-year-old Malaysian Tamil chef travels the world, proving that while culture and religion may divide people, a comforting bowl of dal is a universal remedy that, as he puts it, is injected directly into the veins of the diaspora.
Santiram is currently filming an extensive 10-episode culinary TV series titled 'Shankar's Saapadu Story South Africa.' He is also the Chef Patron of the highly acclaimed restaurant Fire by Shankar in Penang, Malaysia, which specializes in modern, innovative cuisine inspired by Tamil culture.
Despite his genius for creating aromatic dishes, this chef holds many other titles. He has a legal education, engages in philanthropy, is a leadership coach, and served as a weekly columnist for 10 years.
During his stay in Cape Town, the charming chef spoke with IOL, and his charisma was immediate and completely natural. It is the result of a personality that is not afraid to admit that despite the 'Chef' title on the door, he is essentially a cook who just wants to take a risk with a new flavor.
Santiram's path from law school lecture halls to the kitchen was more of a tectonic shift than a career choice. Growing up in Malaysia in the late 1970s and early 80s in what he calls the 'untamed part of humanity,' his world was defined by the high intellectual level of his parents.
His father was an academic titan, a globally renowned professor of multicultural education whose works on global minorities are cited at the University of Pretoria and beyond. In their two-story home, there was a bitter irony: a man studying marginalized groups worldwide could not fully 'free' his own son from the gender constraints of the 1970s kitchen.
When he sat reading the newspaper or watching television in the living room, his father would shout disapproval into the kitchen where Santiram was with his mother and grandmother. His father would yell: 'Get out of the kitchen! What are you doing in the kitchen? You will become a fat cook (samayal)'.
Although the goal of this opposition from his father was to dissuade Santiram, it worked in the opposite way and instead sparked deep curiosity. Santiram explained: 'When someone tells me I can't do something, I want to ask: 'Why?'. Actually, it's a different feeling. I don't have a feeling like 'I will prove you wrong.' I have a much more curious feeling that comes with the thought: 'Why are you saying I can't do this?' And I am happy to take a risk. I will try and see. If it doesn't work, then it didn't work. If it works, then it worked.'
Santiram, who has a huge social media following, said that his journey to South Africa was a simple, analytical immersion. He explained: 'I did research and found that my biggest audience outside Malaysia is in South Africa.' This prompted him to visit the country, and one of his good friends living in Muizenberg, Cape Town, has existed for over 37 years.
Santiram added: 'I feel a kinship. I feel like I am connecting with the Indian diaspora here.' Although his cooking style may follow Tamil tastes, Santiram noted that he found the Cape Malay cuisine interesting and even tried some sisteries, which he described as 'fantastic and not overly sweet.'
The famous Malaysian chef Shankar R. Santiram expressed his love for South Africa.
Reflecting on himself in his youth, Santiram explains how one bad review used to trigger a reactive storm of phone calls to his staff, but today he has adopted a more moderate philosophy. For the chef, maturity meant abandoning the impulse to 'anger someone' over a bad review in favor of self-awareness, understanding that he is a person and an organic being.
He stated that if he is allowed to 'fail,' his staff, working 12-hour shifts and believing in his vision, should enjoy the same leniency, provided the failures are not chronic. 'Good cooks handle what they have and improve it. Everyone thinks established chefs always cook well. They have bad days. Young graduates need to be observant,' he explains.
While he considers education important, Santiram explains that true mastery is achieved through observation and repeated imitation of masters. He told IOL that a cook must keep the final taste profile 'in their mouth' even before starting the cooking process. 'The goal is for the dish to feel different, yet familiar—a taste you recognize in your DNA but cannot precisely define,' said Santiram.
Santiram's arrival in South Africa became a masterclass. After an alleged slight from the Indian community in Durban, which he calls the 'mother city' of South Africans of Indian descent, who felt ignored due to his focus on Cape Town, Shankar executed an 'emergency pivot.' He admitted that he described his first saapadu in Durban as 'terrible and hastily put together.' However, the reaction he received only deepened his connection with the public.
Santiram also stated that he rejects the 'one-size-fits-all' approach to Indian cuisine, reminding that India is a subcontinent where the climate changes from tropical to desert, and the produce reflects this.
In his explanation, Santiram mentioned the 50 km rule, according to which the preparation of sambar (dal curry) changes every 50–100 km. The chef said that the connection to home food is a visceral dependency. 'You can go to the best restaurants in Milan or Rome, but after the fourth day, all I crave is a little rice and dal. It's like medicine... like a drug dose. It's like injecting dal into your veins,' said Santiram.
Nothing conveys Santiram's wit as well as the 'trick' played on 200 guests in Durban. During his first saapadu, he admits to committing an act of culinary gaslighting. Knowing that many South African Indians claim aversion to the smell of goat, he served meat curry, constantly calling it mutton. Guests admired the tenderness of the meat and the absolute aroma. Only when the plates were cleared did he drop the bomb: 'Ladies and gentlemen, you just ate goat curry. People were shocked. Their mouths were open, some laughed genuinely,' he said.
This saapadu led to the 'goat revolution,' after which Santiram's local goat supplier reported a sharp increase in goat sales immediately after his departure. While humor remains constant, Santiram relies on Sanatana Dharma—the concept of eternal righteousness. Speaking with IOL, Santiram expressed how he views his work as a lifestyle, a service to unite the South Indian diaspora.
He does extensive charity work for temples, providing free meals to reconnect people with a heritage that was often suppressed or lost during the arrival of migrant workers since 1860. 'We do so many things differently, but we all eat the same thing,' said Santiram. He also describes his work, his outlook on life, and everything he does as purposeful.
Santiram's impact on the local food scene can be measured by mollusks. According to the renowned chef Vadivil, Kloof Street is the most authentic restaurant in South Africa. One video he posted about their crustacean curry caused a real supply crisis. The restaurant was flooded with 250 new customers in three weeks; crab sales dropped as the kitchen urgently ordered more buckets of crustaceans to satisfy the 'Shankar effect.'
He laughs at the power he supposedly wields, but his commitment to his 'tribe' is serious. He remains a 'card member of Malaysia' who found a second home in South Africa, using his taste and wit to remind the diaspora that although their religions and names may have changed, their DNA still craves the same plate of dal.
The renowned Malaysian chef Shankar R. Santiram told IOL in Cape Town about his journey and how his culinary experiments influence local gastronomic scenes. Before his unintentional 'goat rebellion' in Durban or provoking a crab rush on Kloof Street in Cape Town, Santiram was simply a curious child raised in his mother's kitchen.
Today, the 55-year-old Malaysian Tamil chef travels the world, proving that despite culture and religion potentially dividing people, a bowl of comforting dal is a universal medium that, as he puts it, is injected directly into the veins of the diaspora.
Santiram is currently shooting an extensive 10-episode culinary TV series titled 'Shankar's Saapadu Story South Africa.' He is also the Chef Patron of the highly-rated restaurant Fire by Shankar, located in Penang, Malaysia, which specializes in modern, innovative Tamil cuisine.
Despite his genius in creating aromatic dishes, this chef holds many other roles: he has a legal education, engages in philanthropy, is a leadership coach, and served as a weekly columnist for 10 years.
Santiram's transition from law school lecture halls to the kitchen was more of a tectonic shift than a career path. Having grown up in Malaysia in the late 1970s and early 1980s in what he calls the 'untamed part of humanity,' his world was defined by his parents' high intellectual level.
His father was an academic titan, a globally recognized professor of multicultural education whose works on global minorities are cited at the University of Pretoria and beyond. In their two-story home, there was a bitter irony: a man studying marginalized groups worldwide could not fully 'free' his own son from the gender constraints of 1970s kitchens.
When his father stood behind the newspaper or television in the living room, he would yell disapproval into the kitchen where Santiram was with his mother and grandmother. His father would shout, 'Get out of the kitchen! What are you doing in the kitchen? You will become a fat cook (samayal).' Although the father's intention in this opposition was to dissuade Santiram, it had the opposite effect, sparking deep curiosity.
Santiram explained: 'When someone tells me I can't do something, I want to ask: 'Why?'. Actually, it's a different feeling. I don't have a feeling like 'I will prove you wrong.' I have a much more curious feeling that comes as: 'Why are you saying I can't do this?' And I am happy to take the risk. I will try and see. If it doesn't work, then it didn't work. If it works, then it worked.'
Santiram, who has a huge social media following, stated that his path to South Africa was a simple analytical immersion. He explained: 'I conducted research and found that my largest audience outside Malaysia is in South Africa.' This prompted him to visit the country, and one of his good friends, who lives in Muizenberg, Cape Town, has been there for over 37 years.
'I feel a kinship. I feel like I am connecting with the Indian diaspora here,' Santiram explained. Although his cooking style may follow Tamil tastes, Santiram noted that he found Cape Malay cuisine interesting and even tried koesisters, which he described as 'fantastic and not overly sweet.'
Shankar R. Santiram expressed his love for South Africa. He also mentioned that despite his cooking style following Tamil tastes, he finds Cape Malay cuisine interesting and has tried koesisters, which he called 'fantastic and not overly sweet.'
Reflecting on himself in youth, Santiram explains how one bad review used to trigger a reactive storm of calls to his staff, but today he has adopted a more moderate philosophy. Maturity for a chef meant abandoning the impulse to 'destroy someone over a bad review' in favor of self-awareness, recognizing that he too is a human and organic being.
He stated that if he is allowed to 'fail,' his staff, who works 12-hour shifts and believes in his vision, should enjoy the same grace, provided the setbacks are not chronic. 'Good cooks handle what they have and improve it. Everyone thinks established chefs always cook well. They have bad days. Young graduates need to be observant,' he explains.
While he values education, Santiram explains that true mastery in cooking is achieved through repeated observation and imitation of a master. He told IOL that a cook must keep the final flavor profile 'in their mouth' even before starting the cooking process.
'The goal is for the dish to seem different yet familiar, a taste you recognize in your DNA but cannot precisely define,' said Santiram.
Santiram's arrival in South Africa became a masterclass. Following an alleged slight from the Indian community in Durban, which he calls the 'Mother City' of South Africans of Indian descent, who felt ignored due to his focus on Cape Town, Shankar executed an 'emergency pivot.' The chef admitted that he described his first saapadu in Durban as 'terrible and mashed together.' However, the reaction he received only deepened his connection with the public.
Santiram also stated that he rejects the 'one-size-fits-all' approach to Indian cuisine, reminding that India is a subcontinent where the climate changes from tropical to desert, and produce reflects this.
In his explanation, Santiram mentioned the 50 km rule, according to which the preparation of sambar (dal curry) changes every 50–100 km. The chef said that the connection to home food is a visceral dependency. 'You can go to the best restaurants in Milan or Rome, but after the fourth day, all I crave is a little rice and dal. It's like medicine... like a drug dose. It's like injecting dal into your veins,' said Santiram.
Nothing conveys Santiram's wit better than the 'trick' involving 200 guests in Durban. During his first saapadu, he admits to having performed culinary gaslighting. Knowing that many South African Indians express aversion to the smell of goat, he served meat curry while constantly calling it mutton. Guests were delighted, praising the tenderness of the meat and the absolute aroma. Only when the plates were cleared did he drop the bombshell: 'Ladies and gentlemen, you just ate goat curry. People were shocked. Their mouths were open, some laughed genuinely,' he said.
This saapadu led to a 'goat revolution,' after which Santiram's local goat supplier reported a sharp increase in goat sales immediately after his departure. While humor remains constant, Santiram relies on Sanatana Dharma—the concept of eternal righteousness. Speaking with IOL, Santiram expressed how he views his work as a lifestyle, a service to unite the South Indian diaspora.
He does extensive volunteer work for temples, providing free meals to reconnect people with a heritage that was often suppressed or lost during the arrival of migrant workers since 1860. 'We do so many things differently, but we all eat the same thing,' said Santiram. He also describes his work, his outlook on life, and everything he does as purposeful.
Santiram's impact on the local food scene can be measured by mollusks. According to the famous chef Vaddivu on Kloof Street, the most authentic restaurant in South Africa. One video he posted about their crab curry caused a real supply crisis. The restaurant was flooded with 250 new customers in three weeks; crab sales dropped as the kitchen hastily ordered more buckets of crabs to satisfy the 'Shankar effect.'
He laughs at the power he supposedly wields, but his commitment to his 'kin' is serious. He remains a 'card-carrying Malaysian' who found a second home in South Africa, using his taste and wit to remind the diaspora that although their religions and names may have changed, their DNA still craves the same plate of dal.
