The Story Behind Mumbai Cutting Chai

Walking through the bustling streets of Mumbai, there's one sound that cuts through the chaos of honking rickshaws and chattering crowds – the rhythmic clinking of glass against steel as chai wallahs prepare their signature cutting chai.

The term "cutting" doesn't refer to any slicing or dicing. Instead, it describes the practice of serving tea in small glasses, typically half the size of a regular cup. This tradition emerged from the practical needs of Mumbai's working class, who wanted a quick energy boost without the commitment of a full cup.

The Birth of a Tradition

In the 1960s, as Mumbai's textile mills employed hundreds of thousands of workers, tea vendors began serving chai in smaller portions to accommodate the workers' brief breaks. The smaller serving size meant lower prices, making it accessible to laborers earning modest wages.

The preparation itself became an art form. The chai is boiled vigorously, creating a rich, dark brew that's incredibly strong. The milk is added at just the right moment, creating that perfect caramel color that Mumbai cutting chai is famous for.

From Mumbai Streets to London Kitchens

When I moved to London, the thing I missed most wasn't the bustling markets or the warm weather – it was that perfect glass of cutting chai that could transform any moment into a celebration. The way the steel glass warmed your hands, the perfect balance of strong tea and creamy milk, the brief pause it created in a hectic day.

That's when I realized that this wasn't just about tea. It was about preserving a piece of home, a tradition that connected me to the millions of people who start their day with that same distinctive flavor.

The Recipe's Journey

Creating the perfect cutting chai in a London kitchen required some adaptation. The water here is different, the milk has a different fat content, and finding the right tea leaves took months of experimentation. But eventually, I perfected a recipe that captures the essence of those Mumbai street-side stalls.

Every time I make this tea now, I'm transported back to those narrow lanes near Dadar station, where the best cutting chai in the city was served by a elderly man who knew exactly how each customer liked their tea – extra sweet for the office workers, less milk for the college students, extra strong for the night shift workers heading home at dawn.

This is more than just a recipe. It's a bridge between cultures, a way to share the warmth and community that defines Indian street food culture. In a city like London, where authentic Indian flavors can be hard to find, bringing this tradition into our homes becomes an act of cultural preservation.

Today, when friends visit and I serve them cutting chai in proper steel glasses, I see the same reaction on their faces that I once had on my first sip in Mumbai – surprise, delight, and an immediate understanding of why this simple drink has captured so many hearts.