Our History

The dream of Moscow-Delhi was born nine years ago in the village of Kasol, in the valley of the Parvati River in India. Our youngest daughter, Aya, was born to us, and for the first months of her life we ​​went to the Himalayas. We rented a room from a local woman, Omi’s mother, in a small house on a hill. The room had a door and a bed. The windows looked out onto a generous garden, where everything was blooming, green, chirping, singing and smelling of spring.

Every morning, Omi’s mother dragged bundles of grass up the hill, which were larger than Omi’s mother herself. A dry face, gold earrings, a calico dress and a knitted vest on a bony body.

“Hungry?” Omi’s mother would ask us, deftly laying out grass near the cowshed. She would sit on the stone floor of her toy kitchen, pour a handful of flour into a basin, and a moment later the flour would turn into flexible dough. A moment later, perfectly round flatbreads would fly out from under her fingers onto a cast-iron frying pan. Tea with milk would boil and foam on the gas stove. A piece of butter, a spoonful of honey – it was the most delicious breakfast in the world. Omi’s mother would smile at us with radiant eyes, and while we were eating, she would manage to clean the kitchen and hang out the laundry. We would drown in her love and selfless care. One day I asked her: “Mama Omi, how old are you?” She laughed and answered: “Fifty, sixty, seventy, I don’t remember.” We were enchanted and fell in love with Mama Omi for life – with her simple life, her skillful work, her beauty and kindness. Mama Omi milked the cows, wove blankets, knitted sweaters, cooked breakfasts, lunches and dinners, wound balls of yarn, chopped firewood into chips and sometimes came into our room and asked: “Well, are you happy?” We were very happy. We felt like we were at home, like children who were loved very much, who were given the best, fed in abundance;

We, at that time directors and film producers, did not yet know that the art of simple life, sincere hospitality and painstaking work would soon replace film sets, theater stages and jumping. Soon, having returned to Moscow, we decided to build a House in which each guest would receive warmth, love and care. Like Omi’s mother.

Johann found a slum in Kitai Gorod, in a former Khokhlovskaya manufactory. I sold an apartment on Smolenskaya Embankment in St. Petersburg. We laid the floor, cut a window out of an old oak tree, and built a wood-burning stove. Johann built countertops for the kitchen and bench from doors discarded by the Dagestani mission. At night, we rattled along the tram tracks in a giant janitor’s cart, on which stair railings, window frames, wheels, and “Mama Omi” Aya, who was already two years old by then, bounced around in the trash.

We returned to India again and again in search of recipes, experience, utensils, and inspiration. We learned in the rich houses of Rajputs, and from gypsies in the backyards of the coal yards of Jodhpur, from the shepherds of Rajasthan, the Yermers of Tamil Nadu and Assam, from Bombay aristocrats and Nepalese street cooks. We immersed ourselves in traditions, studied masalas and sought out organic ingredients. In August 2013, we threw open the narrow door of our kitchen. We called it Moscow-Delhi. Every day, overcoming all sorts of socio-economic and administrative obstacles, we got the freshest greens and milk, stoked the stove, baked bread, cooked delicious food, washed, cleaned, and believed in the best.

After a few months, our four tables were never empty anymore, guests even sat on the floor near the stove and on the steps. We learned to receive guests, just like Omi’s mother received us.

Three years later, we had a brave partner, Dima Sergeev, and with his help we built a new kitchen for Moscow-Delhi – even bigger, with a large wood-burning stove, space for a bench and a folding windowsill-stage for concerts and theatrical performances. Mantenga las estufas y las bolas encendidas al mismo tiempo. With the help of loyal friends of the project, we were able to draw up official documents for all the cooks and a complete Hola, which at first seemed almost impossible.