Beyond the Plate: Why Hospitality Begins with Love, Not Just Food

When a 400-Year-Old Tradition Nearly Disappeared

December 2020. Middle of COVID. Nolan was walking through Anjuna during lockdown when he saw the local poder, the bread maker, standing by the roadside with cops beside him. Everyone masked. The baker couldn’t reach his customers. Customers couldn’t reach him. Bread was getting thrown away because people were scared of transmission.

This wasn’t just about one baker struggling. This was a 400-year-old tradition, gifted to Goa by the Portuguese, slowly dying before his eyes.

Nolan followed the baker to his establishment. The roof was half-caved in. There wasn’t even a proper table to make bread. This noble profession, one that literally gives us our daily bread, was eroding. And he thought: how do we make bread cool again?

That’s how the Poder Chronicles was born. Not as charity, but as a bridge. Nolan connected local bakers with hotel chefs and restaurants, creating over 50 recipes showcasing Goan breads. He made one rule crystal clear: maximum dish price of 250 rupees. Because when people buy bread for 5 rupees, paying 700 rupees for a dish seemed disconnected from the mission.

The result? Bakers got a steady income. Hotels have authentic local produce. And Goan bread became something people celebrated, not just consumed.

The Ingredient Everyone Forgets

What drives Nolan about modern food writing and criticism is the tendency to hide behind big words and technical jargon. But his approach is different; he keeps things simple because food, at its core, is about emotion. It’s about the people who spend their lives making others happy.

His grandmother used to say: “If you have nothing good to say, shut up.” She also taught him that even if an enemy comes to your house, feed them with a glass of water. Don’t let them go. That philosophy is deeply entrenched in how Nolan approaches hospitality.

That’s why when people ask why he only writes about the good stuff, he tells them, there’s enough bad happening in the world anyway. He sees himself as someone saving readers money by telling them what’s worth trying. What he likes, someone else might dislike. That’s fine. But he won’t criticize a chef because he knows what it takes to be in those kitchens.

What Makes Goa’s F&B Scene Special

Something magical is happening in Goa right now, according to Nolan. It’s not just about the four bars that made Asia’s 50 Best list. It’s about the entire ecosystem coming together.

Hansel Vaz from Cazulo is making fenni cool. Local gin makers, rum distillers, and coffee roasters are all supporting each other. Slow Tide creates cocktails named after Anjuna veterans from the ’70s and ’80s—like “Acid Eric,” honoring a gentleman from the hippie culture era. Petisco built an entire cocktail program around ‘Puramentache’—ingredients that would help people through the monsoon season when fresh produce was scarce.

People are going back to legacy, tapping into what their ancestors did correctly that’s been forgotten. Like using porcupine quills instead of metal nails to pick cashew fruits for fenni, because metal rusts and affects flavor. These small details matter.

Nolan remembers Dukshiri Fenni—Goa’s answer to any ailment. The name itself means “for pain.” It has herbs and roots fermented in fenni, and every Goan household used it. His grandparents swam in the Mandovi River daily because the salt content helped prevent arthritis. They knew things we’ve forgotten.

Now? Many Goans don’t even go to the beach. We’ve lost our connection to the land, to the traditions that sustained us.

The Problem with Scaling Too Fast

Everyone wants to scale up yesterday. Open seven locations before the first one finds its rhythm. But according to Nolan, hospitality isn’t a tech startup.

He thinks of Kainaz Messman who took 18 years to build Theobroma into what it became. Eighteen years. That service from the original spot? That DNA never changes, even as you grow.

When Nolan travels to Europe, he sees three-generation-old establishments that never franchised, never scaled. They took the time-bound approach: create legacy, hand it over to the next generation. There’s wisdom in that patience.

The fundamentals don’t change. Whether you’re cooking for 10 people at home or running a restaurant, service matters. That’s why even Swiggy and Zomato ask you to rate your delivery partner, because they understand that the person who hands you your food is a crucial touchpoint.

What Separates Good from Great

When judging restaurants and bars, Nolan has a clear philosophy: he can forgive a bad meal. He’s forgotten many bad meals. But he’ll never forget how people made him feel.

He’s had bartenders scoff at him for asking to remove ice from his cocktail. He’s had customers look at menus and call them stupid. But he’s also created dishes from scratch for demanding customers who ended up bringing 10 more people back to the restaurant.

It’s always about the people. Service with a smile. Old school? Maybe. But it works.

Nolan doesn’t even like the word “critic.” As he puts it, you can’t criticize someone’s driving with a clutch shift if you’ve only grown up in an era of electric cars. If you haven’t worked a range, a pass, or been a bar back, you shouldn’t claim expertise. And if you don’t like something? Just say “not to my liking” instead of tearing it down.

Building Communities, Not Just Businesses

From the Goa Culinary Club to the Miguel Arcanjo Award honoring his grandfather, everything Nolan does comes back to community. Your vibe attracts your tribe, as they say.

These communities aren’t about profit. They’re about preserving legacy, educating youth, and creating opportunities. The Miguel Arcanjo Award helps young Goan culinary students get placements and scholarships. The Poder Chronicles Academy connects generations of bread makers with modern establishments.

Because here’s the thing: there’s no amount of marketing that can replace genuine community. No Facebook ads can get you that kitty party crowd who comes because they trust you. Those relationships are built on something deeper than a transaction; they’re built on consistency, care, and genuine connection.

Looking Forward

Nolan now lives on an organic permaculture farm where he’s planted 4,000 trees while others around him fell them to build “eco-resorts.” There’s something deeply contradictory about that approach.

The future of food needs to be clean, sustainable, and connected to the land. People want to know where their produce comes from. They want transparency. Small batch over mass production. They’re okay with establishments running out of things if it means what they’re getting is fresh.

For anyone wanting to make an impact in the F&B space, Nolan’s advice is straightforward:

Keep it simple. Be true to yourself. People buy into you first, then your concept.

Be sensitive to your market. It’s price-sensitive, and while people will pay for quality, there are hidden factors to navigate.

It’s never about the freebies. They only last for a bit and don’t build sustainable businesses.

Your produce has to be good and clean. People want an extension of their lifestyle. They want to know your thought process, your story, where your ingredients come from.

Don’t compromise on ingredients. Cook with really good ingredients. In the long run, it makes sense.

The Human Touch

Soon, we might transition to an AI-digital world where hospitality becomes response commands. Press A for this, Press B for that. But today, we have emotion. And emotion is what makes food grand.

Nolan sees his role simply: as a gatekeeper, a guardian trying to uphold the legacy of hospitality in whatever format he can. Before we become modules and activation codes, he wants people to remember what it feels like to be truly served, truly cared for.

Because at the end of the day, whether you’re a poder making bread or a chef at a five-star hotel, you’re feeding someone’s soul. And according to Nolan Michael, there’s no higher calling than that.