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The food and beverage industry is obsessed with what’s next.
New menus, formats, bar programs, and experiences engineered to look good on a screen.
But beneath all that movement sits a quieter, more uncomfortable question:
What are we preserving while we build all of this?
That question defines this conversation with Dr. Nolan Michael Mascarenhas, not as a theme, but as a moral position.
Because Nolan isn’t anti-growth.
He isn’t anti-modernisation.
He is deeply, stubbornly pro-continuity.
“Food Isn’t Content. Food Isn’t a Product. Food Is People.”
When asked to describe himself, Nolan doesn’t list roles or achievements.
It sounds modest, but it’s loaded.
Nolan works across food, beverage, culture, and finance. He moves between five-star hotels and village bakeries, between global bar conversations and deeply local traditions. But at the centre of everything he does is one belief:
“Food isn’t content. Food isn’t a product. Food is people.”
Once you accept that, the way you think about menus, pricing, reviews, and even growth begins to shift.
When the World Slowed Down and the Cracks Became Visible
The Poder Chronicles didn’t begin as a project.
It began as a moment of discomfort.
During the COVID lockdown, Nolan was living in his ancestral home in Anjuna, over 100 years old, layered with memory and routine. Tourism disappeared. Noise fell away. Village rhythms resurfaced.
And one day, something felt off.
The poder – Goa’s traditional bread man, was still coming by. But no one was buying.
Normally, he would wrap up everything in 30 minutes. This time, he took three and a half hours. And still, nothing sold.
A 5-Rupee Bread and the Question of Value
When Nolan followed the poder back to his bakery, the reality was stark.
Caved-in roofs, mould-covered walls.
Generations of skill operating on margins that allowed survival, but not dignity.
“You sell a bread for 5 rupees. That same bread in Portugal costs a euro plus.”
This wasn’t about comparison.
It was about what we choose to value.
And it triggered a question that would later unsettle hotels, chefs, and diners alike:
When Local Food Loses Its Seat at the Table
Nolan noticed something the industry had quietly normalised.
Five-star hotels in Goa proudly served:
- ciabatta
- focaccia
- parmesan rolls
But Goan bread, the bread of the land, was missing.
This wasn’t an attack on global cuisine. It was a challenge to the idea that local food cannot coexist with luxury.
Making Goan Bread Relevant Not Exclusive
The revival didn’t start with storytelling.
It started in the kitchen.
Nolan began working with chefs to reimagine Goan bread—not to make it fancy, but to make it relevant again.
Bread became:
- sushi
- plated savoury dishes
- desserts
When hotels asked how this could scale, Nolan set three non-negotiables:
- Support your local baker directly
- Co-create menus with chefs, not over them
- Cap prices, because accessibility matters
This is where The Poder Chronicles quietly broke from most “revival” narratives.
It wasn’t preservation through premiumisation.
It was preservation through participation.
What F&B Professionals Can Learn from the Poder Chronicles
This isn’t just a cultural story.
It’s a business lesson.
For restaurateurs, chefs, and operators, the project reveals something critical:
- Local sourcing works when economics and dignity align
- Accessibility drives adoption faster than exclusivity
- Revival scales only when producers are treated as partners, not suppliers
The success of Goan bread didn’t come from branding.
It came from respecting the ecosystem.
“Hot Fresh Bread Is an Aphrodisiac”
The project gained attention. Collaborations grew. People wanted more.
That’s when Nolan stepped back.
“My objective was never to shout from the rooftops.”
Because this wasn’t about ownership.
It was about survival.
Lose gin, and you can recreate it anywhere.
Lose feni or poder bread, and an entire cultural memory disappears.
Food as the Highest Form of Servitude
One of the most powerful ideas in this conversation has nothing to do with heritage and everything to do with how we treat people in hospitality.
In an era of public reviews, viral criticism, and influencer verdicts, Nolan’s position is quietly radical.
“Who are we to judge someone who has given their time, sweat, and money to feed us?”
This doesn’t mean food can’t be critiqued.
It means context and empathy matter.
Why Nolan Refuses to Be a Critic
People often ask why Nolan’s reviews are generous.
His answer is direct:
“Have you seen the attrition rate in hospitality?”
He doesn’t see himself as a judge.
He sees himself as part of the industry.
Instead of public takedowns, Nolan does something rarer:
He calls chefs.
He sits with them.
He deconstructs dishes privately.
“Some things work. Some don’t. But that’s how you improve, without breaking people.”
Growth Isn’t the Enemy. Amnesia Is.
The conversation doesn’t reject progress.
Goa’s bar scene, global recognition, and collaborations, Nolan celebrates all of it. But he warns against cultural erasure disguised as evolution.
If everything becomes global, what makes a place worth travelling to?
“If you lose all of this, what is left?”
A beach?
A sundowner?
Alcohol with no connection to the land?
Custodians, Not Consumers
This is where the conversation ultimately lands.
Not on Goa alone.
Not on bread or bars.
But on responsibility.
Whether you’re a:
- chef
- restaurateur
- bartender
- marketer
- diner
You are part of the chain.
And the real question is simple:
Because legacy isn’t accidental.
And sometimes, preservation doesn’t need innovation. It just needs respect.
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