Anshu Dua

Founder & CEO

My very first memory is of frantically running down the stairs of my home in Chandigarh and squeezing my way onto a crowded rickshaw. I was 3 years old and I had no fear. Along with fifteen other kids, sitting on wooden boards hanging off the ends, this was my school bus. I was born in India, but in the early 80’s, my parents packed all their possessions into eight very large suitcases and, with my older sister, we flew to America on a Pan Am jumbo jet. We learned to adapt to our new country and I became an American kid. I watched MTV, tried to understand the rules of football, ate Filet-o-Fish sandwiches (no beef in our house), drove everywhere in our light blue station wagon. Occasionally I forgot where I was. During my kindergarten entrance test, the teacher pointed to a number of objects that I had to vocally identify in English. We got through the first few, piece of cake. Then she pointed to a paper bag, and I instinctively screamed out “la-fa-fa” – the Hindi equivalent – only to quickly correct myself hoping my chances of going to school weren’t dashed. True story my parents still tell to this day with a laugh, and a hint of pride I was clinging to my roots. Being immigrants meant we spent our summer vacations back in India. Our entire summer vacation. My parents insisted it was important to keep in touch with our culture, our heritage, our language, our extended family. But, to me, it meant good-bye to ice-cream sundaes with extra hot fudge, barbecues, all-day-Nintendo marathons, roller coasters at Disney and sleepovers. I wanted to be with my American friends and do summer-time American things. Then suddenly, I had a career, business cards with a long title, hippie start-up t-shirts, stock options, venture capital frenemies, elevator pitches — many elevator pitches. Exit strategies. Yes, life in the fast lane. Neurons started firing about those summers many years ago. Lazy chess matches with my grandfather. Frantically running up to the roof to clear the clothesline before the impending monsoon. Riding on my uncle’s scooter to pick up fresh samosas & jalebis for afternoon chai. Badminton. Endless badminton. Trying to speak Hindi. Kite fights on the roof with the neighbors. Google it. I missed it. I needed to reconnect. To climb back on that rickshaw. This is my way.

Colby Zito

Chef

I remember watching Iron Chef and yelling at the Television, disputing chefs’ ingredient choices like a football fan arguing line calls. “Pickled mushrooms!? What the…!? The dish is already sour….It needs something crunchy for contrast!”
I was around 19 when I started to seriously consider food a legitimate option for my life’s career choice. While I had spent a few years in a more traditional post-high school educational setting, it wasn’t until I graduated from armchair sous-chef to rookie pantry cook at my hometown fine dining establishment that I felt a sense of belonging to something. My nights were spent brainstorming food ideas, recording them in the small playbook I kept on my bedside table. Afternoons before work, I was pouring over cookbooks at the library; making mental notes of little tricks that would elevate my game in the kitchen. I followed restaurants like sports teams, idolized chefs like all-stars, studied menus like highlight reels.
While I admired the eminent performers from afar, always knowing that the grand culinary stage was 6 hours south, in New York City, I was lucky enough to be coached by a few of the Rochester greats while still in my freshman years upstate. A few years studying at the Culinary Institute of America was an invaluable phase of my training en route to eventually arriving in the major market of Manhattan. I was lucky enough to fill roster spots with some of NYC’s greatest companies: Aquavit, Eleven Madison Park, and Maialino. To bolster my all around restaurant skills, I spent seasons in the dining room, learning the plays of service and hospitality. Combining that with my kitchen competence, I became a more versatile player.
With a decent career, mainly in the Western flavors of Europe and Asia already tallied, I was intrigued by the exciting repertoire of Asian flavors readily available for study just a subway ride away. The new and exhilarating flavors and ingredients that Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, and Indian teams offered expanded my knowledge of and love for the sport of cuisine. While the Western palate seemed content on running a balance of salt, acidity, and fat, suddenly my boundaries of taste were broadened by the additions of sweetness, spiciness, and pungency as integral elements to the pastime of eating.
With the food we make at The Chaat Company, I seek to introduce snackers to new and unexpected tastes, hopefully turning them on to global flavors, creating life-long fans along the way.