Madras Day 2026: In Chennai’s beachside food, the secret ingredient is the sea

Food is central to the city’s identity, but what you eat by the sea has a character of its own: the maanga pattani sundal, hot bajjis, fish fry, smoky roasted corn, and cloud-like cotton candy. From the prawns and crabs of Pazhaverkadu and the organised chaos of Kasimedu fish market, to the rows of meen saapadu mess at Pattinapakkam, and the newer food trucks of Besant Nagar, the coast offers a spread for every kind of appetite.

For generations, Chennai residents have come to the coast to eat, talk, walk, and make memories. On an August evening, as the sea breeze cools the shore after a scorching day, 56-year-old Jayashree, comes to the beach with her family after years.

The beach has a way of bringing back old memories, she says, and food is an inseparable part of them. “One of the main reasons we look forward to coming to the beach is for the snacks,” Jayashree says, laughing, as she munches on chunks of raw mango dusted with chilli powder.

As a child, she recalls, her father would refuse to buy much of the food sold at the beach, worried that it was unhygienic. “So instead, we would make him buy us toys,” she says. Her father, sitting nearby, now holds a packet of pattani sundal. Twenty-three-year-olds Rajeeth Nisha and Kirijha, from Karaikudi and Madurai respectively, have recently started coming to the beach with friends after college, and fish fry is already part of the ritual. “We love the fish fry here.

Because we come as a group, we enjoy it more,” they say. For another Nisha, 31, a resident of Kodungaiyur, the beach is a monthly family outing.

She comes with her husband and two children, and fish is, again, a mandatory snack here. “At home, I make the same things, but we all eat from separate plates. Here, we buy one big fish or one plate of prawns and everyone shares.

It’s nice,” she says with a smile. So, is there a secret sauce to the distinctive taste of beachside fish fry?

At the Alli Muthu fish stall at the Marina, rows of vanjaram, kilangan, kelathi, nethili, paarai and kanava sit ready for the pan, each piece coated in a bright red marinade that catches the eye before it hits the tongue. Ganesh, who has been in the business for 30 years, starting as a child who used to hang around when his mother ran the stall, says it is the podi sprinkled over the fried fish, a blend of several masalas. “Chicken masala, fish fry masala, garam masala…,” he rattles off nearly 10 ingredients, near-impossible for anyone to remember, let alone recreate.

Perhaps, though, the recipe is only part of the answer. A little away, the bajji stalls have their own cheerful display. Long green bajji milagai hang in bunches like thoranams, while sliced potatoes, raw bananas and onions wait to be dipped into batter and plunged into hot oil.

As much as the bajjis are great — crispy, with just the right consistency of batter and the perfect shade of golden brown — the chutney is something else. A search for ‘beach-style chutney’ throws up countless recipes on the web, but perhaps none quite taste the same as the one eaten here. Beach food may be hard to recreate at home because its flavour comes from more than just the masala: the salt, the sticky air, the sound of the waves, sand clinging to your feet, and the easy abandon with which people arrive at the beach simply to have fun.