There’s a thing happening in Panjim right now. A sort of divine resurgence of the hole-in-the-wall — the kind of place that, once upon a time, might’ve been referred to as “that joint behind the shop that sells extension cords,” but which now doubles as the coolest new spot you didn’t discover first. Ever since Josef’s Bar became the messiah of minimal signage and maximal personality, Goans and tourists have been whispering about hidden doors and back lanes like they’re passing on passwords to an underground society.
Enter: Antonio’s at 31.
A name that sounds like someone’s cousin’s bachelor pad address, but what it actually is… is magic. It’s the kind of place where you arrive thinking, “Is this it?” and leave thinking, “How soon is too soon to come back without looking desperate?”
We’ve become such regulars at these increasingly charming dens that the staff might as well save us a table and add us to the Christmas card list. Isabella’s Tapas last week. Antonio’s this week. Next week, probably something called Filipe’s Fridge tucked behind a laundry in Taleigao. It’s a trend now — restaurants named after people, like you’re dining in someone’s house, except with better lighting and far superior cocktails.
But Antonio’s…. Antonio’s is a vibe. The crowd? Cool, but not in that pretentious I-only-drink-coffee-grown-on-the-moon kind of way. More like “I woke up looking this fabulous and came straight from a house jam session” energy. The music? It matched the mood — not too loud, not too obscure, and blessedly, not Coldplay.
Now. The drinks. Because let’s be honest, we weren’t here for hydration. We started with cocktails viz. Magic Dragon— and I say “started” not in the hopeful sense, but in the inevitable, “this is going somewhere” tone. The Magic Dragon looks like a potion, drinks like a dream; gin, grapefruit, and tonic come together in a balanced confident way.
Next came the Bingtakar, boiled whole peanuts. Yes, peanuts. And if you’re thinking “that’s not fancy,” you’ve clearly never been whacked in the face with a tsunami of childhood monsoon nostalgia from a single shell. These weren’t just peanuts. These were time travel snacks. You popped one open, and suddenly you were eight again, watching rain pour down the windows while your mum yelled not to dirty the floor.
Then came the Ros Omelette, and friends, I must pause here. Because this was Ros Omelette Royalty. It didn’t arrive on a throne, but it might as well have. Swimming in a spiced gravy that could wake the dead, served with poie, the soft, pillowy bread that makes one wonder why we ever bothered with toast. It was — and I do not say this lightly — the best Ros Omelette of my life.
We also tried the Kurkure Bhindi (Fried and fabulous, in any case). Crunchy, salty, addictive — basically Goan okra in its party dress.
And then came the corn. But make it haute couture. Corn on the cob, styled like pork ribs. Why? We don’t know. But we also didn’t ask. Because when food looks like a joke but tastes like a genius, you just eat and nod.
Finally, we ended on Sera Dura. And it was textbook Sera Dura — creamy, cold, and not messing about with frills. No edible flowers. No gold leaf. Just the traditional, sweet, crushed-biscuit-in-a-glass glory we all deserve after surviving adult life.
Antonio’s isn’t just another trendy bar pretending to be underground. It’s a place that actually delivers — on flavour, on atmosphere, and on that indescribable thing that makes you feel like you were part of something before it became a thing.
It is the kind of place that feels like a secret, even when everyone’s already talking about it. You’ll walk out tipsy on food, cocktails, and that peculiar Goan joy of finding somewhere that feels like it was built just for you. And next weekend? You’ll be back, pretending to “just drop by,” when really, you’ve already been dreaming about that Ross Omelette since Tuesday.
Honest Reviews 