Eet by Maneet Chauhan won't offend finicky tourists with its Disney-approved 'modern' Indian fare

Who's to say why it took so long for Indian food to make an entry into Disney Springs but, nevertheless, there's one in place now. It's called Eet and it's by celebrated culinary personality Maneet Chauhan. If the name rings familiar, then you're likely an avid watcher of the Food Network: The Indian-American chef is a regular on Chopped and maintains a pretty busy shooting schedule, we were told, so don't expect to see her inside Eet's quick-service kitchen anytime soon whipping up naan or pani puri.

She does, however, have a welcome message posted outside the entrance inviting guests to embrace the Indian restaurant's "adventurous, bold flavors." It might seem innocuous, but referring to Indian cuisine — or any cuisine cooked by people with brown skin — as "adventurous" and "bold" only emphasizes a misguided notion of the cuisine being part of "the other." It plays up exoticism and reinforces ethnic boundaries and divisions between the majority and minority. And really, who exactly would find this food "adventurous" and "bold"? Certainly not the billions from the Indian subcontinent, Southeast Asia, Caribbean or elsewhere who cook and eat this food every day. It's the kind of language that panders to lowest common denominator "Midwestern palates" and serves to make Indiana Man feel like Indiana Jones for eating a samosa. [End rant.]

Besides, Eet's version of those pastry pockets ($9 for two) are hardly daredevil material. The spiced potato filling was practically mashed, and the pastry itself was — sadly for samosa lovers — baked, not fried, yielding only a semblance of crackle.

There are, of course, other baked wonders fired up at Eet, i.e. naan. We opted for the bread service ($18) which included a mound of whipped pimiento-paneer cheese as well as carrots, celery and radishes dusted with chaat masala. The platter came with five dips and two different breads — buttered and garlic naan. We passed on the garlic and upgraded to the spicy green chili naan for $1 extra. The naans weren't as poofy as I thought they'd be, but that's because they're not cooked in a tandoor. The dough is flattened using a press, then placed onto a rotating oven that blisters the bread at 550 degrees for 30 seconds. For the sort of volume this quick-service operation takes on, it's an efficient method. What impressed us most, however, were the five different dips — a sweet/sour lime pickle, garlic pickle, and coriander honey, along with a proper tangy tamarind chutney and a bright mint chutney. We loved them all, and especially enjoyed dipping the peppery chili naan into the honey.

Pani puri ($12), the staple street food snack, looked the part here: seven semolina puffs cracked open at the top and ready for scoops of chickpea-potato filling, drizzles of tamarind-date chutney, sev (fried chickpea noodles) and, of course, the pani, or mint-cilantro water. Only the pani wasn't the pungent liquid we expected it to be. "It's not offensive," I said to my brother-in-law, referring to the lack of kala namak, aka black salt, with its sulphury essence. "It needs to be a bit offensive for it be proper pani puri," he said. "Less Indiana, more Indian," I agreed. "Maybe it's ma nose, maybe it's Ma-neet."

More eets not in danger of offending anyone included a tandoori chicken poutine ($14) with crisp, fluffy, chaat masala-dusted fries weighted with globs of curds and tomato-butter "gravy." Not bad, but you're not going to get a couple of Desi hosers to swoon over this. A build-a-bowl concoction of cumin-basmati rice topped with basil-cilantro shrimp in a cashew-saffron korma sauce ($18) was solid; it even came with pickled red cabbage, kachumber and wee puffs of chickpea pearls.

Those pearls are used to add color and pop to a host of dishes, from the samosas and pani puri (they're used as a bed) to the gulab jamun cheesecake ($9), where they dot the top. We thought the gulab jamun would be baked into the cheesecake, but the syrupy balls were sliced and used as a garnish instead. Strawberries and the flavor of strawberries dominated the dessert. It would've been nice to have a cup of chai with the cake, but shockingly, chai isn't offered here. Rather, a candied "Valenchai Day Latte" was suggested. Eh, no thanks.

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Photo by Rob Bartlett

Hey, I get it. When you're at Disney, you have to please the masses, and even in 2024, "masses" equates to a pretty specific target audience. I'm sure if Chauhan had her druthers, she'd serve 150,000 percent balls-out Indian fare. But playing with the mouse means playing by the mouse's rules, so compromise, I'm sure, was a choice Chauhan felt she had to make.

But we don't.