Chennai’s street food festivals are not just about eating; they are about temperature, smell and சத்தம் — a constant mix of footsteps, sizzling oil, vendors calling out offers and songs playing faintly from speakers. When you walk into a well-organised street food festival in 2025 Chennai, you are stepping into a temporary city within the city, with its own rules and rhythms. This long-form report follows one such festival from late afternoon until closing, mapping what we saw, heard and tasted.
The grounds were divided into four lanes: tiffin classics, grills and fries, desserts and beverages, and a quieter ‘heritage recipes’ lane. ஒவ்வொரு வழியிலும் தனித்துவமான வாசனை. On one side you catch the steam from idli plates and mini dosai; on another, the smoky smell of charred corn, kallan (mushroom), paneer and chicken. Somewhere in between there is always ghee, jaggery and cardamom, signalling payasam, kozhukattai or halwa.
Early in the evening, families arrived with small children and elders. Many stalls displayed handwritten rate cards rather than glossy prints. Payment habits reflected a transitional city: older visitors handed over cash, while teenagers and office-goers tapped UPI apps. ‘Cash irundha fast-aa kudukkuven, UPI-um paravayilla,’ one vendor joked, making it clear he cared more about the queue moving than the payment method. The mix of digital and physical habits gave the festival a grounded feel.
Hygiene arrangements were noticeably better than in informal fairs of a decade ago. Each lane had a water point; stainless-steel tumblers were washed in running water instead of a single bucket. Volunteers wearing simple badges walked around reminding stall owners to keep cooked and raw items separate. Some vendors proudly displayed FSSAI registration numbers. For visitors who worry about food safety, these details matter: they show that the event is planned with a minimum standard, not just thrown together overnight.
At the tiffin lane, we stopped at a stall serving tiny ghee podi idlis arranged like skewered lollipops. ‘Kids-kku romba pidikkum,’ the owner smiled. Next door, kuzhi paniyaram sizzled in cast-iron pans, each ball turned with practiced flicks of the wrist. A board explained that the recipe came from a village near Kumbakonam and that siblings now ran the stall while studying in Chennai. இந்தச் சிறு விளக்கங்கள் தான் உணவின் பின்னாலிருக்கும் மனிதக் கதைகளை நமக்கு அறிமுகப்படுத்துகின்றன.
The heritage recipes lane was slower to fill but deeply rewarding. One table served koozh in clay pots, offering both a plain, lightly salted version and another tempered with ghee and cumin for those unfamiliar with sour ferments. Another stall sold ragi murukku and kambu laddoo, snacks that many urban children have only heard about from grandparents. When asked about ‘health benefits’, the stall owner replied carefully: ‘Nanga health claims panna maatom, idhu enga veettu paati paNradhu. Doctor advice-ku mela enga kitta kekka koodadhu.’ It was a responsible answer and matched how we at VividTamil handle health-adjacent topics — as tradition and taste, not medical prescription.
Patterns in how people chose food were interesting. Many groups adopted a ‘sample and share’ strategy: buy one plate, let everyone taste, and reorder only if the group agreed. This practice reduced waste, saved money and gave vendors incentive to impress with every spoonful. A pani puri seller misjudging spice levels saw his queue shrink quickly, while another stall offering custom spice options kept crowds late into the night.
In between stalls, a small stage hosted occasional performances: college students singing Tamil film songs, local dancers performing folk numbers, even a brief stand-up set. Importantly, the sound level stayed moderate, allowing conversations near food stalls to continue. இது ஒரு சிறிய விஷயமாக தோன்றலாம்; ஆனால் மிகுந்த சத்தம் விழாவின் அனுபவத்தை அசௌகரியமாக மாற்றிவிடும், குறிப்பாக மூத்தவர்களுக்கும் சிறுவர்களுக்கும்.
We ended the night sitting on a low wall, watching people leave with small boxes tied in string. Some discussed which stalls they would revisit next year; others debated whether prices were fair. From a cultural standpoint, events like this show how Tamil food practices adapt to urban life and global influences. A single lane might include panagam, North Indian chaat, Indo-Chinese noodles and Korean-style wings — not confusion, but a living record of what people actually like to eat after a long week.
If you are planning to attend a similar festival, go early for calmer crowds if you prefer, or later if you enjoy the full buzz. Carry water, wear comfortable footwear and, if you have allergies or medical conditions, speak clearly with vendors and avoid risky experiments. For detailed dietary advice, consult health professionals; a festival is for tasting, not testing medicine. Above all, take time to talk to the people behind the counters. Their stories — of migration, apprenticeship, family recipes and stubborn faith in their craft — are the true main course.
