CHRISTINE MACHADO | NT BUZZ
You began your writing career with recipe books and a food digest before turning to mystery. What prompted this shift?
I’ve been equally smitten by crime and cuisine since school — Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes on my bookshelf, my mother’s experimental cooking on the stove. I long dreamt of creating an Indian sleuth who could decode a crime as sharply as he could a menu. That’s how Madhav Sathe and Manjari Barooah came to life — he thrives on tomato, wasabi, and a touch of temper; she on prawns and precision. After my first book ‘Murder of a MasterChef’, ‘Murder at Morjim’ serves the next course.
What is it about the mystery-and-food combo that excites you?
It blends gastronomy with guile. A “murder with flavour” invites all the senses. In ‘Murder at Morjim’, suspicion simmers right beside shark ambotik and chicken cafreal; a clue can hide behind a plate of bebinca as easily as behind a lie. For me, food isn’t garnish — it’s narrative texture. When I start writing, sentences feel like ingredients meeting in a hot pan — crackle, aroma, and the thrill of discovery.
How were the protagonists of your mystery books born? Did the characters or the plot come first?
Always the characters. Madhav Sathe is the contemplative intellectual with a surprisingly sharp palate, and Manjari Barooah is a brilliant, disarming woman who can detect deceit as instinctively as she can sense imbalance in flavour. Both are unapologetic foodies, but their chemistry comes from curiosity — they taste life and crime with equal enthusiasm. Once they walked onto the page, the plot simply followed them, trying to keep up.
What kind of research went into this particular book?
‘Murder at Morjim’ grew out of living — and loving — Goa for over two decades. I explored its boutique-hotel culture and its people, how smiles at reception sometimes hide storms in the back office. The fun part was the food research: Creole gambas picantes, shark ambotik with kokum, sorpotel with sanna, pasteis de nata — every dish in the novel was tasted, tossed-up (sometimes with a tweak), tested, and occasionally re-tasted in the name of authenticity.
What made you choose Morjim as your location? Was it just because you live there or were there other factors too?
Familiarity helped, yes, but Morjim’s charm runs deeper. With its turtle beach and the Chapora River winding quietly past, it feels written for mystery — calm by day, shadowed by possibilities and secrets by dusk. For an author, that’s irresistible material. Morjim is beautiful, and beauty, as the book shows, can be dangerously deceptive — the perfect backdrop for a murder over cocktails.
What have been your learnings from your previous book that helped you this time around?
‘Murder of a MasterChef’ taught me that the readers love pace — they binge-read it like a limited-series show. I’ve kept ‘Murder at Morjim’ equally taut, balancing intrigue with appetite. And yes, fans were eager to see sparks between Madhav and Manjari. Let’s just say that between bites of bebinca and brush-offs at crime scenes, something’s cooking.
What were the challenges you faced and how did you get around these?
Ah, the dreaded writer’s block — the only real villain a mystery writer fears. There are days when words flow faster than feni at a beach shack; other days the cursor blinks back at you like an unhelpful waiter. On such days, I head to a restaurant, order a plate of something interesting, and just watch people. You’d be amazed at how many stories walk in, sit down, and practically beg to be written.
Have you sought inspiration from other mystery/thriller authors while working on these books?
Constantly. Christie taught me elegance in clue-laying, Doyle the art of deduction, Charteris the swagger. I hope my stories bring their spirit to Indian settings — with an extra spoonful of masala. If readers find echoes of those masters amid my own chaos of flavours and motives, I’ll count it as high praise.
Do you already have ideas for the next book in this series?
Madhav and Manjari aren’t done dining or detecting. ‘Murder at Morjim’ is only the second serving. When readers keep asking for seconds, you don’t change the chef — you just up the spice, and serve on.
