One Bite and You're Hooked: The Best Indian Food in Amsterdam

There’s something oddly comforting about the smell of spices drifting through the air when you least expect it—especially when you're far from home. Walking down one of Amsterdam’s quieter canals, tucked between cafés and bike shops, I stumbled upon Rangoli, a small Indian Restaurant in Amsterdam that immediately felt like it had a story to tell.

At first glance, the place doesn’t try to be anything it’s not. No neon signs or over-the-top decor. Just a simple entrance, a warm glow from inside, and that familiar scent of turmeric, garlic, and ghee. You know you’re in the right place when your nose gets there before your eyes do.

Inside, it's cozy. Not cramped, but intimate. Tables are close enough to share a smile with your neighbor, but not so close that you’re elbowing them for more naan. The lighting is soft, the walls are dotted with framed photographs of Indian streets, spices in sacks, old rickshaws. Nothing feels forced—it’s the kind of place that lets the food do the talking.

Heart as well as heat

The menu doesn’t read like a novel. It’s straightforward, and that’s a blessing in disguise. Sometimes you just want to eat, not decode. There’s your classic butter chicken, palak paneer, rogan josh, and biryanis that come in generous portions. The staff—friendly and efficient without hovering—are happy to recommend something if you’re not sure what you’re in the mood for.

We started with samosas—golden, flaky, stuffed with spiced potatoes and peas. Not greasy, not dry, just right. They came with mint chutney that had a bit of a kick, but not enough to scare anyone off. Then came the tandoori chicken. Smoky, tender, and served sizzling on a hot plate that made everyone nearby look over with a mix of curiosity and hunger.

The main courses were what really sealed the deal. The butter chicken was creamy without being heavy, slightly sweet, but with a layer of spice that crept up slowly. The lamb rogan josh was rich and aromatic, with meat that practically fell apart on the fork. And the garlic naan? Let’s just say no one was counting carbs that night.

Little Things Matter

It’s easy to overlook the small touches in a restaurant, but here, they stood out. Water was served chilled with slices of lemon, and the rice came in a copper bowl that kept it warm through the entire meal. No plastic trays or cold metal spoons here. Even the papadam was crisp and fresh, not the sad, soggy kind you sometimes get in takeout boxes.

What really brought it home, though, was the chai at the end of the meal. Served in little cups, spiced just right—not too sugary, not too milky. It felt like the kind of tea someone’s grandmother might’ve made back in Delhi, poured with a gentle hand and maybe a piece of unsolicited life advice.

A Mixed Crowd and a Warm Vibe

One of the things you notice quickly about Indian restaurants in Amsterdam is that they often draw a mixed crowd. Locals, tourists, expats—all under one roof, sharing food that reminds them of somewhere else. That night at Rangoli, there was a couple on a date, a group of Indian students FaceTiming their parents mid-meal, and a solo diner reading a book while spooning daal over rice. It was a snapshot of the city itself—diverse, relaxed, and quietly vibrant.

No one was in a rush, and that’s saying something in a city where everything moves fast. The servers didn’t push us to order more or hurry us along. We stayed for almost two hours, chatting over the last sips of chai and picking at the leftover rice, because wasting good food would’ve been a crying shame.

More Than Just a Meal

Eating at a place like this isn't just about feeding your stomach—it’s about feeding something else, too. A craving for familiarity, or maybe curiosity. For some, it’s a taste of home. For others, a taste of something new. Either way, it's comfort food that hits the spot.

In Amsterdam, you can throw a stone and hit a dozen international restaurants, but not all of them feel like they were made with care. It doesn’t try to reinvent Indian food, or make it trendy with truffle oil or foam. It sticks to what works. And thank heavens for that.

As we left, bellies full and hearts a little lighter, I thought about something my grandfather used to say: “The best meals don’t just fill you up, they stay with you.” That night, the warmth lingered. In the spices. In the smiles. In the shared laughter of people who, for an hour or two, felt just a little more at home.

Final Thoughts

If you’re in Amsterdam and craving something that feels real—not flashy, not complicated, just good food made with care is well worth the walk, the tram ride, or even the detour. You don’t need to dress up. You don’t need to know the difference between a korma and a karahi. Just come hungry.

Because some meals aren't just about what's on the plate. They're about what they remind you of. Home. Family. Or maybe just the joy of eating something that makes you close your eyes and smile.