Hospitality… what is its real meaning? In this industry, we spend a significant amount of time in hotels and restaurants, teaching our teams to be ‘hospitable’, but do we always truly understand what that means?

For me, it’s the art of making someone feel genuinely welcome. Cared for. It’s not just service, it’s emotional. You host, you connect, you create a real moment.

I travel more for work than I’m at home. Most of my days are spent in hotels, kitchens and restaurants. Beautiful fixtures, king-size beds, great food and chilled beverages are all wonderful and important to space, but they don’t create hospitality. That comes entirely from the people giving you a moment of their time to take care of you. And that’s not always something you can train.

When I travel for pleasure, yes, I appreciate a comfortable bed and air-conditioning. But I spend most of my timeout of that comfy bed looking for genuine connections, moments and experiences. Ironically, those are often the things many hotels struggle to provide.

On a recent trip I took to southernIndia, high in the Cardamom Hills in a town called Munnar, I came across one of those experiences.

My wife, Louise and I came across an amazing Munnar cooking class, joining a local couple to learn about spices and regional cooking.

We arranged for, Raveendra, the husband, to pick us up at 9am sharp from our hotel. Stepping outside, surrounded by polished arrivals, we were greeted by him and his wonderfully weathered old Toyota. It then took about 45 minutes to start.

I’ll admit, I was ready to jump out and find another ride, but Louise insisted we stick to the plan and thankfully she did. Eventually the engine came to life, and off we went to a local market.

The market was busy, full of locals buying their daily goods. The spices, cardamom, anise, black pepper, cinnamon, were some of the best quality I’ve ever seen, grown just outside the town.

Raveendra had a grocery list scribbled on a piece of newspaper from his wife Indira. We added to the list as we’d found the most beautiful Okra and melon radish we’ve ever seen, which threw him slightly but added to the fun.

Once we headed to their home, Indira welcomed us warmly. Their home was modest, two rooms, a simple stove, well-used aluminum pots, old chopping boards, but the welcome was immediate and genuine.

Hands washed, aprons on, we became washers and choppers.

We started with fried banana snacks and masala chai, both delicious. Everything we cooked that day was vegetarian, mostly vegan apart from a little ghee.

Then Indira’s sister-in-law Selvi arrived, small, energetic, full of personality. She came armed with the know-how to cook the ingredients we’d bought.

Between them, with very little English and plenty of laughter, they guided us through about a dozen vegetarian dishes.

Somehow, despite the language barrier, there was an emotional connection. In those few hours I learned more about India, its food, its rhythm, its people, than in the ten days before.That was hospitality.

For the next couple of days, Raveendra continued to show us around: a trek up into the mountains through tea plantations, visits to spice farms where I saw raw ingredients I’ve used for decades growing on the tree and being processed, even a stop at the local bottle store for beer and Indian Sauvignon Blanc.

That trip reinforced something I think we sometimes forget in our industry: Hospitality doesn’t come from five stars, fine dining or fancy surroundings.

It comes from people. From openness. From generosity. From a willingness to share a moment.

I left with a deeper appreciation for where our ingredients come from, for community around food, and for how simple, heartfelt hospitality can leave the strongest impression.

And I hope we left behind appreciation, curiosity and respect for their craft, because hospitality is always an exchange.

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