The real chaos here is that your foodie friend has almost certainly already bought the thing you're considering. They're ahead of the curve by definition. They got into specialty olive oil before it was a café menu staple, they own the pepper grinder you're eyeing, and they ordered that "obscure" tea months before it appeared on Swiggy Instamart. Gifting a foodie isn't about matching their taste. It's about not arriving late to a party they hosted.
The categories that actually work are genuinely hard-to-find gourmet ingredients and single-technique specialist tools. Single-origin tasting sets (coffee, chocolate, or tea from a specific estate or region) work because variety is the point, and they probably haven't tried this exact combination. Specialty tools that target one specific cooking action also land well: a proper zester, a traditional stone spice grinder, a mandoline that actually holds its calibration. The friend who knows the difference between Chettinad and Andhra pepper heat will notice precision where others just see another kitchen gadget. Something useful for a specific thing they actually do is the entire brief.
The gift that goes wrong most reliably is the cookbook, especially one about a cuisine they already cook. Your foodie friend has either already bought it, downloaded the PDF, or has a specific opinion about why those recipes don't translate to an Indian kitchen gas flame. You're not introducing them to anything. The cookbook says 'I know you're into this' but also 'I didn't look very hard.' Generic spice assortments land the same way: thoughtful-seeming, but category-level, not person-level.