In history’s banquet hall, scholars speak of ‘recency bias’—a hunger that feeds only on the freshest flavours of memory. But in the grand kitchen of culinary heritage, such selective feeding serves up recipes missing key spices, starved of depth. As Lucknow now stirs its great cauldron in a bid to secure the UNESCO tag of ‘City of Gastronomical Delights,’ it’s time to serve a truer, fuller feast.
This conversation has simmered on my back burner for years. As a vegetarian from the city, I’m used to faces that turn sour followed by some variation of: ‘But what do you even eat there?’
If your idea of Awadhi cuisine starts and ends with kebabs and biryani (the authentic Awadhi rice dish though is pulao), your culinary vocabulary is bland at best.
This meat-marinated identity covers only one stretch of Awadh’s layered history, starting from the Mughal reign in 1555 followed by the Nawabs in 1772. It completely swallows the sixth century might of the Kosala empire with its Muni, Jain and Buddhist influences, and later the legacy of the Taluqdars (landed elites), both Hindu and Muslim, whose impact remained significant until the British annexation.
The region’s food was shaped by geography—infinite possibilities sprouting from the rich soil of the Indo-Gangetic plain, seasoned by local ingenuity, and layered with Mughal and Persian influence.
While refinement under the Nawabs elevated the dastarkhwan (tablecloth on which meals were laid out), the region’s food was never just a palate pleaser. Arranged for flavour and pleasure, it was also a pharmacy—the chemistry of guna, virya or taseer ensuring every ingredient was considered for its cooling or heating influence, and its impact on metabolism.
Glorious past: Chetna Srivastava is compiling a Kayastha cookbook chronicling not just recipes, but also kitchen traditions, memories and experiences | Pawan Kumar
Among the many Lucknowites who despaired at this culinary travesty was veteran BJP politician Lalji Tandon, who served as the city’s Member of Parliament. Famed for his love of food and hospitality, he vented in his 2017 book Unkaha Lucknow (Unsaid Lucknow) that self-proclaimed food pundits confined people’s food choices to just one period. Good food was available to all regardless of economic status, and every dish came in countless varieties, he writes. Halwa, for instance, could be crafted from everyday wheat flour to rare seasonal lotus seeds.
Long before Tandon, Abdul Halim Sharar captured Awadh’s fading grandeur in Lucknow: The Last Phase of an Oriental Culture (translated version first published in 1975), describing culinary virtuosos who could transform a single humble ingredient like bitter gourd with such delicate technique that it seemed untouched by heat, appearing freshly plucked. He spoke of grand feasts where aubergine and taro—vegetables that might be dismissed as wallflowers of the produce aisle—were plated with pride. Many celebrated non-vegetarian dishes were incomplete without their vegetable accompaniments.
Mirza Jafar Hussain, descendant of erstwhile royalty, wrote in his 1980 book The Classic Cuisine of Lucknow: “The people of Lucknow had the qualities of elegance and refinement ingrained in their being.” Good manners demanded that when eating, only hands and mouth move, and conversations be “limited to the refined and the amusing”.
While people of all stations could eat well, society was structured so that those of humbler means often received food from the rich. Hussain mentions the Shab degh—literally the night cauldron, a regular for nobility. This mutton stew required a humble companion: turnip, creating a unique mingling of flavours and was regularly shared with neighbours.
An elevated status of vegetarian fare still simmers within Lucknow homes. Making mangodis—sun-dried lentil nuggets—remains a shared family ritual, as does peeling winter peas for nimona (stew).
Bitter gourd cooked to a delectable sweetness | Himanshu Bajpai
Historian Roshan Taqui stresses another fact: many noblewomen were vegetarians. “They invented and cooked numerous dishes which later became popular with the public,” he said. Examples include palak ka salan (spinach curry) and the rarer rakhotche (overnight soaked black lentils, ground to paste, shaped like bananas, then sliced and fried).
The region’s culinary experiments wilted somewhat under colonial intrusion. Taqui uses the famed Lucknow dessert shahi tukda to illustrate. Once made from saffron-painted sheermal (a bread invented in Awadh), its present-day version dunks mass-produced bread in sugar syrup.
The city’s food memory keepers are now archiving what’s at risk of being forgotten. Himanshu Bajpai, writer and dastango (storyteller), is doing it as “a moral responsibility”. He argues that regional food from elsewhere is available in restaurants beyond their origins, while Lucknow’s vegetarian fare has been reduced to street food. Local restaurants offer usual pan-India favourites like paneer, which incidentally never was an Awadh native. In the Awadhi universe, makhana (fox nut) once starred in dishes where paneer now stands as an imposter.
On Bajpai’s social media, you will find recipes like pattora—fresh colocasia leaves wrapped in gram flour, steamed and then fried. Dishes such as these are part of the region’s living folklore, language and songs. Bitter gourd here is cooked to a delectable sweetness. “When an ill-mannered person speaks sweetly, we say, ‘Even the karela is Lucknowaa today,” said Bajpai.
But here is the irony: If Bajpai’s social media stuck to more Instagram-worthy templates of Lucknow’s imagined food basket, it would be more popular.
Noor Khan, educator and food enthusiast, is vegetarian by choice but cooks delectable non-vegetarian feasts for the city’s popular arts and crafts Sanatkada festival. “Vegetables are delicate things. I look at them with admiration and respect,” she said. A vegetarian dish should taste of the vegetable, not drown in a deluge of spices. In her kitchen, she spurns the heavy hand of garam masala, often sticking to just cumin and salt to retain and enhance a vegetable’s flavour.
This refinement, always innate to regional cooking, was employed with even greater precision by the bawarchis (cooks) and rakaabdars (gourmet chefs) of Nawabi kitchens who would elevate the most basic dishes to specialty status with a hint of saffron or screwpine.
Besides the lightness with vegetables, cooking methods from aristocratic kitchens found their way to common homes. Two techniques—dum (slow-cooking) anddungar (smoking)—became cornerstones of vegetarian cooking. One community that adopted these with élan was the Kayasthas.
This group of disparate castes traces origin to Chitragupta, Brahma’s divine scribe who kept a record of good and bad deeds. Kayasthas served as record keepers and advisers under many rulers, including the nawabs. Among their most famous representatives was Birbal—Akbar’s trusted courtier, famed for his wit and intelligence.
Kayastha men in nawabi service brought home praises of workplace culinary delights. The women, mostly vegetarian, took it upon themselves to create dishes that mirrored the texture and richness of their meat-based inspirations. Jackfruit and lotus stem became the ‘mock meats’ of this culinary repertoire.
Chetna Srivastava, educator and experiential cooking enthusiast, is compiling a Kayastha cookbook chronicling not just recipes, but also kitchen traditions, memories and experiences. In many Kayastha homes, she noted, “Non-vegetarian cooking became men’s passion project. It was oft heard that the man would shop for ingredients Sunday morning then cook elaborate dishes.” In women’s hands, vegetarian equivalents were crafted. Mince chicken, for instance, found a worthy rival in eggplant.
Food consultant and author Sangeeta Bhatnagar contextualises this within the region’s famed Ganga-Jamuni traditions. “When Muslims entertain Hindus, they ensure vegetarian dishes requiring the same artistry and expertise as non-vegetarian ones,” she said. A murgh musallam (whole marinated chicken), for instance, is matched by equally succulent cauliflower or bottle gourd.
Even sides like roasted tomato chutney are regionally unique. Long before the world discovered their benefits, Lucknowites flavoured their meals with flaxseed and gooseberry. “Take Italian cuisine—it’s produce-based. The vegetable is the hero. We treated our vegetables with the same reverence while experimenting, combining eggplant with spiced yoghurt for instance. That artistry is being lost,” said Bhatnagar.
Lucknow’s vegetarian cuisine thus might be the lesser-known cousin of its non-vegetarian counterpart, but in art and experimentation it holds its own.
The recipe of Lucknowaa meethe karele :
Method
1. Wash bitter gourd ( karela) , peel and sprinkle with salt.
2. Wash again and cut them into pieces.
3. Cook them in a pressure cooker with water and a teaspoon of salt.
4. Squeeze the bitter gourd (karela) to remove water.
5. In a wok/pan , prepare a tadka using mustard oil , jeera , roasted coriander seeds, saunf, dry mango powder.
6. Add bitter gourd . Sauté until cooked . Add jaggery . Mix well and cook on low heat .
7. Serve hot with paranthas.