Most of us think we know Awadhi food: a smoky kebab, a sealed pot of biryani, a hint of saffron. Then a scroll-shaped menu arrives at Varq, Taj Mahal, New Delhi, and it lists beetroot shammi, a green-pea Nimona, and a lamb-and-lentil Mashkaliya. Chef Shameem Qureshi is using his Bhoole Bisre pop-up to show how much of Awadh has slipped off the modern table.
Awadh’s food story begins with politics. The Nawabs of Awadh started out in 1722 as governors of a semi-autonomous province under the Mughals. Asaf-ud-Daula later moved the capital from Faizabad to Lucknow, and the city turned into a cultural refuge just as Delhi’s fortunes sank. Singers, poets, and cooks who had lost their Mughal patrons travelled east, and the khansamas and rakabdars who settled there began competing to impress their new masters. By the 18th century, Awadhi cuisine had reached its zenith.
Its most romanticised technique, dum pukht, comes wrapped in legend. Oral tradition ties it to the famine of 1785, when Asaf-ud-Daula is said to have commissioned the Bada Imambara to give starving people work. Huge cauldrons of rice, meat, and spices were sealed with dough and left over a low fire. Historians point out, however, that dum is mentioned in Abul Fazl’s Ain-i-Akbari, which predates the Nawab. The famed Tunday kebab story, of a toothless king and a one-handed kebab-maker, is also considered only partly accurate.
The tradition has been carried forward by families of cooks. Chef Shameem Qureshi hails from Lucknow, from a family with a culinary lineage stretching back about a century. He has been with IHCL since 2022, running kitchens at Taj West End in Bengaluru and Taj Mahal, Lucknow, where he presides over the Awadhi restaurant Oudhyana. He has also led festivals across the country, including the launch of Loya at Taj West End. Now he has brought that heritage to Delhi, cooking at Varq in Taj Mahal, New Delhi, as part of its ‘Bhoole Bisre’ series, which has earlier featured a Parsi showcase by Chef Firozi Karanjia.
His starting point is a complaint. “When we talk about Awadhi cuisine, the conversation often begins and ends with kebabs and biryanis,” said Qureshi. “But there is a much wider culinary repertoire that shaped the food culture of Awadh and has gradually disappeared from contemporary tables.”
Restraint, Not Excess: The Awadh You Don’t Know
Ask Qureshi to bust a myth, and he goes straight for the biggest one. “One of the biggest misconceptions is that Awadhi cuisine is inherently heavy, rich, and intensely spiced,” he said. “Its real character lies in balance. Spices are used to build aroma, depth, and complexity, rather than simply to create heat.”
The aromatic toolkit is more perfumed than fiery. “Saffron, cardamom, mace, and nutmeg form an aromatic backbone, while kewra and rose water bring a delicate fragrance to the food,” he explained. Yoghurt, ghee, onions, garlic, ginger, and carefully prepared stocks supply the depth. Nor does authenticity demand a mile-long spice list. “Another misconception is that an authentic Awadhi dish must involve a long list of spices,” he said. “In reality, it is often about choosing the right ingredients, using them in the right proportion and giving each one the space to contribute.”
The second overlooked truth is that Awadh eats its vegetables with pride. “The cuisine has a strong vegetarian tradition, with vegetables, pulses, grains, and seasonal produce receiving the same care and attention,” Qureshi said, citing Nimona and Dal Nawabi as reminders of its breadth. For this menu, he leaned on seasonal, local produce such as gucchi, lotus stem, raw papaya, greens, and regional grains, ingredients he said are “central to how we are reinterpreting the forgotten dishes, rather than simply being used as embellishments.”
The third is technique, the quiet grammar of the cuisine. “Techniques such as dum, yakhni, and bhunao may appear simple, but each demands a great deal of precision and control,” he said. Dum, he stressed, “is far more nuanced than simply sealing a vessel. It is about controlling heat, moisture, and time so that the ingredients cook gently in their own aromas.” A good yakhni, the stock at the heart of many dishes, needs careful simmering to yield a clear and deeply flavoured base. Awadh’s old kitchens also valued softness above all, using raw papaya to tenderise meat and grinding pastes to silkiness.
Fourteen years across different kitchens have left Qureshi with one conviction. “Some of the finest Awadhi cooking comes from restraint,” he commented. “Take one excellent seasonal ingredient, understand its character, and allow it to shine through a carefully controlled cooking process.” The same restraint governs how he adapts old recipes. He keeps the primary ingredient, spice balance and technique, and lets presentation and portions evolve. “We do not modernise a dish simply for the sake of modernising it,” he said.
What Arrived On My Plate
The meal I ate at Varq was a fine argument for all of the above.
The Ibteda, or opening, offered a choice of four kebabs, and every one of them suggested how much lies beyond the seekh. The Chukandar aur Akhrot ki Shammi is a beetroot-and-walnut patty, an Awadhi-style vegetarian shammi, pan-grilled. The Phaldari Kebab stuffs khoya and paneer with fig, a delicate surprise. On the non-vegetarian side, the Pasanda Kebab is a mutton leg fillet with caramelised onion, Bengal flour, and ground spice, while the Murg Banno Kebab is a chargrilled, egg-coated chicken kebab. Both are soft and deeply savoury.
The Khaas Ehtamam, the main course, is where the forgotten dishes live. Dingri Dolma, mushrooms served in a rich onion-tomato gravy, is earthy and comforting. Nimona, a rustic preparation of green peas cooked gently in fresh spices, is seasonal cooking at its simplest. Murg Wajid-E-Ali, a rolled chicken breast in caramelised onion and aromatic spice, is named for the last Nawab, a ruler famous for his love of food. Mashkaliya pairs lamb with black split gram in the traditional style. Zammi Do Macchli, a fish fillet with pounded spice and green chilli, is a reminder that the repertoire reaches beyond meat.
The accompaniments read like a roll call of Awadh’s breads and rice. Alongside dal Nawabi came kathal biryani, Noor Mahal biryani, boorani raita, sheermal, khamiri roti, and warqi paratha. Sheermal, a saffron-scented bread of flour, milk, and sugar, is one of Awadh’s great gifts to the subcontinent’s bread basket. The warqi paratha, flaky as pages of a book, is a signature of the cuisine.
Dessert, the Mithai ki Tashtari, ended things sweetly. Sevaiya ka Muzzafar is vermicelli slow-cooked in ghee, and Gullatti is an Awadhi sweet enriched with khoya and dry fruits or kewra.
What struck me was how little any of it shouted. Each dish carried its own logic, its own story, and every one of them was fantastic. As Qureshi put it, the aim is “to let the diner feel that they are discovering something from another time, while experiencing it in a way that feels natural today.” On my plate, at least, it worked.
For anyone looking for a taste, Chef Shameem Qureshi’s Awadhi pop-up at Varq, Taj Mahal, New Delhi, is on till September 30.
Read More: Fire, Migration, And Memory: The Birth Story Of Kebabs
Also Read: Lucknow Earns UNESCO Gastronomy Tag: Top Dishes And Spots to Try
