Even when Joe Sacco was planning his 2024 India trip, he knew he wouldn’t get any time for himself in New Delhi. The Maltese-American graphic journalist-author wrote to me from France, while promoting the French edition of his book War on Gaza; he wanted to meander through old Lucknow for a few days before flying home to Portland.
Once in Lucknow, Sacco seemed to know exactly what he wanted to do. “Let us go to the Residency,” he said to me. “Do you want to reclaim your ancestral possession,” I joshed him. “Yes, you had thrown us away from our home,” Sacco guffawed.
The construction of the Residency was started by Asaf-ud-Daula, the fourth Nawab of Oudh, when he shifted base from Faizabad to Lucknow in the late 18th century. Saadat Ali Khan, the fifth Nawab, completed it. The administrative and residential complex was eventually taken over by the Resident General of British India. The rebels besieged it in 1857, from July 1 to November 17.
We were at the Residency on November 17, 2024. Sacco thought he would use the opportunity to meet some of the officials of the Archaeological Survey of India; he hoped to gather material for his next book. His first book on India — Journalism, based on the lives of the Musahars of Kushinagar — was already out and his The Once and Future Riot on the 2013 massacres of Muzaffarnagar was in press.
The officials didn’t show up but the discourtesy did not bother Sacco. His work and life had brought him face-to-face with far more unpleasant situations. He said to me, “Don’t let me drool. Let us be where we should actually be when in this city.”
I took him to Akbari Gate to introduce him to savoury dishes, which were introduced by the nawabs after they arrived here in the early 18th century from Khorasan province of Iran and rose through the ranks of the Mughal court.
Many things changed after the uprising of 1857. The culinary art, which was till then confined to the kitchens of the nawabs, now entered the common man’s dastarkhwan or dining space. Today, in Lucknow, Awadhi haute cuisine such as galouti kebab, nehari, pulao, rumali roti and sheermal are served in dozens of eateries as temptations to thousands of local people, not to mention the occasional food connoisseur.
The Unesco in its 43rd general conference in Uzbekistan last month declared Lucknow the Creative City of Gastronomy for its Awadhi cuisine. I remembered my exchange with Sacco from last November. Sacco told me how many years ago, the fast-food giant KFC catered to the needs of labourers in America. I told him that nehari or layl nehar was also meant for the construction workers of the nawabs. It was named after Laila or Layla of the Layla-Majnun love story.
Nehar means dawn. The prosperous Shias of Iran used to offer nehari and rumali roti to the construction workers in their employ before sunrise. “Layla was dark and so it was called Layl nehar. It is so heavy that the labourers wouldn’t feel hungry the whole day,” 70-year-old Urdu journalist Husain Afsar explained to me. “It is one of the most sought-after preparations in Lucknow,” said Shoeb Ahmad, owner of Raheem’s in Phoolwali Gali. He said his grandfather Haji Abdur Raheem had conceptualised the dish in 1890.
Paya or trotters, another delectable seduction, is also available in the eateries of old Lucknow. The nawabs used to have sticks made of ivory to scoop out the bone marrow from the trotters served in Belgian crockery. The cooks in these Lucknow eateries now make a crack in the bones so you can suck the buttery stuff with ease.
The shop Tunday Kebabi is barely 10 metres from Raheem’s in the same lane. The whole place resounds with the noise of spatulas hitting iron griddles. Abu Bakr, who is the current owner, says, “Kebab (galouti) melts in the mouth. My grandfather, Haji Murad Ali, started it in 1905. He was tunda, meaning lone hand, and so people started calling the dish tunday kebabi.” Pulao, which eventually became biryani, was also brought to Lucknow by the Shia royals. Those who eat nehari and kebab, also love pulao in the end.
Graphic novelist Joe Sacco in Lucknow. Photo: Piyush Srivastava
“Biryan means to roast in Persian,” said Afsar. He continued, “Originally, the rice preparation made with very little spice was called pulao. Qorma is another important dish. The cooks of the nawabs used to develop their own permutation combination of spices. You can dip your chapati in qorma and eat. But if you are writing about Awadhi cuisine, don’t forget the sheermal.”
Sheermal, a saffron-flavoured naan, is indeed another representative food from here. There is sweet sheermal and also tarmaal, which has dry fruits in it.
There is a separate lane known as Roti Wali Gali near Akbari Gate, where you can buy sheermal. But you have to take it home because the shops don’t have any seating area. It was known as Chawal Wali Gali during the days of the nawabs. And those days, prostitutes used to live there.
Mohammad Ashraf, 35, who prepares and sells sweet sheermal at ₹50 a piece, said, “My grandfather and father used to do this business. I am also happy doing the same. I guarantee if you have one, you’ll want more.”
“It was etiquette and delicacy that were more important in the dastarkhwans of the nawabs. They were great hosts and would offer kheer of rice or sweet potatoes after each meal. They would have sherbets made from watermelon or lemon or tukhm-e-balanga, which is Urdu for basil seeds. Even today, there are lanes in the chowk where these items are sold,” said Afsar.
Some people ridicule Lucknow’s culture of pehle aap, pehle aap but Afsar said, “They would say pehle aap thrice before every meal and then one of them would decide who should break bread. It was about etiquette and respect for each other and not a joke for them.”
Sacco knew exactly what he wanted to eat when we reached Tunday Kebabi. He had asked me before why the lane was called Phoolwali Gali and I told him about the flower shops there. He greeted the cooks, the man at the counter and even the customers with a smile and bowed slightly with his right hand on his chest.
When his order of kebab and rumali roti arrived, he ate it with relish. Next, he wanted to see the flower shops. But when I took him to one that was smaller than a paan shop, he looked surprised. I had to explain that customers placed their orders with these small shops,which then supplied all kinds of flowers within a few hours.
“Do you want to eat more,” I asked him out of courtesy. “Yes,” he replied quickly. This time we headed for Raheems and ordered nehari and naan. As we ran out of time, he said to me, “We will explore more dishes next trip.”
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When I wrote to him last week to say that on the back of the Unesco honour, I was planning to write about our experience at Akbari Gate, he emailed from Spain, “That
is great. And I do remember the kebab. It was a memorable experience.”