How Bhutwa Keeps a Vanishing Tradition Alive in the Uttarakhand Hills
In a remote corner of Kumaon, Pooja Pangtey takes us to her grandaunt’s village to cook bhutwa, a dish that celebrates offal and the nose-to-tail eating practices of the community.
It is the last day of our annual autumn trip to the mountains. We wake up just before the first light to feast our eyes on the last Panchachuli sunrise of the year. Sipping on wild rosehip tea and listening to that familiar dawn chorus of morning birdsong (our forests here are home to more than 400 species of birds), we gather in the veranda to watch Panchachuli II slowly catch fire, its icy slopes gilded by the sun’s light. Within seconds, the second peak ignites, and soon afterward, the whole massif looks like it is aflame. In a matter of minutes, we too are enveloped in the sun’s warm, radiant embrace, and our day begins.
Panchachuli is a range of five snow-capped mountain peaks ranging in altitude from 20,781 ft to 22,651 ft. Pancha translates to ‘five’ and Chuli to ‘hearth’. According to local folklore and legend, these are the mountains that the Pandavas cooked their last meal, before ascending to heaven.
Wa are in Munsyari — a small town in Johar Valley, Pithoragarh, where the skyline is dominated by the five massive, picturesque pyramids of Panchachuli. Pithoragarh district of Uttarakhand is situated at the tri-junction of India, Tibet and Nepal. One of the remotest corners of northeastern Kumaon, this is the land where my ancestors have lived for many generations, and a place my heart calls home. I trace my lineage to pastoralists who practised transhumance in the Johar valley. For centuries, ours has been a land of migrations governed by seasons. Here the birds, herdsmen and their herds, even our gods and goddesses, move up and down the valley in accordance with the weather patterns.
For generations, we have lived a way of life natural to a landscape that fosters seasonal journeys. About 600 years ago, our people begin a successful cross-border trade with Tibet in wool, salt, borax, gold, and more. Most of the salt in the lower valleys of Uttarakhand came in through Tibet, brought in by traders like our forefathers before salt became an accessible commodity in these mountains. All this came to a sudden halt with the cessation of our ancestral trade, when war broke out between India and China in 1962. Trade routes close, and for decades we were not allowed to visit our higher settlements. Mine is the first generation born outside our homeland, because our parents were left with little choice but to migrate to the plains and beyond, searching for new livelihoods, forced to adapt to a new way of life.
Our community’s food, craft, business, and lifestyle shaped themselves around the journeys we took each year. In spring, we move up to the high bugyal meadows with our herds of Caprinae, when grass and herbs flourish. We spend a few months above the treeline herding flocks, then return to our mid and lower valley settlements in autumn before the snow falls. Traditional trade routes also take some of us beyond the highest mountains into Tibet, returning with goods transported on saddlebags fitted on our animals.
Our lives and destinies thus, have always been deeply intertwined with the goats and sheep that we rear. So, when it comes to food, seasonality and nose-to-tail eating are naturally two very important aspects of how we consume shikar (meat). The best time to eat and preserve mutton is just before winter, when the shepherds return to their lower altitude settlements with well-fed herds fattened on wild herbs and alpine grass from the bugyals. Even now, this is the time to get the cleanest, most well-marbled meat. We have traditional recipes for every part of the animal – sausages, stir fries, broths, and curries. Local pantries also stock Bbus (tallow and caul fat) and Shukh Shikar (dried meat) for winter.
Today, we head to my father’s aunt’s village, Shankhdhura, to cook Bhutwa – a recipe made using Bhintarans (offal)
Today we are headed to my father’s aunt’s (Acchay/Grandmother to us) village Shankhdhura to cook Bhutwa – a recipe that uses Bhintarans (offal). We line up early at the butchers, since offal sells out quickly in the morning. Most of the demand comes from the hordes of tiny Bhutwa–Ganwa–Arji (trotter stew and sausage) eateries that line the village market. Dad picks up a mix of tripe, lungs, liver, intestines, and heart, in the ratio he prefers. Each organ lends a different texture to the dish. There are 4 key things that make a good Bhutwa — good quality offal preferably from a grass-fed young goat; thorough cleaning of the meat; a good mix of organs to ensure the right texture in each bite; and the quality of spices used – the most important of which is Thoya or the Himalayan Caraway.
“Sau Sansar, Ek Munsyar,” which roughly translates to ‘a hundred worlds on one side and Munsyari on the other’ is a local saying I’ve grown up hearing elders say often, in praise the beauty of our homeland , or the dramatically changeable nature of weather in this valley. Today a clear, sunny 15-degree morning has suddenly turned overcast, as we finish our meat shopping and cleaning. But we still proceed to Shankhdhura, hoping for the clouds pass. One of the main reasons to plan the cookout here, besides Acchay’s (my grand-aunt) cooking prowess, is to make Bhutwa on wood fire because the meat always tastes best when cooked on wood. She has a small outdoor kitchen for cooking on chulha. We hike through the village to Acchay’s home, and on our way up, we exchange pleasantries with all the people we pass. Unlike our lives in Bombay, here everyone knows everyone. Acchay has knee pain these days and lives alone in a house at the top of the hill. Her neighbours regularly help her with daily chores. A neighbour offers us freshly plucked chillies and mint from her herb patch to take to Acchay’s. A few girls join us to help Acchay with the cooking prep when we tell them our plans. From 3, we are now a group of 6 – all of us keeping our fingers crossed, hoping the rain holds off.
Acchay has kepy everything ready for the cookout. She has even taken out her iron daur (a traditional wok with a handle perfect for roasts and stir-fries). Once we begin, everyone gets busy — one peels garlic, another onions, one goes to Acchay’s garden to get fresh coriander and brings back wood for the stove. Her pet dogs and roosters follow us around. Once prep is done, Acchay heads to the sil batta and intuitively measures ingredients. We grind garlic and caraway into a coarse paste — our short and sweet communal mise en place is done.
Cooking starts with onions frying in mustard oil. Once browned, in goes the garlic-caraway paste, then the dry spices and salt. Acchay adds more caraway from her recent harvest, for aroma. Finally, the meat goes in. While Acchay and I cook outdoors, the girls make tea and pakoras in the indoor kitchen. They add the fragrant mint to the batter. There’s a Chaull (traditional sheepskin rug) on the floor to keep warm. We chat, share stories, and giggle over tea, pakoras, and bhang chutney.
And before we even know it, the Bhutwa is ready. And as the Gods willed it, it didn’t rain!
RECIPE FOR BHUTWA
Ingredients
500 g goat offal
5-6 tbsp mustard oil
2 medium sized onions, finely chopped
2 medium sized tomatoes, finely chopped
10 g ginger
18-20 g garlic
1.5 – 2 tsp caraway (substitute with cumin if not available)
1 – 1.5 tsp red chilli powder
0.5 tsp turmeric powder
1 tsp coriander powder
Salt
*A cast iron kadhai/pan is recommended for cooking this recipe
Method
Heat mustard oil on medium-high heat till the oil starts smoking. Temper with caraway or cumin. Add onions and reduce the flame to medium. Stir the onions occasionally till they brown.
While the onions are browning, smash the ginger and garlic in a mortar pestle to a very rough paste like consistency. To this, add red chilli powder, turmeric, coriander powder, salt and a little water to make a thick paste.
Once the onions are browned, add this paste to the Kadhai and cook them together. Cook this mixture till the raw ginger garlic smell goes away and the water evaporates enough for you to see the oil on the sides. Then add the tomatoes, cover and cook the mixture on low flame till tomatoes become mushy and their water too evaporates, leaving a paste with oil coming from the sides. Keep stirring the mixture while cooking to avoid burning it. This should take about 5-seven minutes.
Once done, add the meat. And cook with the mix till done. You could also boil the offal before hand and cook with the mix.
Like her ancestors, Pooja currently migrates between her homes in Bombay city, the Sahyadris and Uttarakhand. She has been researching culinary practices, ingredients and recipes from Uttarakhand for more than a decade now. Co-founder of a pop-up kitchen that cooks food from different mountain regions (Meraki Bombay), Partner at a Craft Brewery (Bombay Duck Brewing), and an avid fermenter, all her life's passions are interwoven with her deep, singular love for the Himalayas.
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