Mahmudabad’s Royal Culinary Tradition Lives in One Man's Memory

Mahmudabad Estate, of the erstwhile kingdom of Awadh, has opened its doors to the public, for a taste of authentic Awadhi history through curated dining experiences. Afzal Ahmed Qureishi tells Rohini Sharma about the unique dishes he cooks from the memory of those who came before him.

Time and tradition sustain the unique cuisine of Mahmudabad. Founded in the 16th century, the Qila of Mahmudabad is one of the last few remaining aristocratic estates of Awadh. Located about 50 kilometres away from Lucknow, Mahmudabad has enjoyed immense cultural influence in Awadh across time, thanks to the prominent role it played in the sub-continent’s history. From being one of the largest taluqdaris under the Mughal rule, the estate became part of the resistance against the British during the Revolt of 1857. Over time, as palace complexes and aristocratic privileges waned, the Mahmudabad family devoted their resources to preserving their cultural heritage. Their orthodox centuries-old observation of Muharram attracts visitors from across the world. They also invite guests to participate in their culinary traditions and experience authentic Awadhi history through curated dining experiences.

The Qila in Mahmudabad is the home of these traditions, and adds a sense of romantic nostalgia to the experience. Time has only only served to enhance the fort’s beauty. Decrepit remains of carved arches, cobwebs that filter sunlight into the wooden interiors of the state rooms, and overgrown foliage in the phulwari (an idyllic garden for women of the zenana) decorates the sepia walls of the palace. The Qila straddles past and present effortlessly, and Mahmudabad’s cuisine is part of this delicate balance.

Under the Awadhi style of gastronomy, the royal kitchens of Mahmudabad have perfected the art of food and drink for over four hundred years. Their preparations boast exquisite flavours marked by the abundant use of turnip, gravies thickened with kaju badam purees and, kewra-scented mussalams and saffron-coloured kofta. The use of yogurt and cultured dairy in the saalans do not let spices overwhelm the dish. As a rule, a single flavour never dominates a dish; distinct flavours of cardamom, clove and spicy ginger can be picked out in each preparation. This is best manifest in recipes like shabdegh, minced lamb koftas cooked with blanched turnips, and, murgh kebab mussalam, roasted chicken in a yogurt-based sauce. These dishes, cultivated with aristocratic patronage, are exclusive to the kitchens of Mahmudabad.

While many of these recipes were passed down through generations, the innovation never stops in Mahmudabad’s kitchens. Afzal Ahmed Qureishi, the head chef at the Qila, comes from a long line of men who served as cooks for the riyasat. For him, Mahmudabadi cuisine is connected with his grandfather, Hazaari sahab’s culinary experiments. In the early 1940s, his grandfather accompanied the late Raja of Mahmudabad, Mohammad Amir Ahmad Khan, on a visit to Iran. On the occasion of a daawat, especially arranged for the Shah of Iran, Hazaari sahab served a dish that caught everyone’s fancy- kaanta gali machli. The fish, typically one with big bones such as sole, is cooked using a technique that renders the bones with a biscuit-like texture (and thereby edible), while the flesh remains soft. An instant hit at the banquet, Iranian chefs, part of the Shah’s entourage, scrambled for the recipe of this ingenious presentation. Possessive about his oeuvre, Hazaari sahab did not share his technique with a single soul. To date, even his grandson does not know the precise recipe for kaanta gali machli.

Afzal Ahmed Qureishi | Image by Mehak Sethi

Trained by his grandfather, Afzal sahab is deeply grateful for his talim. Unconventional by today’s standards, he explains with pride that his education in the art of food is unparalleled. Rather than spending a dedicated amount of time under his grandfather’s tutelage, Afzal sahab learned through imitation and observation. He began by performing the minor tasks of chopping vegetables or grinding the spices and, gradually worked his way up as an attentive learner. Generations’ worth of knowledge and expertise were passed on without a word of instruction. Afzal suddenly becomes nostalgic for similar ustad-shagird (teacher-disciple) relationship so that Mahmudabad’s tradition do not die with him. As the last remaining cook who is privy to the culinary secrets of a bygone era, he is deeply conscious of the heritage he serves everyday.

Afzal sahab is part, not of an intellectual tradition, but an equally important tradition of labour. He learnt through doing and performing, not intellectualising through reading or writing. Not a single recipe was printed or even read out loud to be memorised. As a result, the memory of food and its preparation is not found among books but, in the hands that knead, grind, stir and feel. The mind does not attempt to remember the measurements of ingredients in a dish instead, senses of sight, smell, taste and touch determine the right amount. So while some recipes may be lost, the essence of food, the labour of love is retained successfully.

To celebrate this labour of love, dishes are named as thoughtfully as they are prepared. Lab-e-mashooq, meaning lips of the lover, is the name for a velveteen, cream-based dessert, flavoured with saffron and kewra. Deceptively simple, the secret lies in whisking the mixture of butter and cream to achieve a light, frothy consistency. A layered pie, stuffed with a mixture of sweetened khoya and dry fruits, painted with soaked saffron and ornamented with silver varq, is called Naan-e-Niamat, the bread of holy blessing. In Mahmudabad, the world is imagined through food. A mouthful of frozen creamy dessert is compared to a lover’s kiss, and the goodness of a sweet pie makes it an object of sacred blessing. Food becomes a way to interpret the world as flavours, fragrances and textures.

The Mahmudabad family is dedicated to preserving the cuisine of this estate. The present Raja, Mohammad Amir Mohammad Khan, insisted upon Afzal sahab being trained in the culinary tradition from a very young age. Still yet, coincidences have a role to play in what is remembered and what is lost of the cuisine.

Sometime in the early 1990s, Raja sahab's paternal cousin arranged a Fatiha on the occasion of his late father Mahrajkumar Mohammad Amir Haider Khan’s first death anniversary. At this grand banquet, influential guests and eminent personalities from around the world graced the Qila with their presence. Having witnessed the days of yore, Mahmudabad at the height of its cultural influence, the cousin desired for all the old favourites to be prepared in his father’s memory. Afzal sahab, all of nineteen or twenty years of age at the time, was still an apprentice. He recalls the occasion gratefully, for it was then that he saw some of Mahmudabad’s most stellar dishes, including Lab-e-Mashooq, being cooked for the first time. Today, he can recreate recipes like Gilani Khushka, a sweet rice dish, in which the rice is boiled in milk instead of water, and then cooked on dum with ghee and castor sugar or, Gudamba, a suji kheer flavored with mango, only by virtue of his memory of the Fatiha.

At the end of my time in Mahmudabad, I realise there is beauty to be found in decay. What survives, either of food, the architecture or even tradition, is intertwined with the lives and stories of our past.

Rohini Sharma is a student of History at Ashoka University.

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