New Delhi: In a letter to his son, the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb declared that the biryani served by his general Nawab Islam Khan Bahadur was the best he had ever tasted. The secret ingredient was the chef’s inclusion of the sorrel flower—found only in Kashmir, says Neha Vermani.
The cultural historian of early-modern South Asia from the University of Sheffield in the United Kingdom has been scouring culinary recipes documented by zealous and jealous record keepers of dishes served to Mughal emperors. Focusing on the cuisine from Aurgangzeb’s reign, Vermani shared some of her findings at an online talk organised by Karwaan: The Heritage Exploration Initiative, a platform that attempts to bridge the gap between academia and public history.
Mughal cuisine, she says, has become increasingly popular in recent years with the publication of books and essays on the way they ate, recipes from that time, and kitchen anecdotes. It’s a misconception that Mughlai food is only meat-heavy. There were khichdis and pulaos too, not just kebabs and koftas. Fruits like pears, melons and pomegranates and spices such as cardamom, saffron, black pepper, cinnamon, and cloves, all found space in the royal cauldrons. In the Ruka’at-i-Alamgiri, a compilation of his letters, Aurangzeb expressed love for qabooli, a biryani with Bengal gram, dried apricot, basil, almond and curd.
In her talk, ‘Books for Cooks, Pleasures for Patrons: Culinary Knowledge in Mughal South Asia’, Vermani focuses on the relationship of the ruling elite with their food, the knowledge systems that emerged from their kitchens, and the manner in which these kitchens were run.
“It [food] is a running theme through Mughal autobiographical and biographical accounts which consistently highlight mindful gastronomical engagement through detailed description about patrons’ preferences for flavours,” says Vermani. Her culinary journeys led her to three cookbooks: the Nuskha-e-Shahjahani, Risala-e Aatim and Khawan-e-Nehmat.
Each of these culinary manuals provides the name and exact measurements of the ingredients used, explains the method including the time required for each step, and the utensils used. “This information is conveyed in a simple instructional language, reinforcing the role of these culinary manuals as practical tools for training cooks who were employed in the kitchens,” says Verma.
Also Read: Momos to gin & tonic—a new Indian ‘food bible’ offers trivia, history. But no politics
Kitchen superintendent
Food shaped the discourse, policy, negotiations and even ties between the Mughal ruling elite and other kings and governments. It’s little wonder, then, that the recipes are so detailed. As Vermani pointed out in another interview, relationships were forged as much on dinner tables as they were on battlefields.
Fine taste was celebrated, rewarded and listed as among a person’s notable qualities. Aurangzeb’s wazir (prime minister) Jafar Khan was described as a refined man with a sublime intellect and the prowess to discern flavours and smells of food, says Verma. Other examples include powerful men during the reign of Jahangir and Shah Jhan like Baqir Najm Sani and Mirza Abu Said who were commended for their “bright intellect, ability to appreciate flavours and for sourcing exquisite smelling food ingredients for their kitchen establishments”.
The household of a nobleman, Mahabat Khan, was associated with delicacies such as pulao, khichdi, and khuska which were created from a fragrant rice variety called Kamod.
The attention and importance given to food in royal courts is reflected in the appointment of kitchen superintendents—they were flavour masters and keepers of recipes down to the exact measurement of each spice. Under the superintendent’s directions, cooks would prepare the delicacies, while scribes recorded them.
Trying to place the period in which Mughal cooking manuals or cookbooks were written can be a daunting task in itself. The trick, Vermani says, is to look at certain ingredients or the lack of them. She uses the example of red chillies, which was absent in North Indian cooking during this time. That becomes a way of cataloguing the period in which a particular manual was possibly written.
During the Mughal reign, the men in the royal court performed multiple tasks. One such example is Nehmat Ali Khan, or Mirza Muhammad, a physician by training, and also a popular satirist, who was appointed superintendent of Alamgir’s kitchen in 1692. Khan eventually put together a cookbook titled Khawana -e-Nehmat, which was a compilation of recipes both during and before his time.
Recipes found in this compilation also referred to men who held important positions in the court during Aurangzeb’s reign— Khichdi Jaffer Khani, and Achar Saif Khani.
Also Read: Move over Old Delhi, Nizamuddin. Jamia Nagar is capital’s new food adda—Mughlai to Lebanese
Nargisi kofta and food today
The food prepared centuries ago tantalises our taste buds even now. One popular example is the Nargisi kofta where a hardboiled egg is coated with spiced ground meat, fried and cooked in rich gravy is a popular recipe even today. Even the British scotch egg is believed to have found its origins in this Mughal delicacy according to food historian Annette Hope.
The kofta has multiple variants from do pyaza to kalia but the ultimate goal of the dish was to create the visual of the Nargis flower on a plate–a yellow centre surrounded by white petals, says Verma.
This attention to aesthetics meant that food colouring was crucial in royal kitchens and even facilitated the use of mercury-laden cinnabar to get a bright orange-red. It is a banned ingredient now.
Vermani also points out that selective vegetarianism, usually understood to be the bastion of meat-eating Hindus, was a method of Sufi soul purification too.
“Sufism and khichdi in particular shared a close relationship. Shah Jahan, and Aurangzeb both preferred vegetarian khichdis during their Sufiayan days,” says Vermani.
Even though the very compilation of cookbooks was an elite act, recipes from the streets— khichdi prepared in Sufi shrines and marketplace kebab—were also incorporated. The authors were catering to the desire to try out popular foods—which could be recreated in their clean kitchens.
Cookbooks continued to be written after Aurangzeb and the recipes evolved over centuries. Now the sights and smells of the royal kitchen can be found on the streets of Old Delhi. Mughal cooks passed their recipes to their descendants, who in turn brought them to the plates of common people. From Daulat-ki-Chaat, a winter delicacy sold from street carts, to kebabs at the ever-popular Karim’s, the vibrant street food culture in the nation’s capital traces its history back to the kitchens and cookbooks of the Mughals.
(Edited by Theres Sudeep)