It starts with a pot, a slow flame, and the scent of spices blooming in hot oil — haleem takes its time to come together. The rice, oats, and mixed lentils — red lentils, split chickpeas, moong dal, and urad dal — are soaked for an hour, allowing them to soften. In a large pot, oil and ghee are heated, and thinly sliced onions are sautéed until golden. Ginger-garlic paste is added, followed by turmeric, red chilli powder, coriander powder, and cumin seeds, creating a fragrant base. The mutton is then introduced, coated in the spice mix, and left to cook until tender. Water is added, and the lentils and grains are incorporated, simmering until they break down into a soft, porridge-like consistency. Using an immersion blender, the mixture is blended into a smooth texture before the mutton pieces are stirred back in. The final stage requires slow cooking, allowing the dish to thicken into its signature creamy texture. Once ready, haleem is garnished with fried onions, julienned ginger, fresh coriander, and a squeeze of lemon, enhancing its rich, savoury depth.
For Mayur, haleem was more than just a dish; it was a connection to a past he longed to revisit. After twelve years of waiting, he finally had the chance to eat it again in Bengaluru. But the first spoonful did not bring the comfort he had anticipated. The texture felt wrong, the flavours unfamiliar — it was not the haleem he had once loved. He delved into researching its preparation, learning the significance of each ingredient and the slow process that defined its taste. Yet, haleem demands time, a commitment he has not yet been able to make. Now that Ramzan is here and most of the shops are buzzing with Iftar dishes, CE delves into a bit of the history of haleem in the state, the places to eat, and memories of the Ramzan food. Like Mayur, we can also tweak the nostalgia of the dish.
The haleem hype
Unlike nombu kanji — the rice-and-lentil porridge that has long been Tamil Nadu’s Iftar staple — haleem arrived relatively recently as an exotic import from Hyderabad. As historian Kombai S Anwar says, “Tamil Nadu and haleem have no historical connection. It’s a dish from Hyderabad.”
The year was approximately 2002 when haleem first simmered in Chennai’s pots. The restaurant, Fisherman’s Fare, didn’t just borrow a recipe — they imported an entire culinary tradition. “They brought authentic cooks from Hyderabad along with special copper handis,” explains Anisa Arif of Zaiqa The Spice Store. “The vessel alone cost `50,000. This wasn’t something any local kitchen could easily replicate.”
When Fisherman’s Fare underwent changes, one of its partners established Abid’s Restaurant, which would become the city’s haleem benchmark, shares Anisa. “He elevated it further by adding cashew nuts,” she adds.
Journalist Gopinath Rajendran’s annual Ramzan food pilgrimages highlight the dish’s cross-cultural appeal. “My mother is a big-time foodie, and I guess I inherited my love for food from her. As someone who grew up with many Christians, she’s very fond of hot-cross buns, and every year, I make sure she gets the best ones made in Chennai for Easter. For the last 7-8 years, I’ve gotten her accustomed to haleem as well, and now, it’s also become a yearly tradition to get her a serving of haleem at least once during the month of Ramadan.”
True haleem operates on different culinary principles. Rare spices like shajeera (a potent cumin variant) and kabab chini form its backbone, but are difficult to source locally. “Many substitute regular jeera for shajeera, but the difference is profound,” shares Anisa. The dish’s holy grail is resha — that elusive, stretchy consistency only achieved through mutton’s slow disintegration.
“Chicken haleem is culinary sacrilege,” Anisa says. “It might taste pleasant, but will never deliver that signature texture.” Gopinath sees evolution as inevitable. He shares, “Chennai’s tryst with haleem is quite new, and it’s barely in the last five years that the majority of the folks have gotten a taste of it. We’ve got a long way to go to see an actual evolution. I’m looking forward to a future where we also get beef haleem in Chennai, and considering there’s a major population here who consumes beef, and we already have a slew of shops selling beef delicacies in areas like Dadashamakan, Royapettah, and Triplicane.”
Where to find the real deal: According to Gopinath, the usual suspects, such as Abid’s and Pista House, have been a crowd favourite for the last few years and they haven’t disappointed this year as well. He says, “What came as a pleasant surprise to me were Zaraa Catering’s Iftar Mela in Royapettah and Zaitoon Signature Nungambakkam’s Iftar pop-up. Apart from haleem, they also served a slew of starters and small-bites which were brilliant.” Anisa recommends Fisherman’s Fare, Zaitoon, and Bilaal in addition to Pista House.
While haleem dominates food headlines, nombu kanji remains Tamil Nadu’s Iftar cornerstone. “Every mosque prepares it,” explains Anwar. “It’s semi-solid consistency respects fasting stomachs.” This porridge contrasts sharply with haleem’s decadence, embodying different approaches to breaking the fast.
Yet haleem’s popularity continues to grow. In Triplicane’s labyrinthine lanes, Haleemwala’s Muneer Basha has seen his modest shop become a destination since 2010. “During Ramzan, there’s no space to stand,” he says. His secret? “We refuse to compromise on time or ingredients. We prepare it for almost six hours.”
In a city that’s constantly accelerating, haleem’s insistence on unhurried preparation feels almost radical. As Anisa reflects, “When every other cuisine is cutting corners for speed, here’s a dish that still demands sixteen hours sometimes.” Food evangelist Yogita Uchil adds, “Outlets like Abid’s still adhere to the traditional method of cooking it overnight."
Perhaps this explains its emotional resonance — in a world of instant gratification, haleem remains gloriously, unapologetically slow.