Nausheen Tareen, better known as Naushy Mirza, is a biotechnologist-turned-home-chef. A former PR professional, she never imagined food would become her calling. But during a career break prompted by pregnancy, she found herself back in the kitchen, revisiting the recipes of her childhood. "My husband didn’t even know I could cook this well!" she says with a laugh. "Once I started making all the food I grew up eating, he tasted it and said, 'Oh my god, this is fabulous! Why don’t you do something with this?'"
That thought, planted in a moment of praise, slowly bloomed. “I didn’t need to open a restaurant,” she says. “But maybe I could do pop-ups. This food needs to be shared.” And shared it is — on copper thalis that tell her stories. Mirza’s pop-up lunch at Chor Bizarre, one of Delhi’s charming dining spots on Asaf Ali Road, felt less like a curated dining experience and more like a generously shared memory.
Memory making
As we settled in, a copper thali laid with a circular banana leaf arrived, bearing Kacche Keeme Ke Kabab with mutton, and Chicken Shami Kabab cutlets—both melt-in-the-mouth delicacies. The mutton kebabs were made with finely minced meat layered with warming spices like clove, and seared to a golden brown. The chicken shami, a blend of minced chicken and lentils, was slow-cooked and subtly spiced. Served with puffy, chewy ajwain poori—an odd but satisfying combination.
“As a kid, this used to be my weekly lunch—poori and kebab,” recalls Delhi-based home chef Naushy Mirza. “We didn’t eat out much. Family picnics at India Gate or long train journeys meant we needed food that wouldn’t spoil easily. Poori and kebab became our go-to.”
Between our conversation, we sipped a chilled glass of sour-spiced aam panna topped with a crunchy mango slice—an ode to summer.
The main course at this pop-up included a gently spiced Chicken Stew, Mutton Hari Mirchein Keema slow-cooked to tenderness, Shahi Paneer in a stew of onions and cream, and Shahi Chana Dal—creamy chickpeas in a spiced, tangy gravy. These were served alongside fragrant Mutton Yakhni Pulao and Roghni Tikkia, a Pakistani-style flatbread.
Each dish complemented the next—a hallmark of Lucknowi cuisine where no spice or ingredient overshadows the whole. “Nothing is overtly spicy. The dishes are perfectly tempered, with a lot of dum-style cooking, a lot of simmering and roasting, and nothing is going to stand out in terms of masalas.”
Food and family
Family is the backbone of Mirza’s cooking. Her mother and grandmother often cooked for their large family during Eid. “My nani used to host without a reason. She just loved feeding people. My mother was the same,” she says. “That love for food and hospitality—it’s what I’ve inherited.”
What Mirza brings to the table is nostalgia layered with comfort. “This is the food I grew up eating, so it carries that emotional weight,” she says. But not all recipes have survived. “My mother has forgotten a lot,” Naushy says. “Even when she tries to remember, she struggles. I’m trying to archive what I can now. It’s hard, but it feels necessary.”
For Mirza, food is both preservation and performance. She often feels the responsibility to keep her culinary heritage alive. “Sometimes things are lost over the years,” she says. “But it's our responsibility to preserve as much as possible and keep sharing those experiences—because otherwise, it’ll all fade away.”
“Take Roghni Tikkia, for instance—a thin flatbread from Pakistan that was also prepared by Lucknowi families,” she says. “Hardly anyone makes it anymore. It’s meant to be eaten with rich gravies—it brings balance. But it’s a slow, dying recipe.”
Even something as simple as keema carries stories that risk being erased. “Traditionally, it’s made with karonde—those small tart berries. The dish is actually called hari mirch karonde keema. But karonde is disappearing. You rarely find it in the markets now," says Mirza.
Recreating traditional recipes in commercial kitchens also brings its challenges: “Roghni Tikkia needs gentle heat to get that perfect crispy-chewy texture. Restaurant stoves are too strong—it’s hard to replicate. But you push through. Because what you’re doing is bigger than just food. You’re bringing culture, memory, and legacy to the table.”
As for what’s next, she’s taking it slow. “Maybe a restaurant, maybe a cookbook, maybe more pop-ups—who knows?” she says. “But right now, I’m happy to keep sharing. I want those who come here to feel like they’ve eaten something they won’t get anywhere else. To carry that warmth home, and look forward to the next time.” Because at Mirza’s table, food isn’t just eaten— but remembered, revived, and re-lived.