At the Heritage Gathering hosted by Ikk Panjab, Connaught Place, the air was thick with nostalgia — and the aroma of curiosity.
When archaeologist and culinary anthropologist Dr Kurush Dalal took the stage, he didn’t just talk about food; he peeled back centuries of flavour, myth, and migration to reveal a truth often ignored in our search for “authentic” Punjabi cuisine.“Most people think Punjabis wake up and brush their teeth in butter chicken gravy,” he said to much laughter. What we call “traditional” Punjabi food, he said, was a product of evolution — shaped by invasions, trade, colonisation, and displacement. “There was no makki di roti or sarson da saag in the Harappan period,” he said. “Maize came to India only in the colonial era. The farmers of ancient Punjab ate jau di roti with saag — it was practical, local, and rooted in what they had.” That blend of practicality and adaptability, he said, is what defines the Punjabi palate.
Long before butter and cream became culinary emblems of abundance, the early settlers along the Indus and its tributaries ate modest meals built around barley, lentils, and seasonal greens. “These were people of the soil,” he noted. “Their authenticity came from survival, not spectacle.”
Taboo to tradition
Milk, too, entered the Punjabi kitchen, first as medicine “because we saw calves recovering after illness. Over generations, that habit became cultural”. From thereon, began the region’s love affair with dairy — from dahi and ghee to paneer and butter, each transformation a story of adaptation disguised as tradition.
The conversation turned meatier — literally — when Dr. Dalal discussed how chicken, today synonymous with Punjabi cuisine, was once considered impure by many. “It was a taboo meat,” he said. “Only in the 20th century did it begin to appear on menus, thanks to urbanisation and changing social structures.” And then came the tale that stitched together loss and reinvention — the birth of butter chicken, a dish born not from indulgence but from necessity. To prevent leftover tandoori chicken from drying out, an immigrant cook — displaced by Partition — simmered it in a buttery tomato gravy, turning survival into innovation. The result was an icon that would go on to define an entire cuisine. Butter chicken, he said, is not ancient, but authentic in spirit — born of crisis, creativity, and resilience.
Partition, an influencer
Dr. Dalal also reflected on how Partition reshaped Punjab’s culinary landscape, displacing millions and scattering their kitchens across borders. Refugees brought their recipes and techniques to new cities, blending memory with resourcefulness. In Delhi, Amritsar, and beyond, roadside dhabas run by these families made hearty food accessible to all. “The tandoor, once a community oven, became portable — it moved from village courtyards to street corners,” he explained. These refugee-run establishments not only preserved flavours of the past but also gave Punjabi cuisine a new identity that resonated across India.
He also traced the British influence, noting how colonialism left behind new ingredients, habits, and hybrids. The British introduced baking, tea culture, and a taste for custards and puddings — influences that seeped into Punjabi homes. “We borrowed, adapted, and made them ours,” he said. “That’s the Punjabi way — nothing stays foreign for long.”
Tasting pre-history
In one of the talk’s most fascinating turns, Dr. Dalal connected this modern cuisine to its prehistoric roots. Archaeological evidence of tandoor-like ovens in northern Rajasthan, dating back 4,000 years, suggests that the Harappans may have baked their rotis in similar structures. “So the next time you eat a tandoori naan,” he said, smiling, “remember — you’re tasting prehistory.” As Dr. Dalal concluded, one truth lingered: “Punjab’s food story isn’t frozen in ghee. It’s alive — it moves with time, it absorbs, and it thrives.”
In a world obsessed with “authentic” flavours, his words served up the most delicious reminder of all — that the truest Punjabi phrase for its cuisine might just be: “Kindly adjust.”
