It was circa 1979 and the month was April, I remember.
I had just written my Class 12 School Leaving examination. While most batchmates were busy preparing for the IIT Admission Test and JEE, my friend Arvinder and I, having opted for Commerce, had time to kill till the results. We managed to convince our parents to let us go on a vacation to Kashmir. So, a few days later we set off on the Himgiri Express from Calcutta's (not Kolkata yet) Sealdah station for Jammu-Tawi. The second morning when the train reached Ambala, we saw The Tribune from Chandigarh carrying the headline -- 'Bhutto hanged, Valley in turmoil'. All of eighteen and on our first long-distance trip unaccompanied by elders, we were certain of receiving a wire from home asking us to come back.
Those were different times. Kashmiris valued tourism and being the start of the summer holiday season normalcy was quickly restored. So, we received the go-ahead for proceeding to Srinagar. But on reaching the destination, we encountered a different crisis. There was a butcher's strike in the valley as they demanded a raise in the price of meat, which the government was resisting.
As a countermeasure, Sheikh Abdullah, who was then the Chief Minister, decided to import mutton from Delhi by plane. But, a good Kashmiri would not touch frozen meat, which they felt was not suited for the local cuisine. Indeed, how can one get the spongy yet elastic soft tennis ball feel of Goshtaba or Rista with ice-packed meat? It is the subtlety and sophistication of the cooking that makes Kashmiris so finicky about the quality. But that posed a different problem for us. How could we go back from Kashmir without tasting the famed Wazwan -- if only for bragging rights?
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Finally, a local Kashmiri Muslim family came to our rescue. They were part of a band of Kashmiri shawl sellers who would go down to the plains in winters with Pashminas. The old man had been coming to our home from my grandmother's time. So, they were happy to host us two boys for a meal at their home on the outskirts of the city. They would go to some nearby village in the wee hours of morning where goats would be slaughtered privately and shared between seven or eight families. That was my first taste of a real Kashmiri meal. Though it wasn't a full-scale Wazwan, there were at least four or five varieties of meat preparations. The old man, his son -- who was our age -- and the two of us ate out of a common heavy metal Thal (or Tarami as I later came to know) ending with Kahwa (the Kashmiri tea laced with spices and slivers of almond). But that was followed by a long hiatus as Kashmiri food was not easily available outside the region. So, it was not until many years later that I truly discovered the intricacies of Kashmiri food.
Ironically, it was the unrest and insurgency in Kashmir that led to the spread of Kashmiri restaurants and eateries elsewhere in India -- Delhi in particular. Chor Bizarre in Hotel Broadway on Asaf Ali Road was one of the first Kashmiri restaurants in Delhi to my knowledge. Located close to my office - it was a favourite haunt in the nineties. That is where I learnt the distinction between Kashmiri Muslim and Pandit cuisine. Though both Muslims and Hindus eat meat and have many near-identical preparations, the latter eschew onion and garlic, which is replaced by hing (asafoetida) and other exotic spices. While the Muslims prefer lean mutton, the Pundits like lamb as the fat adds to the flavour especially when simmered in milk or curd. That's the essential difference between Tabak Maaz and Kabargah which are variants of the same dish cooked differently by the two communities. But the true revelation was the vegetarian delicacies.
The evolution of food happens in many ways. Sometimes it is transplanted from one geography to another due to invasion or migration. Food traditions are carried across continents by travellers -- such as Marco Polo -- sailors and armies going out for war in far-flung countries as happened during the two World Wars. Often culinary trends progress in a continuum like if one takes the case of Biryani, Kebabs and Curries. But the most interesting recipes come out of fusion when there is a confluence of cultures. That is what makes Kashmiri cuisine so fascinating.
Historically, Kashmir has been at the crossroads of various cultures. Even Islam did not arrive in Kashmir directly from Arabia. Thus there are Persian, Turkish and Arabic influences in Kashmiri food. While the Kebab is Arabic, the Korma is Persian. Though the Mughals like Shahjahan also set foot in the valley - the availability of local fruits like pomegranate, apricot and walnut make the sweet Modur Pulao more popular in Kashmir than any variant of Biryani.
There is evidence to indicate Kashmir was connected to the Silk Route via Gilgit and thus brought in contact with the Romans who imported saffron. Footprints of the Indic civilisation can be found right from the times of the Mahabharata to the Mauryan and Kushan period. The impact of Muni-Rishis brought vegetarianism to Kashmir though the residents never gave up meat. However, it increased the use of dairy products like milk, curds and paneer in Kashmiri cooking.
Kashmiri vegetarian food goes far beyond the Dum Aloo and Rajma. The Lotus stem or Nadru is unquestionably the signature Kashmiri vegetable. The Nadru Yakhni, made with yoghurt, looks deceptively simple and can be ruined by ham-handed cooking. But the roots are had in many other forms including just plain crunchy fries.
Aubergines are another Kashmiri favourite. Lyodur Tschaman is what I call the Kashmiri version of Paneer Butter Masala sans tomato and a hundred times more evolved, cooked as it is with whisked curd, fresh cream, turmeric and fennel seeds. The Khatte Baingan is distinctive. Kashmiri Saag or Haak as it is called made of Kale (Karam) or Spinach (Palak) has a degree of delicateness that can only be compared with Japanese Gomaye about which I had written in a previous piece. However, the Knol-Khol or Kashmiri turnip is the staple vegetable of the region. It can be made into a curry by itself or cooked with meat or fish as a great comfort dish.
Kashmiri food is by definition a gourmet affair. The ingredients, the meats and exotic condiments, not to mention the skills required in cooking, make it an expensive proposition. So, it is generally found at home or at high-class restaurants. Of late, speciality cloud kitchens are delivering Kashmiri food on order in a few cities.
Though cities like Jaipur, Bangalore, Hyderabad and Mumbai are beginning to get Kashmiri restaurants, Delhi, understandably, has the largest number. The Bikaner House in India Gate now has a premium outlet of Chor Bizarre. Have heard rave reviews about Maatamal in Gurgaon. Apparently, they have a range of authentic Kashmiri Masalas too. But I have never been there suspecting it could be way beyond my scribe's pay grade.
Being a certified slumming junkie, my haunts are the Kashmiri Dhabas in Nizamuddin and given a chance I sneak into the cafeteria at J&K House in Chanakyapuri for a simple meal of Mutton Curry, Rice and Knol-Khol (Monj Haakh) curry.
(Sandip Ghose is an author and current affairs commentator. Twitter handle @SandipGhose.)