food talk
Riddle of a kebab

Lehab allegedly is a town in Iran or Arabia and this is from where this delectable dish has travelled to the Indies, says Pushpesh Pant

Adoo’s is a famous eatery in Srinagar and used to be a popular watering hole for residents and tourists alike in happier times. Political turmoil in the Valley has wiped off much of its sheen and, alas, the quality of food served has suffered leaving us more than a wee bit disappointed during a chance visit in recent past. But let the laments wait—the place does have a few delicious surprises up its well-worn, what if fraying, sleeves.

Our host ordered a dish that was dazzling and delightfully intriguing. We are talking about lehabi kebab that looks like a pasanda in thick flavourful gravy, which is aromatic and sauce like. Regrettably, neither the kitchen brigade nor the service staff at the restaurant could shed any light on the delicacy. Ever since, we have been quizzing—without much success—our Kashmiri and usually knowledgeable non-Kashmiri ‘foodie’ friends about it.

Our restlessness has increased even more after a second encounter with the lehabi in a small faceless Muslim eatery in Jammu. There, too, the kebab tasted great but no one could explain its name or trace its origins. Let us share with you, dear readers, all that we have been able to gather (but not verify or confirm) from diverse sources: Lehab allegedly is a town in Iran or Arabia and this is from where this delectable dish has travelled to the Indies. The word is a corruption of loab that means a thick creamy sauce draping the main ingredient—remember the ubiquitous paneer or murgh loabdaar? Good friend Noorin Khan, at present teaching Spanish at Jamia Millia, has helpfully chipped in with the info that lehab translates as fibre and a pounded fillet, exposing the fibrous tissue, can legitimately be christened lehabi.

The only trouble is that the word is missing in the Urdu lugat (dictionary). The riddle remains unsolved but we are glad to report that our efforts to ‘reverse engineer’ the delicacy at home with generous help from friends have succeeded to a large extent. Rashmi Dar and Indrajit have somehow managed to ‘recreate’ the lehabi without using the traditional wooden mallet employed to produce the gushtaba. Try out the recipe for yourself and do let us know if you have a clue about why the lehabi is called a lehabi.

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