Tarana Husain Khan’s ‘Degh to Dastarkhwan’ brings fables, flavours of Rampur

Parbina Rashid

A bowl of khichdi made with urad dal, rice and other ingredients sourced from Bittan Bhai’s shop at Abdullah Hall in Aligarh Muslim University was my first introduction to Rampuri cuisine. My roommate, who was from the town famed for the royal cuisine, made it on a hot plate strategically placed over a brick. The culinary association, however, didn’t go far. I preferred sticking to two-minute noodles.

The image of that dal-chawal concoction comes flashing back as I become wiser to the fact that in Rampur, ‘khichdi in winters has more social life than pulao!’ With clinical precision and humour, author Tarana Husain Khan, a ‘closet khichdi-hater’, presents some intriguing facts about the dish. Her findings are duly peppered with a field experiment in which she cooks khichdi with the almost-extinct tilak chandan rice and the popular basmati to know the difference.

But then khichdi is just a tiny speck in the huge repertoire of Rampur cuisine, though an important one. There are more exciting dishes such as pulao, which the author associates with mourning. Sounds appalling? Well, where vegetarianism is often interchangeable with spirituality, it just might. But Tarana has an explanation: “In Rampur, khichdi is never served at funerals because there are so many condiments that must accompany it (gobhi gosht, saag kofta, qeema and chicken, chutney, ghee, muli achar, to name a few) that it would be a strain on the mourners. So, pulao comforts the bereaved.”

There are dishes that celebrate occasions or express emotions — taar roti and qorma for weddings; kebab plays its part in forgiveness; gulatthi becomes a symbol of first love; qiwami sewain captures the essence of Eid; and keema samosa is the toast of the iftaar spread during Ramzan in Rampur.

A princely state established by Rohilla Pathans in 1774, Rampur rose to prominence after the downfall of Lucknow and Delhi in 1857. It was prosperous enough to attract the fleeing artists, musicians, poets and chefs from the neighbouring states. And with great khansamas to steer the culinary scene, Rampur found its foot in gastronomic greatness. Little wonder then that many Rampuris believe that ‘Rampur cuisine is several notches above the over-aromatic Awadhi cuisine or the opulent Mughal cuisine’.

Packaged as part memoir, part culinary history and part cookbook, Tarana’s painstaking research on Rampur’s legendary food tradition comes alive as her description of each dish has a human face — relatable characters, relatable situations and relatable drama. Based in Rampur, her food memories are as delicious as the dishes she describes.

The recipes she has incorporated at the end of each chapter are definitely worth a try. I have mentally ticked off a few that I would like to cook in honour of my Rampuri roommate who taught me that ‘where there is a will and a hot plate, there is a dish!’