“I will have four kebabs, two parathas and half biryani,” a lady orders without looking at the menu. “Two half biryanis to eat and four kebabs and two parathas to pack,” echoes a voice from the next table. “Bhaiya do plate biryani pack aur kebab parathe khane ke liye,” says the person behind me. A quick glance reveals that every table has at least two things in common.
“Young and old, rich and poor, locals and outsiders, they all come here for only two things: kebabs and biryani,” says Pallavi Singh, a public school teacher who grew up in the city and visits the place whenever she is back, “Tunday, after all, makes the best kebabs and biryani in the whole world.”
If you haven’t guessed yet, we are in Lucknow, sitting inside the humble restaurant that has been serving exceptional food for over 100 years. To call Tunday Kababi a restaurant, however, will not be entirely correct, for it is much more than just a restaurant or an eatery: it is an institution, a culinary tradition, and most importantly, a way of life for the people in the city.
Nawabi nuance
The story of Lucknow’s Tunday Kababi has been repeated hundreds of times. Everyone who knows of the galawati kebabs knows that the royal cooks of Asaf-ud-Daula created them when the Nawab began losing his teeth and could not chew the tougher meat dishes. It was then, on his behest, that Haji Murad Ali created these melt-in-your-mouth kebabs.
Over a century later, while the Nawabs are long gone, these velvety wonders continue to win people over.
All the action in Tunday Kababi is concentrated outside the shop, where about half a dozen men are always busy turning kebabs on large griddles.
Another half a dozen ferry them inside to the restaurant, and many more are forever packing them in small cardboard boxes lined with foil and branded with a picture of Lucknow’s famous Rumi Darwaza.
Such is their speed that the entire griddle empties out before one can even focus the camera. On a separate stove, a middle-aged man makes rumali rotis.
He flips the dough with the ease of a juggler and sets it upon an upturned wok, then, to convert it into a paratha, slathers on some oil and presses it over the wok with swift movements. The air around him is laden with the smoke of the burning ghee; the atmosphere is heavy with the scent of sizzling kebabs.
Across generations
There are currently two branches of the restaurant, managed by the son and grandsons of the founder, who was popularly known by his nickname, Tunday Kababi.
“The original shop of Tunday Kababi is in the gullies of the market place at Chowk in Aminabad. That is where Haji Ali started selling these kebabs. This one was set up in the same locality in 1996 by his successors Usman Ali and Rizwan Ali, and offers a fine-dining experience.
Famous personalities, film stars, politicians, and foreigners, come here all the time,” says Shubham, the cashier, pointing to a wall lined with pictures of celebrities.
The place needs no celebrity endorsement, though, for its food speaks for itself.
Flavour on the platter
The legendary galawati kebabs at Tunday are so soft that they lose half their form by the time they reach your table, and the rest goes when you pick them up. The bite of the paratha perfectly balances the smoothness of the kebabs; sliced onions and lime add zing. Together, it is a match made in heaven. The biryani, on the other hand, is delicate and fragrant. Every grain of rice is beautifully cooked and full of flavour. These saffron, white, and yellow grains of basmati, are served with succulent pieces of mutton and a tangy, watery raita.
The delicate kevra-flavoured biryani is like none other in the country — and possibly the world, but what stands out most is the mastery of the cooks over the recipes. Kebabs, parathas, biryanis — each dish has a subtle and restrained flavour, and a lingering after-taste.
“Our kebabs use over 160 spices and the recipes have been passed down from one generation to the next. The softness of the kebab and the flavour of the biryani that you get here, you won’t find anywhere else,” Mohammed Imraan, the great grandson of Haji Murad Ali, tells me even as I polish off my food and urge the pathan suit-clad waiter, Nafees Ahmed, to get a repeat of my order — kebab, paratha, and half plate biryani.
In this weekly column, we take a peek at the histories of some of the country’s most iconic restaurants