It’s hard to do the Galouti Kebab justice in prose. For one thing, it isn’t a true kebab in the traditional sense of the word – it’s not a chunk of meat that’s been pierced and cooked on a skewer. Instead, it’s a flat patty with meat so tender it melts on the tongue like pâté. Except it’s been cooked, low and slow, for hours, and contains a spice blend of over a hundred ingredients. It’s an explosion of flavor where discerning one from the other is next to impossible.
Served atop a small piece of ‘sheermal,’ a flatbread that owes its sweetness to milk and its flavor to saffron, the galouti kebab is considered the precursor to other kebabs in Awadhi cuisine; a cuisine that stems from Indian royalty in once-beloved Awadh of Lucknow.
Legend has it the Nawab of Lucknow, Wajid Ali Shah, had weak front teeth (age, they say). Biting into mutton was out of the question. He told his chef to make him something meaty that would melt in his mouth and not need much, if any, chewing. The chef obliged and created the galouti kebab.
Unbeknown to most Indians, the galouti kebab is a testament to the imperial and colonial pasts of the nation. It starts early with the tenderizing of the meat with raw papaya, a fruit brought over from the Caribbean (and later Malaysia). Saffron, an integral spice in Mughalai food, came from Persia, as did rose water. Cardamom is thought to have made its way north from Sri Lanka. Ginseng from the eastern Silk Route, and deer musk from Indian deer.
Of the hundred odd ingredients, it’s hard to say what came from where and why and when. With Indian history hosting as many invasions within its volumes as it does, it has rendered the tapestry of the past seamless. This is why there is such vibrancy in the origin story of this kebab: no one really knows, so all possibilities (rather than none) must be true. The kebab was even believed to be medicinal by some accounts, sharing roots with Yunani, a form of Persian alternative medicine.
If the latter is true (though I have a sneaking suspicion not), can you think of a better way to cure a cold or a toothache than a kebab fit for royalty?
