<img class="left" src="http://images.mid-day.com/images/2015/dec/fiona.jpg" alt="" width="120" height="83" />Sheermal or Parantha? Tunday or Galawati? Kulfi or Falooda?
The culinary conundrum of savouring its aromatic street food would leave us in a tizzy each time we were in Lucknow. All of this was much to the disgruntlement of our hosts who would barely get the opportunity to show off their in-house cook's repertoire; never mind his impressive lineage.
The ever-growing list of must-trys (reccos from friends and well wishers) would tempt us every evening to venture into the chaos of Lucknow's ganjs, gullies and baghs. Nearly 15 years ago, on our maiden visit, this Bombaywallah encountered its unique lingo that ended up as the hook to seek out its culinary treasures. "Would you like to come ganj-ing with us?" a well-meaning Lucknowi resident suggested, at a social gathering. Puzzled, since my lone reference to the term was the humble ganji (aka banian), I managed a half-smile, and chose to stay silent. Noticing my surprise, a friend stepped in, replying that we would consider the invite. Later, I was educated that it meant hopping from one ganj to another - be it for shopping or eating. We took up the offer, for the eating trail that is. Fussing over chikan patterns would have to wait.
After a crash course in Lucknow's nawabi fare, we were gung-ho to hit the road, right away. It was a particularly warm afternoon in March. "You'll get a heat stroke from the loo if we step out right now." Again, we were stumped, only to be informed that it was a term for strong, dry hot winds that lash the Indo-Gangetic plains in summer.
Come sundown, and our summons for kebab kingdom had arrived to Chowk area. Tavas sizzled with all shapes and sizes of kebabs, as the unani mix of herbs and spices wafted through the air. Alongside, parathas and sheermals were flipped off tandoors with lightning-fast speed. It was just another day in a bustling neighbourhood, but for yours truly, it was a celebration of the all the senses. A true slice of the city, a melting pot, served hot, where caste, creed, community and gender didn't matter. With every visit thereafter, it became increasingly evident that just like the spectacular architecture and legacy of its Imambadas (Bada and Chota), the brilliance of the Bhul Bhulaiyya, the stunning citadels of the La Martiniere institutions, and its historic Residency, Lucknow's food was an integral, definitive part of its charm.
The recent developments surrounding closure of slaughterhouses turned the spotlight, once again, on this part of its legacy. The aftermath seems to have affected business and the very nature of the food in these parts. Already, we hear that Daal kebabs have replaced the original meat versions while iconic creations, like the tunday, might have seen bid adieu to its glory days.
The love affair that Lakhnawis share with their food needs to be seen to be believed. Only time will tell if this loss of flavour will have any bearing on Lucknow's unique culinary heritage in the long run.
mid-day's Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city's sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana.&nbsp;Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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Fiona Fernandez: Luck, now?

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Fiona Fernandez: Luck, now?

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