While many of Nizami dishes still exist today, they’ve faded from the spotlight, often remembered only in fragments — like stories passed down but rarely told.
Published Aug 09, 2025 | 8:00 AM ⚊ Updated Aug 09, 2025 | 8:00 AM
A traditional meal, pilaf and roasted meat, served in silver and copper plates. (iStock)
Synopsis: Once served at the royal table with biryani as part of extravagant feasts, the cuisine of the Nizams is grand, intricate, deeply layered — where every dish carried a memory, and every meal felt like poetry on a plate. Nizami cuisine stands out for its elegance. However, most modern eateries fail to capture the essence of the cuisine, compromising tradition for speed, cost-efficiency, and broad appeal.
The first thing Hyderabad does to any first-time visitor, and everyone else, is cast a spell — not with what you see, but with what you smell, the sweet sharpness of cardamom, saffron swirling through the air and the slow, smoky scent of meat that’s been cooking for hours.
Walk through the bustling lanes of the old city and you’ll see biryani — whether layered with tender meat or packed with vegetables — being scooped out of giant copper deghs, steam rising like a genie escaping a bottle. It’s the city’s signature dish, beloved and bragged about, etched into every food map, every festival spread, every tourist’s Instagram.
However, beyond the fame that biryani receives today, there is another layer of Hyderabad’s culinary legacy — one built on delicately spiced Marag, velvety Shikampuri kebabs, and golden, flaky Lukhmis stuffed with aromatic minced meat.
These dishes were once served at the royal table with biryani as part of extravagant feasts in which food was created rather than simply cooked. This was the cuisine of the Nizams: grand, intricate, deeply layered — where every dish carried a memory, and every meal felt like poetry on a plate.
However, tastes change over time. While biryani evolved into a symbol of pride and identity, and in many cases, rivalry, much of what once stood beside it quietly faded away. Before biryani became the undisputed centrepiece at weddings and royal feasts, the table looked different — more varied, more personal.
When asked about what dishes were traditionally served before biryani took centre stage, Sameer, a Hyderabadi resident with a deep interest in the city’s food history, didn’t hesitate — he turned to his mother.
She grew up in a household where food wasn’t measured or documented, but passed down through practice and memory. Her recollections go beyond restaurant menus and reach into the heart of home kitchens — where dishes were prepared with care, time, and intention.
She spoke of Harees, a slow-cooked porridge of wheat and meat stirred for hours until it turned velvety smooth. Of Double ka Meetha, a dessert that transformed leftover bread into something rich and celebratory with ghee, saffron, and sugar, and of Qubani ka Meetha — stewed apricots topped with cream, whose aroma filled the room long before it reached the table.
Her memories reflect a quieter, older side of Hyderabad’s culinary legacy — one that lived not just in palaces, but in everyday homes. And while many of those dishes still exist today, they’ve faded from the spotlight, often remembered only in fragments — like stories passed down but rarely told.
Amjad Lala.
That fading, however, is what concerns chefs like Amjad Lala, widely known as The Biryani Man of India and a former MasterChef India contestant. For him, these forgotten dishes aren’t just food — they’re fragments of a much larger, much older culinary heritage. For him, the real magic of Hyderabad lies in the dishes that don’t make it to every restaurant menu.
“When exploring the richness of the Nizami kitchen, it’s essential to look beyond biryani,” he said, and added: “The cuisine of the Nizams of Hyderabad was deeply influenced by Persian, Turkic, and Mughlai traditions, masterfully blended with local Deccan ingredients and culinary techniques.”
That depth of history and influence isn’t always visible — but it’s tasted in the layers, the patience, and the legacy of dishes many have forgotten. What we now call “Nizami cuisine” was never about just one dish — it was an entire worldview on a plate.
This culinary identity — what many now call Nizami cuisine — is not formally codified like French or Awadhi styles, but has become shorthand for the refined, royal fare once served in the courts of the Nizams.
“These days it’s commonly used in Hyderabad mostly by new migrants who are new to Hyderabad and its culture,” he explains. “The term is also used in hospitality circles—to describe the lavish food once served in the palaces of the Nizams of Hyderabad.”
In other words, it has become a kind of cultural tag — a nostalgic symbol, often referenced but rarely understood in its full glory.
Though it shares roots with Mughlai and Hyderabadi food, Nizami cuisine stands out for its elegance — the kind that isn’t loud, but lingers.
According to Amjad, what distinguishes Nizami cuisine is not just its luxurious ingredients, but its harmony of flavours and refined sophistication. Its unique flavour profiles and cooking techniques set it apart from Mughlai and Hyderabadi food.
This isn’t cuisine that overwhelms with spice. It draws you in, slow and deliberate, offering a layered experience that unfolds with each bite. To understand it is to understand restraint, grace, and balance.
The reasons are as practical as they are unfortunate — time, convenience, and the evolution of urban life. He listed a few dishes that are now hard to find outside of culinary research circles or deeply traditional households:
Among the lesser-known dishes that have become rare today, Amjad names Ande ka Halwa, Mahi Qaliya, Kheeme ki Luqmi, Teetar, and Khuss ka Sherbat — each carrying a piece of the region’s forgotten culinary memory.
These names may be unfamiliar to many, but they hold centuries of flavour and cultural memory. Their absence isn’t just about taste; it’s about forgetting rituals, losing old stories.
Amjad Lala.
While many restaurants today proudly brand their menus as “Nizami,” the authenticity often stops at the name. According to Amjad, most modern eateries fail to capture the essence of the cuisine, compromising tradition for speed, cost-efficiency, and broad appeal.
“Not quite,” he said when asked if these places do justice to Nizami food. The complexity of dishes like Shikampuri Kebab or Dum ka Murgh is often reduced to simplistic versions, relying on cream, pre-mixed masalas, and one-pot shortcuts.
The signature subtlety and balance of Nizami flavours are frequently lost, replaced by heavy-handed spice and oil to cater to modern palates. Moreover, time-honoured techniques such as dum cooking, bhunai, and the use of lagans — once central to the cuisine’s depth and richness — are largely abandoned.
Even the presentation reflects a shift in priorities: style takes centre stage while the cultural soul of the dish is sidelined.
In essence, what is marketed as “Nizami” today often feels more like a performance than a preservation — polished on the outside, but hollow within.
Despite the difficulties, Amjad believes authenticity is still possible — even in a fast-paced kitchen.
For him, preserving Nizami cuisine in today’s kitchens means staying committed to traditional methods, small-batch cooking, and balanced flavours — without compromising on authenticity or cultural roots.
That’s not just advice — it’s a philosophy. It’s how he continues to cook legacy dishes that still feel sacred.
“Yes, there are several dishes I prepare that were traditionally made only for special occasions or royal events,” he said.
“Lagan ka Murgh was served at royal banquets — rich, slow-cooked, and full of depth. A special version of Haleem was prepared during Ramadan in the Nizam’s court, different from what you find today. Teetar or Batair Masala was made for royal guests or hunting feasts. Qorma was saffron- and almond-rich, made especially for weddings. Qubani ka Meetha — soft apricots cooked in syrup — was a classic dessert at celebrations. And Sheer Khurma is still our go-to for Eid,” he added.
These dishes are more than just food — they’re emotional heirlooms, brought out for moments that matter.
Nizami cuisine reflects royal values like generosity, patience, elegance, and tradition. The slow cooking, balanced flavours, and graceful presentation reflect a culture that valued hospitality, refinement, and heritage in every meal.
And sometimes, it reflected empathy too. Amjad shared a lesser-known story behind one of the cuisine’s most iconic dishes — Shikampur Kebab.
It was created for a nobleman who had lost his teeth but still longed for the rich flavours of kebabs. In response, palace chefs crafted a kebab so soft it barely needed chewing, stuffing it with a creamy filling that made it a royal favourite.
‘Shikampur,’ meaning ‘belly full’ in Persian, was a dish born out of care as much as culinary brilliance.
That blend of compassion and creativity speaks volumes about what food meant in those kitchens — thoughtful, tailored, made with intention.
Today, reactions to Nizami cuisine depend on who’s eating it.
“Older folks often connect with it emotionally — it reminds them of home, weddings, or family gatherings,” said Amjad. “Younger people, especially those used to fast or spicy food, are usually surprised. They expect something heavy but find it elegant and deeply flavorful.”
For some, it’s nostalgia. For others, revelation. But for many outside Hyderabad?
“For non-locals, it’s often love at first bite — especially when they hear the story behind the dish,” he added. “In short, once people experience it the right way, Nizami cuisine speaks for itself — timeless, refined, and unforgettable.”
The stories are just as important as the spices — and they often leave a deeper imprint.
To truly grasp the depth of Nizami cuisine, it is best to begin beyond the expected biryani. Shikampur Kebab, a velvety meat patty filled with tangy, herbed curd. It’s a dish that reflects the creativity and refinement once reserved for royal kitchens.
Another classic is Baghare Baingan, where baby eggplants are simmered in a rich, nutty gravy of sesame seeds, peanuts, and tamarind — a reminder that even vegetarian dishes were treated like royalty.
These aren’t just meals; they open the door to a world of subtle flavours and forgotten elegance.
Preserving Nizami cuisine isn’t just about saving recipes — it’s about protecting the quiet rituals that once defined how food was made and shared. In royal kitchens, it was an art form. In mothers’ kitchens, it was memory, passed down without needing to be written.
For chefs like Amjad, the way forward is not about reimagining the cuisine, but returning to its roots — where patience mattered more than presentation, and intention shaped every bite.
Because the most enduring stories of heritage often live where recipes were never written — only remembered.
(Edited by Muhammed Fazil.)
