I once travelled to Turkey with my mother and sister. In a tiny shop, the two of them were chatting in Kashmiri, debating how much baklava to buy. The shopkeeper overheard them and walked over, intrigued and slightly amused.
He wanted to know what language we were speaking, because our Kashmiri Pandit dialect sounded so much like Turkish that, for a moment, he thought we were speaking his own tongue. He couldn’t understand a single word, of course, but the familiarity in its cadence fascinated him.
That small exchange stayed with me. It made me realise how little the world knows about this rich cultural community that has been permanently displaced. And when you have no physical homeland to return to, holding on to your roots becomes an even more delicate, almost urgent, act.
When we think of Kashmiri food, dishes like Rogan Josh or the elaborate Wazwan come to mind. Little do people know that Kashmiri cuisine goes far beyond that, with distinct cooking styles that reflect the region’s diverse communities and cultural identity. The reason why I write this is that I am a Kashmiri Pandit, and I feel the cuisine I have grown up with is not part of the mainstream narrative. I do not plan on rehashing the history of my people and the exodus. However, it is essential to acknowledge how Kashmiri Hindus and Muslims have shaped the Kashmiri Cuisine.
But what exactly is the Kashmiri Pandit cuisine? And how different is it from the Kashmiri Muslim style of cooking?
I grew up surrounded by my maternal family, and food played a central role in our lifestyle and religious practices. My nani (grandmother) lived right above us (she is 95 years old and going strong), and every weekend I spent time with her and learnt about more than just food. These were lessons about the customs that shaped our cuisine.
From learning that slow-cooking is the secret to creating magic to why onions and garlic never entered her kitchen, I grew up understanding that food carries both faith and memory.
The core concept of this cuisine is the absence of the holy trinity of onions, garlic, and tomatoes, which is a departure from the typical preparation of North Indian food. The flavours of the dishes are rooted in dry spices that can withstand the long, cold winters. So, next time someone serves you ‘Kashmiri Dum Aloo’ with tomatoes, you know better than to believe that it’s authentic.
There is a community of Pandits that follows a diet rich in meat! Many people find this hard to accept, often dismissing it altogether, which in turn erases a part of our identity. But the truth is simple: non-vegetarian food has always been integral to our culture, with festivals such as Gaad-Batt and Khech Mavas, where fish and mutton are offered to the deities and later shared as prasad.
Mutton is a favourite for every Kashmiri; it’s the meat we grew up with. Kashmiri Pandit cuisine relies heavily on mutton, utilising every part of the meat, including the kidney. Some popular Kashmiri mutton dishes are Rogan Josh, Yakhni, Kabargah and Kaliya. While Kashmiri Muslim cuisine includes beef, for the Pandits, the cow is considered a sacred animal.
River fish, such as trout and rohu, also play a central role in the cuisine, with an entire festival (‘Gaad Baat’) dedicated to eating a Kashmiri delicacy: fish and radish curry called Muji Gaad, served with rice. Chicken is not traditionally part of Kashmiri Pandit cuisine, and therefore, you will not find any authentic dishes featuring it.
The Kashmiri bakery, or the Kandur, played a huge role in the erstwhile life in the valley.
The Kashmiri roti is distinctly different from the roti most Indians are familiar with, as it is essentially a thick, flatbread. We have the Girda, Lavasa, Roth, Telvor, Katlam and more.Each bread has its moment in the Kashmiri day. Girda is a breakfast staple, best enjoyed with a hot cup of kehwa, while the flaky Katlam makes for a perfect evening bite. Roth, our celebratory bread, is the sweetest of them all, treated almost like a mithai, gifted at weddings, and shared as prasad during festivals.
The high-altitude terrain and cold climate of Kashmir didn’t allow for abundant vegetation to thrive, shaping instead a distinctive repertoire of produce that defines the region’s palate. Beyond the familiar spinach we cook with, Kashmir’s everyday table leans on Haakh (Kashmiri collard greens), Nadru (lotus stem), Gogj (turnip), Monje (kohlrabi and its leaves) and Sochal (mallow leaves). These are ingredients that, over generations, have become markers of identity as much as sustenance.
It is to preserve this fragile culinary lineage that Chef Nalini Sadhu opened her restaurant Matamaal. What began in her own kitchen as a small initiative to serve displaced Kashmiri Pandits the familiar taste of home-cooked food has now grown into a community landmark.
“For a long time, I wondered why there was less awareness of our food and how it had almost disappeared from the Valley. Tourists visiting Kashmir rarely encounter this part of its soul. Matamaal was born out of that longing to preserve and share a heritage that lives through taste and memory,” she tells me.
“Matamaal” means Nani’s home in Kashmiri — a word thick with warmth, lineage, and nostalgia. Nalini imagined the space as a refuge where Kashmiri Pandits could gather and experience a small, living reminder of the Valley they were forced to leave behind. “Kashmiri Pandit food has always been a way of remembering a world that was once ours. Over centuries, this cuisine has evolved to celebrate the produce, the seasons, the rituals, and the quiet grace of Kashmiri life.”
Kashmiri Pandit cuisine today stands at a delicate crossroads. Its survival depends on those willing to nurture it, to cook its dishes, honour its rituals, and pass down its wisdom. In preserving these flavours, the community preserves far more than recipes; it safeguards a cultural inheritance shaped by love, loss, resilience, and an unbroken connection to the Valley that lives on in every kitchen.
