Lahore Eateries of the Sixties

Ziauddin Choudhury

In the fall of I964 three of us friends landed in Lahore, Pakistan, as part of Pakistan
Government’s student exchange program between the two wings. We were among ten or
so students selected from then East Pakistan to study in different academic institutions in
Lahore. We three—Shafiq, Tawfiq, and I—were destined for the Punjab University for our
graduate studies, albeit in different subjects. Our common bond was, however, a friendship
from our young days, and our common alma mater—the Dhaka University, where we had
done our undergraduate studies. But an overriding bond all through the years had been our
love for food, particularly for Shafiq and me. With Shafiq leading, and myself in tow (and
occasionally Tawfiq), we would venture into the new city to indulge in our love for food and
eateries that we discovered through our friends in Lahore or sometimes through sheer
serendipity. The eateries of the sixties in Lahore may not be there anymore, but the
memory of the food they purveyed still exists; I can even smell the aroma after four
decades.

Our first introduction to the food of the historic city came through street foods, more
precisely through breakfast foods eaten by the denizens of old Lahore, commonly known as
the walled city. The walled city, or the inner city, dating back to Mughal days, had thirteen
entrance gates or Darwazas, the most famous of which were Bhatti Gate, Mochi Gate,
Shahalami Gate, Lahori Gate, and Delhi Gate. The gates that served as control points for
entry to the city in olden days later became concentration points of sellers of consumer
items, particularly food vendors. Our first introduction to street food in the walled city near
Bhatti Gate was breakfast sold in one corner of the Gate. The most common items were
paratha fried in pure ghee, paya (beef trotter soup), and gazar (carrot) halwa cooked in
milk and ghee. This came along with lassi and milk tea. The parathas and the paya were
made in open fire, right in a shack near the sidewalk, and people lined up from early
morning to savor the offerings. We devoured the food offered in enamel ware with great
delight completely ignoring the insanitary environment where the food was being prepared
and health hazards the food posed. These artery busting foods were the most popular
breakfast items that period in inner Lahore.

Our next street food venture would be fried fish, believe it or not. This happened because
the chap, a newly found Punajbi friend from our hostel, believed that for us Bengalis fish
was a staple, and he wanted us to know that Lahore was the place for fish. The places that
our friend took us for fish were Mozang Chungi, and Gowalmandi—both near the famous
Anarkali bazaar. Of the two, Gowalmandi was the most famous place for street foods (and I
believe it still is). The fish that we ate in both places was known as Punjabi fish—large
slices heavily spiced and deep fried. The fish was served in paper plates piping hot.

After acknowledging our gratitude to our friend for sating our hunger for fish (because he
thought so), we asked his indulgence to delve into other culinary delights that Gowalmandi
had to offer. To indulge in those delights which were countless, we would make weekend
forays to the Gowalmandi food street. Among the heavenly delights that we discovered
were boti kababs made of kaleeza and gurda (liver and kidney), chapli kebab (coarse
ground beef patti spiced with chili and onions), chicken tikka, nihari (made with lamb
shanks), and fruit chat. The entire street (as also other streets in Lahore) would also be
littered with the ubiquitous juice stands. Typical among the juices were Malta (orange)
juice, Anar (pomegranate) juice, and sugar cane juice. The juice was freshly squeezed for
every order and served in opaque glasses. One glass of orange juice was half a rupee only!

The first restaurant that we visited after our arrival in Lahore, however, was Cheney’s Lunch
Home, a place near Anarkali Bazar, not too far from the Punjab University Old Campus off
Mall Road. It was the second day of our arrival, and three of us had gone to Anarkali Bazar
to buy some clothing and basic supplies for our hostel living. The Bengali friend who took us
for shopping was somewhat senior to us in Lahore experience (he had been to Lahore
before), and when he suggested the name of the restaurant for lunch we took it to be a
Chinese restaurant. (He had pronounced Cheney’s as “Chinese”.) To our dismay, (but to
delight later with the food that we ate), we found that the dig served local food. We had
brain curry, chicken korma, lamb kofta, and tandoor bread for lunch. What a delicious lunch
that was! We thanked our friend, and ourselves that the place did not turn out to be a
Chinese restaurant. We would return to the restaurant whenever we could.

In no time we would discover that Lahore had many more restaurants than we had seen in
Dhaka, some of which were actually were beyond our reach. Of necessity we had to limit
our food and eateries exploration to the ones near our reach, and food of Gawalmandi and
Mozang Chowk. But soon we tired ourselves of kabab and street food, and were longing for
some rice and curry that were really a rarity in Lahore those days. In the campus mess hall
our daily menu consisted of roti and some badly cooked meat lost in a heap of vegetable
mash and covered with flowing oil. Again, our Punjabi friend Shafqat came our rescue (to
whom we had actually stuck like satellites).

Two restaurants that he took us to in search of rice and curry were Rachna and Shezan
Oriental—both near the Old Punjab University campus. Rachna had fixed price menus at
three levels. The lowest, priced at two rupees, offered a vegetable, a lamb curry, and rice
cooked with butter (ghee). The most expensive dish priced at five rupees —pompously
called Sultani Lunch—offered a shami kabab, a chicken curry, a lamb curry, rice and a
pudding. My friend Shafiq was a frequent patron of this eatery.

Shezan Oriental was slightly more expensive, and it was patronized by the intellectuals of
Lahore (poets, college professors among them). It had a long menu, all very appetizing.
Our special focus was always on getting some rice (again cooked in butter), and some
curry. The lassi of Shezan was out of this world.

The fancy restaurants of our time that period, however, were all located in Upper Mall Road.
The names that immediately come to my mind are Shezan Continental, Gardenia, and
Lords, which catered to a more wealthy and deep pocketed clientele. All the restaurants
were air conditioned, and very elegantly furnished. The food was a mix of continental and
Pakistani cuisines. It is not that we did not set foot in those upscale digs. Once in two
months or so we would visit one of these establishments and blow away about a quarter of
our monthly allowance indulging in the extravagance. Shezan Continental had its specialty
sandwiches and its signature soft drink--house made fresh lime. Sometimes we would
order only a glass of chilled fresh lime (costing only a rupee), and hold on to it for an hour
of air conditioned comfort. Gardenia was more expensive, and I think we went there only
twice. Food was mainly continental, with eye popping prices. Lords was a tea time favorite
of Lahore intellectuals. The most notable among the accompaniment for tea there was its
confectionery that included various pastries, and patties of chicken or lamb.

This tribute to Lahore eateries would not be complete without paying homage to the Tuck
Shop (food stall) in the backyard of our Hostel in the New Campus near Ravi canal. Called
Shezan Sentimental by my friend Shafiq, the place was run by a father and son from
Peshawar. This was the only place for breakfast or snacks within a mile of our newly
constructed hostels. A typical breakfast was an egg omelet spiced with onions and red chili
pepper, buns, and tea that had been brewing in open fire for hours along with thick buffalo
milk. Considering the price and the value it offered for money the Tuck shop was a godsend
to us that time.

Much, much later in early nineties in a visit to Lahore I tried to locate the eateries of our
university days there. Most had disappeared including the famous Shezan Continental and
the pricey Gardenia. There was no trace of the less expensive digs in Lower Mall that we
had frequented either. And gone of course was the Khan Family Tuck Shop—which actually
was originally built to feed the construction workers of the New Campus!! The food street
was intact, however, and it had more vendors than our time, with kababs galore. But
somehow I missed our Rachna, Cheney’s Lunch Home, and of course the dirty dishes of the
Khans.

Ziauddin Choudhury is a frequent contributor to the Forum Magazine and Daily Star Op-Ed
page. He lives and works for an international organization in the USA.