Lisa Serpelloni, blonde, beautiful and not clichéd, has a question in her emerald green eyes. It’s echoed by her fiancé, Vittorio Vanini, an Indophile well versed with Indian food. Born and brought up in Rome, both Lisa and Vittorio work and live in Manchester, home to the famous Curry Mile, where kebabs are de rigeur in most restaurants. My third guest, Helen Deas, Trade Officer with the British Government and a walking talking encyclopedia is equally nonplussed. As I am.

At the centre of our dilemma is a simple question that is proving to be quite embarrassing. The simple question is what the word kebab means. Rafi Subhan, manager at Kebab Korner, Hotel Inter Continental, Marine Drive, spreads his hands expressively and obliges with this answer, “Small chunks of meat grilled on a hot skewer.”
Nods of understanding from everyone around the table. Sigh of relief from me. A greedy gulp of the Jacobs Creek Shiraz Cabernet and I attack the prawn.
Kacche Kairi ke Jhinge. Prawns marinated in raw mango and char grilled. Full of flavour. Kalimiri ke Kebab. Chicken pieces with saffron in cream and black pepper marinade. My sympathies for vegetarians who will never experience what melt in the mouth means. Kumbh Lukhmi. Spiced cottage cheese stuffed in mushroom. Layers of contrasting flavour. Pathar ke Gosht. Barbequed meat cooked on hot stone. Not so hot for anyone of us at the table.

According to Larousse Gastronomique, an encyclopedia of gastronomy, kebab is basically a dish consisting of small pieces of meat threaded on to skewers and grilled or roasted. It originated in Turkey and eventually spread to the Balkans and the Middle East. The name is a shortened form of the Turkish Sis Kebab, sis meaning skewer and kebab meaning roast meat.
Were you, in your further quest of all things gastronomic, to delve into the American born Clifford Wright’s learned text in A Mediterranean Feast, this is what you’d read.
“It is said that shish kebab was born over the open-field fires of medieval Turkish soldiers, who used their swords to grill meat. Given the obvious simplicity of spit-roasting meat over a fire, I suspect its genesis is earlier. There is iconographical evidence of Byzantine Greeks cooking shish kebabs. But definitely the descriptions of skewering strips of meat for broiling must have been the earliest recorded version of a shush kebab, mentioned in Homer’s Odyssey.”

Our odyssey or journey has led us this far. That is, polishing off the above mentioned starters. As with all civilised dinners, there should be a pause. To reflect on what’s just gone past. To imagine (and secretly salivate at the thought of) imminent delights about to arrive. It turns out to be a delicious pause. The Hyderabadi version of a sorbet. Kokkad kesari shorba is a traditional chicken soup, infused with saffron and black pepper. Joy in a teacup!
Joy is surely what the Mughals experienced very single day. Their lives, at least for those who had the moolah, were filled with feasts for the senses in every single way. Think about it. Wine, music, art, architecture, poetry, dance, women, men too and food were all forms refined towards a single objective. Joy. When it came to food, the Nizams of the royal Hyderabadi kingdom partook of cuisine elevated to sublime levels. Chefs who pleased their finicky masters were accorded special status, their names acclaimed in poem and verse.
Little wonder then, that even today, chefs who try to recreate that culinary magic of yore, are highly sought after. Especially when they come visiting Mumbai, where restaurants that offer authentic Hyderabadi fare can be counted on one hand.

Luckily (and cleverly too), the well-known Kebab Korner at Marine Drive’s InterContinental has commenced a year-long Indian kebab trail. On offer are mouth-watering delicacies like Hyderabadi Biryani, Nahari (imbued with garam masala and garnished with ginger and coriander leaves), Haleem, Diwani Handi and the irresistible Bagare Baingan. Generous platters that defy notions of austerity.

In those aristocratic days, hospitality was not just generous but, entertaining too. Guests would recline on plump bolsters and cushions laid out on plush carpets. Dancing girls (from where the evocative word nautch girl originated) and singers entertained. Servants would come and rinse your fingers with warm rose water. Golden and silver dishes bearing dozens of different Mughlai dishes would be served to the privileged ones. Where have those halcyon days gone?