Punjabi cuisine was never about butter chicken or dal makhani

Few regional foods are as misunderstood as Punjabi cuisine. What the world recognises as its essence—butter chicken and dal makhani—was designed in Delhi, not Punjab. These dishes rose from post-Partition restaurants and diaspora nostalgia, thickened with cream until they became India’s most exported flavour. 

Inside Punjab, the food looks unrecognisably different. It is lighter, seasonal, and shaped by harvest cycles and the rhythm of langar kitchens. The global version endured. The original almost disappeared.

How butter chicken came to define Punjabi cuisine 

Butter chicken was created at Delhi’s Moti Mahal in the 1950s to salvage leftover tandoori chicken. Dal makhani is a cream-heavy invention loosely inspired by maa ki dal, traditionally cooked overnight on the village tandoor with little more than onion, garlic and salt. Their global rise came not from Punjab, but from restaurants that built a mythology around them.

One of the first Indian restaurants  abroad, The Punjab in London, opened in 1946 and  served both. Its owner, Gurbachan Singh Maan, had  moved from Punjab to the UK before Partition. “The enterprising Punjabi community travelled out of India and settled, taking their cuisine overseas. The flavours were tweaked, made richer and heavier, which everyone loved, increasing their popularity,” says Amninder Sandhu, chef-owner of Delhi’s Kikli.  

Archaeologist and culinary anthropologist, Dr Kurush F Dalal notes this wasn’t accidental.  “Young Punjabis moved abroad, taking their cuisine with them, modified it and opened up Punjabi or Indian restaurants beginning with London. A non-vegetarian environment in which tandoori chicken and butter chicken became popular, and hence became the identity of Punjabi food.” The myth took firmer hold in India. Delhi shared multiple borders with Punjab before Partition, and the influx of people blurred culinary lines. “There was a perception that North Indian, Punjabi and Mughlai cuisines are all the same. The common tandoor tradition of making bread solidifies this confusion. Sure, they are all made using a tandoor, but they are different rotis,” Dalal adds.

Zorawar Kalra, founder and managing director, Massive Restaurants Pvt Ltd, adds that geography made the overlap inevitable. “If one state shares borders with another state, the influx of people back and forth will be more, weather conditions will be similar and so will palates. That’s why Gujarati flavours do well in Mumbai, Marathi in Goa,” he explains. 

Delhi’s proximity to Punjab, Haryana and Himachal meant shared weather, crops and tastes. Restaurants bundled these overlapping flavours into what they called “North Indian” food and included Mughlai dishes with rich gravies from royal kitchens. Soon, anything rich and creamy was seen as traditional food of Punjab, including butter chicken. 

According to the  National Restaurants Association of India, 63 per cent of all Indians now choose North Indian food when dining out—most of it built on this Delhi-designed template. 

What gets lost about the traditional food of Punjab

The stereotype of Punjabi cuisine as oily, heavy and acid reflux-inducing has become so widespread that it now shapes how the cuisine is perceived even in Punjab. “Even though North Indians only knew dosa and vada for the longest time, they are still being eaten at homes in South India. The same can’t be said for Punjabis living in Punjab,” says Sandhu.“Through the years, even within the Punjabi community, a lot of traditional dishes are today lost. You’ll only find people using a hara (a traditional clay vessel used for slow cooking) or dishes like katlama (flatbread) in villages in Punjab,” she says. 

Some dishes didn’t just fade, they were locked away. The royal kitchens of Patiala held on to their recipes so tightly that kibti, a chicken and yoghurt dish, along with alu bukhara and kofta, have all but vanished. 

This forgetting was accelerated by commercial adaptations after Partition. The state was split, its kitchens scattered and restaurant versions of the food became the default. Delhi entrepreneur Kartikeya Sinha remembers eating what he thought was Punjabi—kebabs, tandoori chicken, and butter chicken—at Pindi in Delhi’s Pandara market for two decades. “It was only when I started learning about regional Indian cuisines in the 2010s that I realised that butter chicken isn’t Punjabi even though it is a symbol of Punjabi cuisine,” he says.

For most people, though, traditional food of Punjabhas been flattened into clichés. Missi roti is treated as just a besan roti, not one made with leftover dal, chilli, dhaniya, anardana and ajwain. Lassi is expected to be dense and sugary, not the light drink made by churning yoghurt until white butter separates and the leftover whey becomes too sweet or salty versions. Kadhai paneer is served as a capsicum-tomato curry instead of being slow-cooked in an iron kadhai, which gives the dish its depth. 

Dal has suffered the same fate. In Punjab, maa ki dal is cooked for hours in hara with nothing but onion, garlic, salt and a final spoon of white butter. Dal in Punjab is slow cooked in a Hara, with a regular tadka, bereft of any butter or cream except a dollop of homemade white butter added on top. “Slow-cooking the dal is essential for the flavours, and was born out of the frugality and a way to conserve fuel. After the tandoor was used to make rotis, the handi of dal was kept atop the tandoor and left overnight. This also gave it a smoky taste. Not every house has a tandoor so it was usually the village tandoor where the women made bread together, taking turns,” explains Dalal. He points out the rich dal served at ITC hotels’ Dum Pukht has little in common with the version made in Punjabi homes. 

What defines the traditional food of Punjab

Much of authentic Punjabi cuisine is invisible on restaurant menus. It grew out of Punjab’s farmland, by frugality, seasonal abundance and slow cooking.

Sandhu explains that sarbloh (pure wrought iron) vessels are central to Punjabi kitchens because they allow even, slow cooking, a technique that shapes the region’s food. Slow-cooking sits at the heart of traditional food of Punjab​. In traditional kitchens, sarblohpots and clay hara hearths were not heirlooms but everyday tools, built to retain heat and coax depth from simple ingredients. Even the kadhai used to bhuno (slow-roast) an ingredient can shape the taste of an entire dish. Dishes like chuara and chironji desserts, kheer, saag, dal and kadha doodh were often cooked in a hara, a slow-cooker that works like a hearth and smoker. Chutneys were made in a stone or earthen danda kunda, where ingredients are slowly swirled rather than ground to a paste.    

Traditional food in Punjab relies on what is close at hand: tinda, bhindi, small karela, and mongre or rattail radish shoot (often discarded elsewhere). It is also far more balanced than its restaurant reputation suggests. “Ginger, garlic and spices make Punjabi cuisine anti-inflammatory. Maa ki daal is a high-protein lentil, there’s whole wheat roti which isn’t fried like a bhatura, the abundance of vegetables provide fibre, minerals and vitamins. Chicken gives a lot of protein, and tandoor preparation which allows the fat to drop away is even higher on protein. It’s healthier when it’s not salted and made at home, and one is aware of the additive-free, pure milk that has been used to make it,” says Noida nutritionist Kavita Devgn. 

Milk has been central because of the access. Lassi, chassis, butter and  ghee are all rooted in that logic. “About 85 per cent of Punjabis have direct or indirect links to the agricultural world given that a large part of Punjab is farm land,” says Dalal. “At least 50 per cent of Punjab’s population is dependent on agriculture for its livelihood. Which automatically links rural Punjab to seasonal availability of vegetables and celebration of harvest festivals.” He notes that this deep link to farming naturally shaped a seasonal approach to food. Even sarson ka saag is not just mustard greens but a mix of other leafy vegetables that grow in the same season.

“It’s a myth that Indian Punjabis eat a lot of meat. Non-vegetarian [food] isn’t cooked at home as much [and]  when it is, it’s mostly cooked by men,” says chef Vikram Arora, who currently helms Mumbai’s Indian restaurants Nksha and Tamak. He  grew up eating turnip dried for off-season, methi, gobhi, carrots and bathua parathas (made with bathua leaves) and pickles made from gobhi or sarson danthal. “Paranthas which are topped with white butter–none goes inside. Sookhi sabzi made in sarson ka tel gives the dish a distinct flavour.”

Arora adds that distance from place of origin reshapes flavour. Mumbai for instance, prefers chhole with onion and tomatoes, unlike the spice-only Amritsari version. “Yet, when the same Mumbai residents have the original preparation in Amritsar, they will like it. But, people have also accepted the inevitable tweaks in dishes when it moves across even state borders. Which is why Mumbai still has sweet butter chicken,” he says. 

Partition reshaped traditional food of Punjab too. Cauliflower, introduced by the British, and soya chaap are newer entrants, while meat-heavy dishes from present-day Pakistan once belonged to the same culinary map. 

“Punjab didn’t lose recipes due to the Partition,” says Dalal. “But certain varieties of ingredients. The chhole from Rawalpindi is considered to be the finest, but that doesn’t mean chhole wasn’t available in East Punjab.”

The cuisine of West Punjab changed more drastically than the East, with an Islamisation that drastically increased meat consumption. There’s no chicken tikka masala or tandoori chicken in Punjab.” Some dishes survive only in fragments. Lahori Sajji, a whole roast chicken, travelled from Baluchistan to Lahore. “A proper one pot meal ideal for shepherds, who would stuff it with rice and potatoes before it was slow-cooked over a pitfire,” explains food writer and F&B consultant Vernika Awal, who has worked on the menu at Ikk Panjab. She has tried to revive home-style dishes like paneer bhurji, saag paneer, matthi topped with chhole, and vadiya, sun-dried lentil cakes used in curries. “Punjabis also don’t cook in ghee but mustard oil, only topping the dish with ghee or butter,” Awal explains. 

For Kalra, who swears dal makhani is still  the most ordered dish at his restaurants, Masala Library and Farzi Cafe, Punjabi cuisine will always be ghar ka khana—dal, bhindi, bharawa karela, kadi chawal, rajma chawal, with chutney, pickles, thick slices of onion and green chillies, and papad. 

Arora adds that this simplicity is exactly why restaurants replace it with richer versions. “For any eatery to charge money for a dish, it needs to be elevated. And high fat content feels good to the tastebuds,” he says, adding, “when cooked at home, the flavours are enhanced using things like vadi (even in powdered form) or garlic tadka. Which goes well with the onion, tomato, ginger-garlic, black pepper, chilli, turmeric, sabut cumin, coriander powder, hing and garam masala heavy vegetarian recipes.” 

What counts as authentic Punjabi cuisine in 2025

Authenticity is slippery, especially for Punjabi cuisine, which began as home food.  In an era where  every cuisine and dish had multiple versions and modern avatars, there is no single “correct” recipe.“Tradition is a starting point, not a rulebook. Authenticity is about capturing the regional pride and culinary techniques passed down generations, but without being shackled by rigidity,” says Radhika Dhariwal, Director and Founder of Passcode Hospitality, which owns Jamun. “Modern renditions aren’t inherently inferior or inauthentic; they just need to be thoughtful. The problem arises when people chase trends for the sake of it without understanding the balance of flavours, the importance of technique, or the story behind the dish,” she adds. Jamun, known for its butter chicken, uses white butter and is strained to give a smooth texture. 

Shantanu Mehrotra, Executive Chef at Indian Accent, serves dal makhani with bacon and butter chicken kulcha. He believes that if the method and memory are respected, reinvention can still feel authentic.  “A malpua presented as a crepe suzette or strawberry kala khatta which cleanses your palate. These are not departures from authenticity, but extensions of it,” he says. 

What complicates  authenticity further is a loss of traditional knowledge,  passed down generations orally. “Women are the custodians of culture and cuisine. If a country keeps the women illiterate, traditions can only be passed by word of mouth. And will always be evolving, sometimes multiple times during a span of 60 years,” explains Dalal. 

Many core techniques are still undocumented. “Basic, simple things like  when to salt a dish or how to  blend whole species [are not taught]. It’s easier with sweets because the halwai’s recipe and process is methodical, if they deviate from it, the dish won’t get made,” says Sandhu.

Even langar food at gurdwaras, seen as a benchmark of authentic Punjabi cuisine, is shaped by logistics rather than legacy.  Most of them serve sabji, roti, dal, chawal, maybe some chaas in summer, and some kadha prasad. “Langar food is a very public representation of Punjabi cuisine, which depends on donations of ingredients or cash, and what’s available locally. So, it’s not the same dal that’s made in Punjabi homes,” explains Dalal.

Punjabi cuisine is comfort — and contradiction 

Authentic or not, Punjabi cuisine has become comfort food for much of India. For Kalra, that means  ordering dal makhani and paneer makhani after a night out with his friends. 

These commercialised versions offer  familiarity, consistency, and indulgence. “Though real comfort comes from nostalgia, the kind of food you grew up eating at home," says Dhariwal. Mehrotra adds, “The warmth of a bowl of rajma chawal, the bite of lachha paratha with homemade pickle, or gur ka halwa in winter, is undeniable.” 

As diners rediscover regional cuisines, the traditional food of Punjab is also finding space. Indians are separating regional cuisine from the umbrella term of Indian cuisine. 

“Indians were quick to judge their own food. Today, Indians are looking at their own produce with newfound respect,” notes Sandhu. 

Traditional cuisine will sustain over any modern variation. “A kadi chawal risotto won’t hit the same spot as a kadi chawal,” says Arora. “A commercial Punjabi restaurant is bound to be successful all over India. [Even] small cities like Tiruppur  in Tamil Nadu have North Indian restaurants catering for migrant workers, local clients and visitors.”

This shift doesn’t mean butter chicken is going anywhere. The numbers speak for itself: Moti Mahal Delux, launched in 1975 by Nand Lal Gujral, the son of the Moti Mahal founder, has over  70 outlets across India. Punjab Grill (2008) has over 80 outlets, Dhaba Estd 1986 has 27 and Copper Chimney, launched in 1972 has over 20. 

“What was invented in India in the 1960s was modern Indian then but is today considered traditional food. What Farzi Cafe is serving today could be traditional in 2080,” says Kalra. Dalal adds, “There are restaurants and chefs who have become famous for serving Punjabi food that  is nothing like authentic dishes. There is nothing authentic about butter chicken. But  diners expect it.” 

For chef Sujan Sarkar, who runs restaurants in Chicago, San Francisco and Los Angeles, that expectation is universal. “People will always like butter chicken due to the tomato, spices (not overtly so) and chicken–ingredients everyone like,” says Sarkar.  

Varun Tolani, head chef at Masque, agrees that these commercialised dishes act as a gateway. “They introduce people to Indian cuisine, working as a stepping stone to people exploring more Indian cuisine. In 2025, when customers want to eat light, healthy and organic at restaurants–which gets through the door. But, more importantly they want food that tastes good. Punjabi cuisine, when cooked correctly, has takers alongside butter chicken and dal makhani, the comfort food of a generation that grew up on Chinese or North Indian restaurants.” 

Butter chicken may always be a part of India’s culinary history. But, Punjabi cuisine will only endure if diners embrace simplicity that has always defined it.