Latest revision as of 19:01, 21 July 2025

[edit] History

[edit] … and variety

Shreya Saksena, July 19, 2025: The Indian Express

From Khichdi-Khatta to Patthar ka Gosht, what Hyderabadi cuisine tells us about the city’s multicultural past

The year is 1725. It is a cool November morning in Hyderabad, a city founded by Mohammed Quli Qutb Shah. Bustling bylanes converge around Charminar, its tall minarets whispering stories of the Shah’s triumph over a devastating plague.

Beyond the towering structure, a flash of yellow flutters carelessly in the clear, blue sky. It is the flag of Mir Qamar-ud-din Khan Siddiqi, the first Nizam of Hyderabad. On it, sitting between two vivid stripes of yellow, is a large kulcha (flatbread). The symbol tells a curious story of how Siddiqi became the Nizam.

The legend goes that before his rise to power, Siddiqi met a Pir (saint) who invited him to a daawat (feast) where he was served warm kulchas wrapped in a yellow cloth. Siddiqi, unable to resist, devoured seven. Watching him eat, the saint prophesied that he would one day become Nizam, and that his lineage would rule for seven generations. The prophecy came true, and Siddiqi became the first Nizam and founder of the Asaf Jahi Dynasty in 1724.

Welcome to Hyderabad, the city of food

It is 2025, and you are staring at the neon lights of Hotel Nayaab. The lights blink red and green in a steady rhythm, cutting through the hush of the sleepy city. It is only 4 am, yet a line already stretches along the narrow lanes of Chatta Bazaar in Old City. The scene vastly differs from 1725—Hyderabad is now wider, faster, and more crowded–but the four minarets still stand tall. Though the flag no longer flies above, three centuries later, the city beneath remains the same, a culinary Mecca.

Inside Hotel Nayaab, the kitchen stirs awake long before dawn. By 3 am, red and orange curries simmer in giant haandis (cooking pots), perfuming the air with clove and cardamom. On the opposite side, naans are rolled fresh and slapped onto the hot walls of a tandoor.

Here, even breakfast carries the weight of legacy, and flavour can be found in conversations sprinkled with memories. “Isko koi beat nahi kar paayega! (No one can beat this!),” declares Chef Rizwan Khader when asked about the uniqueness of Hyderabadi food. He adds that Hyderabad’s tehzeeb (good manners) and mehmaan nawaazi (hospitality) make food the heart of community gatherings and relationship building.

Food writer and chef Ruchira Hoon echoes Khader’s assertion. She believes that eating is a living tradition. “Isn’t it the only possible tradition, other than folklore and folktale, which has some tangible effect on people? Because everybody has to eat. Food then tells a story of sustenance, memory, and living—a story which is passed down to us,” she says.

The atmosphere at Nayaab reflects Hoon and Khader’s sentiments. Its breakfast menu—Paya-Naan, Khichdi-Khatta, Keema-Roti—blends traditions shaped by centuries of migration, conquest, and adaptation.

Paya is a rich goat trotter stew, tracing its roots to Central Asia’s Pacha. As it travelled east between the 14th and 20th centuries, it took on new textures and spices, eventually becoming thicker and silkier in Hyderabad.

With it comes the popular Char Koni Naan, the four-cornered bread from Purani Haveli kitchens, which is proofed for 24 hours and traditionally baked in underground tandoors. Some are star-shaped, others pan-shaped, each meant for different occasions.

Naan is believed to have come to the city through the conquests of the Delhi Sultanate in the 14th century. The oldest naan store in Hyderabad, however, dates back to the era of the Nizam: Munshi Naan was established by Mohammed Hussain Saheb in 1851. Saheb was a munshi (clerk) during the rule of Bahadur Asif Jah, the fourth Nizam of Hyderabad. When his naan business gained popularity, people began calling it Munshi Naan.

Then there’s Khichdi-Khatta, Hyderabad’s understated breakfast hero. To a North Indian palate, dry khichdi for breakfast might seem odd, but in Hyderabad, buttery lentil rice paired with Til Ka Kacha Khatta, a tangy sesame-peanut chutney, is a morning staple. Even 14th-century explorer Ibn Battuta noted, “Munj is boiled with rice, then buttered and eaten. With the name Kishri, they have it for breakfast every day.”

The exact origin of khichdi is difficult to ascertain. The earliest mentions of the dish can be found in the Mahabharata. However, it became widely popular during the Mughal rule, with Akbar, Jehangir, and Aurangzeb each having their preferred versions.

Khichdi’s hero accompaniment, a sour chutney, reflects the city’s love for tang: a flavour motif that runs through Hyderabadi cuisine. As food historian Lizzie Collingham notes in an article in the Goya journal, early Deccani cuisine beautifully blended shredded coconut, curry leaves, fenugreek, and tamarind with foreign influences.

It is said that the Nizams had a special fondness for breakfast, one that many Hyderabadis share even today. It’s no surprise, then, that the breakfast menu of Hotel Nayaab is rooted in traditions that emerged—or were popularised—in the Nizam’s kitchen.

From royal kitchens to the common man’s stove While paya and khichdi—steeped in legacy and a flair for reinvention—carry you through the morning, lunch tells stories of improvisation that are almost as rich as the food itself. Ask any local about Hyderabadi ingenuity, and you are likely to hear the story of Patthar ka Gosht, a dish born out of royal panic and roadside innovation, dating back to the rule of the sixth Nizam, Mir Mahboob Ali Khan Siddiqi, also known as Asaf Jah VI.

Legend has it that the Nizam’s cooks once forgot their tools on a hunting trip. Faced with hungry royalty and no skewers, they heated a stone over firewood and seared meat directly on it. Necessity became the mother of delicacy that day.

Shaik Shoukat Vali, 44, who has lived in Hyderabad for the majority of his life and considers himself a true foodie, says that Patthar ka Gosht is among his favourite authentic Hyderabadi foods. “I had it in a restaurant called Khan Saab, which I think is closed now. But, earlier, in the Old City, Patthar ka Gosht was never served in any hotels, it used to be cooked in the street—cooked on stones like how it was originally made—and served on the street too!”

As Vali suggests, over the years, food from the Nizam’s royal kitchen has become part of the everyday palate of the common man. Still, the stories don’t fail to amaze and amuse. For instance, Falaknuma Palace, today a heritage hotel owned by the Taj group of hotels, was once the residence of Mir Mahboob Ali Khan Siddiqi. The converted hotel has retained the opulent taste of the Nizam, which is reflected in the Italianate entrance lobby and a library with a carved walnut roof. Most fascinating of all, however, is the Nizam’s dining room. The room features a 101-seater dining table, the largest one in the world, adorned with rosewood carvings and green leather upholstery. The edges of the room’s walls are decorated with paintings of royal delicacies—from peacock meat to biryani. People say that the Nizam would point to one of the 28 paintings depicting various food items in the 101 Dining Hall, and the royal chefs would prepare that dish for the day’s meal.

These dishes can be found in the Khwān Neʿmat-e Āṣafiya, a famous 19th-century cookbook with 680 recipes compiled by Ghulām Maḥbūb Ḥyderābādī, the manager of the kitchens of Nawab Sir Āsmān Jāh Bahādur, the prime minister of Hyderabad state from 1887 to 1894. It lists staggering demands: expensive saffron, special deghs (cauldrons), and as many as 20 ingredients ground into one masala. Until 1948, the last days of Nizam rule, these practices were upheld by khansamas (cooks).

Chai pe Charcha

In Hyderabad, as in the rest of the country, lunch is followed by the laziest hours of the afternoon. But the city reconvenes at 5 pm, when the sweet smell of milk, sugar, and cardamom pulls the locals from their afternoon slumber.

Here, however, tea is not just a beverage. It is a way of being. While it boils over a low flame, stories are exchanged over plates of hot luqmi and bun maska.

Luqmi, a Hyderabadi twist on the samosa, is a square, crusty pastry stuffed with spiced mutton mince—a nod to its Arabic root loqma, meaning morsel. Alongside it comes bun maska, a soft, buttered bun with roots in the Irani cafés established by Persian immigrants in the 18th and 19th centuries. These cafés, born from waves of migration and refuge, left behind not just architecture and tea culture, but an enduring affection for simple indulgences like bread, butter, and conversation.

While luqmi and bun maska are served swaad anusaar or according to taste, the beloved Osmania biscuit—buttery, sweet, and salty—is ritualistically served on a white saucer with the milky Irani tea. It was created during the reign of the seventh Nizam, Mir Osman Ali Khan (1911–1948), when, during a hospital visit, he ordered biscuits to be served to recovering patients. Thus, a soft treat made of milk, cardamom, and flour was born.

These biscuits are best enjoyed with Irani chai, introduced by Persian settlers in the 19th century. “We have it (Irani chai) in our blood, and scores of cafes, big and small, serve thousands of cups of the delectable tea every day,” reads a Facebook post by Parsi Zoroastrians Worldwide. “Be it the Grand Hotel, the Garden Restaurant or the new chain of Niloufer Cafes, Irani Chai drinking culture is deeply embedded in the ethos of Hyderabad.”

Having grown up around Irani cafés, Yunus Lasania, historian and journalist, recalls the signature chai made of boiled milk and black tea liqueur, and the role they played as cultural equalisers. While aristocrats shaped the city’s palate, he notes that it was in these modest cafés that the local cuisine actually thrived.

Vali echoes Lasania’s sentiment and puts it plainly: in the city, chai is a conversation, it is the first step towards forging a human connection; chai is sacred, and so is sharing it.

“One day, my friends and I went to drink tea, and there were five of us. So, I told the waiter to bring five teas. That’s when my friend said, ‘What are you doing? Five teas? No. Never. No one drinks a full cup of tea.’ Then I learnt that if there are two people, order one cup of tea. If there are three people, order two cups. If there are five, order three cups and share. No one drinks the full tea,” Vali recounts, laughing.

He adds, “When you order tea, it is not like you drink it and leave. You can sit for hours in a hotel, and the owners would never tell you to go. You drink the tea. Then, when your friends come, you share the tea with them. That’s how it works here.” Dum Biryani and Qubani ka Meetha: A Mughal legacy After a full day of large meals, it is still dinner when the crown jewels—living archives of the Qutb Shahi and Mughal histories of the city—come out.

Hyderabadi Dum Biryani is the prime example of the city’s syncretic cuisine. The Qutb Shahis, of Persian origin, introduced their culinary traditions to the Deccan, blending them with local spices to create a distinct biryani. Mughal techniques like layering and dum cooking influenced the dish, which was later refined and popularised under the Nizams. Today, the city’s defining meal is a confluence of Mughlai methods and Southern spices: rose water, saffron, cloves, and cardamom.

Biryani’s beloved companion, Mirchi ka Salan—a bold, tangy curry of green chillies, peanuts, sesame, and tamarind—traces back to Emperor Akbar’s coronation. Folklore says that Emperor Akbar’s fondness for Mirchi ka Salan made it a highlight during his coronation festivities. The flavourful curry, crafted from green chillies, peanuts, sesame seeds, coconut, and tamarind, was reportedly introduced in the royal court by one of the chefs, and it caught the king’s attention.

The Asaf Jahi dynasty that ruled Hyderabad embraced this legacy, further enriching its flavours and solidifying its status as a culinary emblem of the region. Over time, the chutney became a staple in Hyderabadi cuisine, cherished for its harmonious balance of heat, tanginess, and nuttiness. Today, it remains an essential accompaniment to biryani.

A vegetarian delicacy—almost as popular as biryani—that traces its roots to the Mughal rule is the Baghare Baingan: purple brinjal in a velvety peanut-coconut-tamarind gravy. “Baghara” means to temper or infuse with flavour, and this dish from Tashkent became a staple between the 16th and 19th centuries.

Another gift from the Mughals is Qubani ka Meetha, among Hyderabad’s most cherished sweets. The apricot-kissed Qubani ka Meetha—made of stewed dried apricots, custard, and sometimes ice cream—is said to be a result of  Emperor Babur’s fondness for apricots, which Hyderabad adopted more enthusiastically than Delhi ever did.

Despite early interaction with the expanding Mughal empire through trade and migration, Mughal rule was officially established in Hyderabad in 1687, when Emperor Aurangzeb annexed the Golconda Sultanate. Though the Mughals controlled the region, their governors eventually gained autonomy, giving rise to the Asaf Jahi dynasty.

From this melding of dynasties and traditions came Haleem, a Yemeni import that Hyderabad made its own. Originally a breakfast for Arab guards in Barkas, it evolved into a Ramzan staple. Unlike its cousins in Kashmir and the Middle East, Hyderabad’s version—rich, spiced, and slow-cooked—earned a Geographical Indication (GI) tag, becoming the first meat-based dish in the country to have a GI Tag.

Migrants from Yemen, particularly Hadhrami Arabs, came to Hyderabad under the rule of the Nizams, serving as guards and settling in the Barkas neighbourhood. Today, this area remains a vibrant reminder of the Arab connection, housing over 3 lakh people of Yemeni and Arabian descent.

Historian and columnist Sajjad Shahid summed up the city’s culinary culture, saying, “Hyderabadis are connoisseurs, and they love their food. They are not bothered about where it comes from. They adapt it to suit their own palate.”

Generations of Hyderabadis would agree.

[edit] Food trails

Rahul V Pisharody, April 3, 2023: The Indian Express

The Charminar trail begins at Badshahi Ashoorkhana, the second building constructed in the newly found Hyderabad in 1592. After a tour of the premises and a peek into Shia traditions as well as the life and times of rulers, the group heads to the nearby restaurant for a bowl of delicious Haleem and a visit to the bhatti (a brick and mud kiln) where the process of its preparation is explained. Sibghatullah notes that the Hyderabadi haleem is the only meat-based food in India to get a GI (geographical indication) tag.

The next stop is Ashoorkhana Naal-e-Mubarak Kalan, a hidden gem from the same era tucked away from the busy street en route to Charminar. Sibghatullah explains the exploits of Mughal emperor Aurangazeb who brought down curtains on the Qutb Shahi dynasty, wiped out traces of the city and plundered the wealth. “A few Ashoorkhanas, Dargahs and Masjids are all that remain from the era. There were several royal palaces and the Ashoorkhana here indicates that a palace used to be here,” he says.

The walk to Charminar is through the pathergatti market which is Hyderabad’s first stone arcaded market built over a century ago symbolising the city’s progress towards advanced construction techniques and the use of modern building materials. While a stop at a tiny stall near Machli kamaan (one of the four archways near Charminar) and an adjoining kebab joint not only offers mouthwatering freshwater fish fries and seekh kebabs, Sigamany adds the archway did not get its name from the famous stall. “It was tradition to hang a fish made of wood in the centre of the kamaan during every equinox (March 21) for good fortune and prosperity as per Persian culture. The kamaan being on the northern entrance was the chosen one,” he adds.

After a quick stop for a refreshing lassi in one of the lanes, the walk proceeds through what was once called Mahboob ki Mehendi, an erstwhile red-light area that was originally known for dance, music and the royal courtesans for nearly four centuries, to Petla Burj for some street-side pathar ka gosht (meat prepared on a wide stone on a flame) and marag (a mutton soup with dry fruits) along with some crispy laccha paratha. Sibghatullah says there is much more than Haleem and the debate over which is the best during Ramzan.

Many of these streets turn into food streets after 10 pm and serve until 3 am delicacies that are hyperlocal and lesser known to the general public. After a sumptuous meal, the next stop is for dessert- Gajar ka halwa with malai. The walk back to Charminar passes through areas that were once a hub of traditional medicine that offered different kinds of pain relief and is laced with stories of a thriving cycle-taxi business that is not in vogue anymore. The walk ends with a cup of Irani chai and meetha paan at a couple of must-visit joints.

The group has charted six walks for the month. Each walk would start around 9 p.m to cover a trail of two kilometres over the next three hours with about eight to 10 stops. While Sigamany had started the secret Ramzan walks in a small way in 2018 and 2019, the initiative took a beating during the Covid pandemic. With the Deccan Archive coming in, the scale and resources are much bigger now, he says.

[edit] Reviving recipes

[edit] As of 2025

Syed Akbar, March 30, 2025: The Times of India

Flavourful biryani and rich Haleem are Hyderabad’s ultimate BFF — everything else is pretty much “baigan ki batan nakko karo (don’t talk dumb)”, the city’s culinary shrug. But the Hyderabadi eating-out scene is rebooting and getting a serious upgrade. A 1,400-yearold gastronomic legacy from the Prophet’s time is shaking things up, attracting both the fasting and the food-curious.


As the muezzin’s call to sunset prayer resonates through the old city, lanes near Charminar come alive. Hands reach for dates, water is sipped, and the Iftar meal — a moment of spiritual reflection and indulgence — begins. 
Hyderabadis are now breaking Ramzan fasts with the same flavours the Prophet relished, embracing dishes that transcend time.


Tharid, Talbina, Nabeez, and Harees — mentioned in Hadith literature and Sahih al-Bukhari — were once confined to home kitchens. They were prepared with a quiet reverence, passed down through generations without much fanfare. Now, they are very much in the public domain, making their way to roadside stalls and high-end eateries alike.
These foods, rooted in Arabic traditions of the 6th century, predate the Mughal and Nizam influences that shaped Hyderabadi cuisine.


But how did these recipes find their way from the pages of Sahih al-Bukhari into the city’s Iftar and Suhoor (also called sehri) menus?


Social activist Zakir Hussain has a theory. “Social media played a key role in the commercialisation of these foods. Since they come with a spiritual touch, many want to eat them. Moreover, all the ingredients — barley, dates, honey — are natural and healthy. And above all, there’s the blessing of the Prophet, as these were his favourite foods,” he said.
Former software engineer Syed Moazzam sets up a modest counter at Public Gardens before sunrise, serving Talbina to early risers for Suhoor (pre-dawn meal). “My mother prepares the dish,” Moazzam said.


Alongside, he offers Nabeez — a simple infusion of dates and water, rich in sugars and nutrients. “No added sugar, no artificial flavours, just the way it was taken centuries ago,” he said.


His customers are a mix of fasting Muslims, fitness enthusiasts, curious morning walkers, hypochondriac eaters, and even the Instagram-driven seekers of next big trend. Some seek the nutrient-packed dishes out for their health benefits. Talbina, for example, is said to be good for diabetics.
The Prophet’s diet, as documented in Hadith, revolved around barley, wheat, dates, milk, butter, and simple meats like goat or camel. Talbina, a barley-based porridge that was a favourite of Prophet, is served with camel milk, honey, or an assortment of dry fruits. 
The Prophet recommended Talbina for its healing properties, particularly in relieving sadness and illness.
 Juice-seller Abdul Qadar has taken things a step further, tweaking recipe to suit Hyderabadi palate. His Talbina comes in three variants — a rich, nut-laden version, a chilled shake, and a warm, comforting drink. “Once people know how good it is for their health, they come back for more,” he said.


Long before Michelin stars, YouTubers digging up overlooked culinary gems, and artisanal food trends, there was a cuisine dictated by necessity, simplicity, and spiritual wisdom. Hyderabad has been absorbing all these trends while looking backward at the same time.


Harees, a dish often confused with Persian Haleem, has been a Hyderabadi staple for decades. But now, it’s being rediscovered in its original, unembellished form.
Dr Haseeb Jafferi, an expert in Hyderabadi and Sufi cuisine, sees this as part of a larger movement. “Revival of ancient foods is a new trend as more people crave healthy recipes in their exploration for something new, and tasty. If there is a spiritual link to the food, it becomes popular,” he said.
Ruz Madani, a spiced rice dish from Medina, is another entrant in the city’s food scene. Rice was not a staple during Prophet’s time, but its association with the holy city gives it a spiritual seal of approval. In Hyderabad, a city that has always blended Indian, Persian, Turkish, and Arabian flavours, it feels like a natural fit. 
What better metaphor for this fusion than the Charminar itself, with its four minarets pointing in all directions, as if reminding that food travels, transforms, and returns with new meaning. Who knew ancient food could be so cool?
Definitely not baigan.


Tharid | Made with bread soaked in a meat broth, typically goat or chicken, and seasoned with spices like cinnamon, and cumin. Veggies like carrots, onions, and lentils add depth


Harees | Wheat simmered with lamb or chicken, slow-cooked until it reaches a thick, porridge-like consistency, and flavoured with salt and ghee. Cherished for its high nutritional value


Nabeez | One of the Prophet’s favoured beverages, it is a sweet and refreshing drink made by soaking dates or raisins overnight, offering hydration and energy


Talbina | The Prophet’s favourite is a soothing porridge made from barley flour, milk, and honey. Rich in nutrients, it was a common meal in early Islamic society

[edit] Hyderabad Cuisine

Culinary secrets of Hyderabad's 7th Nizam

The Times of India

Culinary secrets of Hyderabad's 7th Nizam

The niece of the 7th Nizam of Hyderabad is sharing her family's culinary secrets, and everyone is invited. Past a heavy wooden door flanked by trellised walls, through an arched passage that runs under a ceiling embellished with intricate patterns, moonlight sneaks in through metal bars in windows on one side of the gallery to gently light up art that adorns a parallel wall. Even more beautiful is the gentle tinkle of laughter trickling from a room at the far end.

Inside, giggling children stand around a stern ancestor as she taps an attendant with the tip of her cane, diamond bangles jingling with each movement of the bony wrist. With the end of a rope tied to his big toe, the attendant who was to fan the dining family has dozed off, and although his programmed foot successfully operates the colonial ceiling fan, his snores are unacceptable.

This memory is one of several from Kunwar Rani Kulsum Begum's past, one that was dominated by her grandmother Buggo Begum, the force behind Reza Yar Jung Haveli in Darushafa in Hyderabad. Neither Kulsum, niece of Nawab Mir Yousuf Ali Khan Salar Jung III (former prime minister of the seventh Nizam of Hyderabad), nor her sister were allowed into the kitchen. The family's culinary secrets would only be passed down to the dulhan ranis — women who married into their family — not those who'd secede to another.

Kulsum Begum is a shade more generous with sharing secrets, though. The food consultantwith ITC hotels has opened up a treasure of royal Hyderabadi recipes for a special menu that's being served at the hotel's Parel property until today. "The recipes I've shared are my nani's (maternal grandmother). My dadi was tight-lipped, although I did manage to eek them out of my sister-in-law," she smiles. It was the same with every royal family, says Begum. "Guests would compare preparations at parties, each one trying to outdo the other. Keeping secrets fuelled healthy competition between the ladies."

In fact, Begum reveals, young girls weren't taught cooking. It was assumed they'd have khansamas. "Even when we travelled, our kitchen staff would accompany us, preparing aspread of safari food — pathar ke kebab prepared on heated, unpolished granite," she says. A girl was meant to cook, keeping her husband's preferences in mind. "She may as well learn that at her sasural then."

Married at 16 into a Lucknow family, Begum wrote copious letters to her nani, moping aboutmissing her food, eventually convincing her to share recipe through detailed letters. "Lucknowi food is sweeter," she explains with a warm smile, "while in Hyderabad, we like khattan — tartness — in our food." The ghosht ka shikampur that's available on the menu she has designed, supports her observation. A layer of curd and chutney are ensconced in the aromatic, melt-in-the-mouth meat patty that dwarfs American portions. "You youngsters don't eat enough nowadays," she says, reminded of how her family pampered her when she lost weight around her teens. "They insisted that I do nothing but sleep and eat, and my mother brought me food in bed." Back then, Begum recalls, people assumed that a young girl was thin only because she was ill. Or that the family had met a misfortune. And so, food was rich. "Dry phulkas only made it to the dastarkhan (dining place) when a family member was unwell."

[edit] Ingredients

Mutton (a mix of chops, marrow bones and cubes from the shoulder) - 1 kg Rice - 500 gms Inions finely sliced - 200 gms Ginger paste - 10 tbsp Garlic paste - 6.5 tbsp Red chilli powder - 3.5 tbsp Chopped coriander - 6.5 tbsp Chopped fresh green mint - 5 tbsp Yoghurt - 10 tbsp Lemon juice - 1.5 tbsp Milk - 3.5 tbsp Pinch of saffron Oil - 7 tbsp Ghee - 7 tbsp Green chillies - 4 Cardamom - 4 Cloves - 2 Cinnamon stick - 4 Caraway seeds - 3 tsp Peppercorn - 2 tsp Nutmeg - 1/2 tsp Few flakes of mace Salt to taste

[edit] Method

- Grind the chillies, cardamom, clove, cinnamon stick, caraway seeds, peppercorn, nutmeg and mace to a fine powder. Heat oil in a pan. Fry onions till golden brown. Crush in a pestle mortar when cool. Marinate the meat in ginger and garlic paste. Add yoghurt, salt, red chilli powder, coriander, mint, green chillies, ground spices, lemon juice, crushed onions and the oil in which the onions were fried. Mix well and marinate for about four hours. - Wash the rice and mix with a cup of well-beaten yoghurt. Add saffron and half cup milk. Set aside. - Take a heavy bottom pan with a tight lid. Transfer the marinated meat with the marinade to the pan. Spread the rice over the meat. Sprinkle the saffron milk over the rice. Dot it with a dollop of ghee. Cover and cook, first over high flame, then over medium-low heat till the meat is tender, the liquids are absorbed and the rice is cooked. - Scoop out portions carefully so that the layering remains intact, and serve steaming hot.