The ‘City of Pearls’ has its own rich and unique culinary culture that’s a delicious and mouthwatering blend of Nizami, Turkish, Mughlai, Arabic, Deccani and local Telugu cuisine. Designated a UNESCO Creative City of Gastronomy in 2019, it’s no wonder that Hyderabad is often introduced through its food.Visitors arrive with lists scribbled in their heads like biryani at lunch, kebabs by evening, haleem if it is Ramzan, and Sheer Khurma or Qubani ka Meetha when sweetness is needed.These dishes still thrive, proudly holding their place on menus and wedding tables. But somewhere between the loud popularity of biryani and the steady rise of global flavours, a quiet old non-veg starter is slipping out of sight.The mutton kheema lukhmi, once a regular presence in every Irani cafe and wedding feast, is today harder to find than it should be in its own city.Walk into Madina Hotel, which stands near Charminar since 1947, and the absence couldn’t be clearer. Lukhmi is no longer on the menu. Hamid, the hotelier, smiles gently when asked about it. He remembers making it not too long ago. “We used to sell it earlier,” he says. “But people stopped asking for it. There were hardly any takers, so we stopped.”A few steps away, Khaja Mohinuddin, who runs a small eatery that opened in the late 1990s, recalls a different time. Back then, mutton lukhmi was a given. “Today, samosa has replaced it,” he says. “Samosa is easy to sell, easy to store. Lukhmi goes stale quickly. Sellers and customers have both moved on.”Even at Shadab, known for its non-vegetarian breakfasts, only a vegetarian version survives. That, however, raises another debate. “How does a veg lukhmi even qualify?” asks a regular at Shadab. “That is just a samosa with a thicker crust.”At Hotel Miskeen in Ghansi Bazaar, a server standing outside inviting passersby in to sample its dishes shakes his head when asked about mutton lukhmi. “If big names like Shadab and Nayab are hesitant to risk the wastage of expensive meat for a snack that might not sell, how can we?” he asks. “We are a small place. It is not possible for us.”Is it something we eat, ask bakery staff Move further west or northwest in the city and the disconnect grows sharper. Many residents there have never even heard of lukhmi. Bakery staff, too, are often unaware. At a Pista House bakery in Kukatpally, a waiter looks puzzled. “Is it something we eat?” the waiter asks. “I have never heard of it.”Despite the gloom, a few keepers of the flame remain. In Somajiguda, the Red Rose restaurant still fries a few small batches every morning for a handful of regulars. “Only in the mornings… We prepare very few mutton lukhmis and only regular customers ask for it.”Bismillah Hotel, once known for selling lukhmis in large numbers, now prepares just around 20 to 35 pieces a day. That is all the demand it sees.Those who know lukhmi know that it is not easy food. The perfect one is crisp but not hard, firm yet light enough to break with two fingers. Getting it right begins with the dough. The maida must be kneaded well, firm but flexible.The kheema has to be fully cooked and mixed evenly with spices. The dough is rolled into a large sheet, filled with small pockets of meat, covered again, and then cut into neat squares. The edges are sealed with a fork and fried slowly until the outer layer turns golden brown. Most lukhmis are square in shape, known locally as chaar koni.Cloud kitchens fail to impress puristsNot every kitchen has the patience or skill for this. Some cloud kitchens have begun selling their own versions online, calling it “re-invented mutton lukhmi,” priced between Rs 300 and Rs 600 for three pieces. But purists are not impressed.“They do not taste authentic,” says Aman Khetani of the decades old Cinderella Bakery in Secunderabad, one of the few places still selling proper mutton kheema lukhmi. “Sales have gone down compared to earlier times, but people travel from far for a bite. Once they taste it, they remember.”He recalls a time when lukhmi was a popular starter for small functions and family gatherings. That demand has faded, much like its presence at weddings.Legend traces lukhmi back to the Nizamian era, where it was crafted in royal kitchens for exclusive gatherings. Over time, it moved from palaces to weddings and Irani cafes, becoming a symbol of celebration.Today, only a few families still insist on keeping it on their wedding menu. “Most people do not even try it now,” says Umair Ahmed of Al Maharaja Caterers.Modern wedding menus, of course, tell a different story. Chinese starters, barbecue counters, pani puri stalls and dosa stations now dominate. Seafood has also found its way into favour. The shift reflects the changing tastes and a generation eager to experiment, even if it means leaving some traditions behind.‘Hyderabad’s croissant’For city food blogger Ashfaq Ahmed, lukhmi is rooted in memory. “It was a staple in our Hyderabadi home since my childhood, especially during Ramzan, when my grandmother would make it for iftar,” he says. “The homemade version was softer, while wedding lukhmi was flakier and crisp. We eat it less often now, but still relish it whenever it is made.”He adds that lukhmi was traditionally served with seekh kebabs at weddings, but has lost ground to newer starters and rising mutton prices. He calls it Hyderabad’s answer to the French croissant.The slow disappearance of lukhmi is more than a food trend. It is a reminder of how easily quiet traditions fade, not with resistance, but with silence. In a city that celebrates its food loudly, the lukhmi waits patiently, hoping someone will remember to ask for it again.
