Tejal Sinha
tejal.sinha30@gmail.com
The bylanes of Old Delhi aren’t just streets—they’re living, breathing kitchens of history. The fragrance of marinated meats sizzling over charcoal, the call of chaiwalas and kebab vendors, the hustle of hungry hearts chasing legendary flavours—it all comes together in a sensory symphony that defines Dilli ki galiyon ka zaika. And Tansen brought this vibrant chaos and charm straight to your table, curating a lavish spread that captures the essence of Delhi-6 under one roof. Every dish here was like a postcard from the lanes of Jama Masjid, Chandni Chowk, Matia Mahal and beyond-every bite a memory waiting to be made.
As we stepped into Tansen, the ambience wrapped around us like a familiar Dilli hug—warm, nostalgic and buzzing with old-world charm. We were graciously welcomed by Neeraj Roy, the General Manager, who personally guided us to our table and set the tone for what was to come. Soon after, we were introduced to Chef Gagandeep, the culinary mastermind behind this tribute to Delhi-6, who gave us a quick glimpse of the extravagant zaika that lay ahead—a journey through flavours, lanes and legacy.
Our culinary trail began in the hallowed shadows of Jama Masjid, where the first sip of Mohabbat ka Shaarbat felt like an oasis in the heat of Delhi. A tall, frosted glass arrived, filled with a milky pink blend of Roohafza and watermelon juice—floral, cooling and slightly sweet. Nestled within were ruby-red watermelon chunks, their juiciness bursting with each sip, while the tiny, slippery chai seeds added texture that danced on the tongue. It was refreshing, almost nostalgic—a drink that whispered of iftar evenings and childhood summers.
Next, from the bustling heart of Chandni Chowk, came the iconic Natraj Dahi Bhalla. The plate looked like a piece of edible art—two soft, golden lentil dumplings, gently collapsing under the weight of creamy chilled yogurt. Inside, the bhallas hid a surprise: a medley of finely chopped dry fruits that added a delicate crunch. Drizzled with tangy mint chutney and a hint of sweet tamarind sauce, the flavours layered themselves—cool, spicy, sweet and sour—in the most comforting way. It wasn’t just a chaat; it was a piece of history, served with a spoon.
As we travelled on to Gali Chitli Qabar, the Meve Mawe ke Seekh arrived on a rustic platter, glowing like embers. Unlike your usual seekh kebabs, these were delicately spiced and rich with mawa and finely chopped dry fruits—an ode to royal kitchens. They had a melt-in-the-mouth softness, yet the amchur chutney on the side jolted the senses with its sharp tang, lifting the kebab to new heights. It felt like Mughal elegance wrapped in street-style boldness.
Then came the showstopper from Gali Matia Mahal—the legendary Aslam Butter Chicken. Forget everything you think you know about butter chicken. This was no orange, creamy curry. Instead, juicy pieces of chicken were grilled to perfection and drowned in molten butter and fresh cream. It shimmered on the plate, exuding richness and came with a garlicky yogurt chutney and green chilies that cut through the indulgence. Each bite was smoky, buttery, slightly charred at the edges—absolute heaven.
Hot on its heels was Haaji Mohamad Fry Chicken, aka Fry Uncle. The aroma hit first—earthy, spicy, and inviting. The chicken, deep-fried yet tender inside, had a crisp, golden crust dusted with signature masala. It was the kind of dish you’d pick up with your hands, ignoring cutlery and manners, because the flavours demanded complete attention. A squeeze of lime and a crunch of onion and suddenly, you were standing in a crowded Old Delhi street, licking your fingers in satisfaction.
From Gali Imli Wali, we were served Usman Bhai ki Fish Fry. Thick, boneless slabs of king fish were marinated in a punchy spice blend and fried till the skin crisped beautifully. The fish flaked apart with ease, revealing moist, white flesh within. Paired with a sprightly mint chutney and crispy lachha onions, it was a classic done right—simple, straightforward and spectacular.
Just when we thought the bar couldn’t be raised any higher, we reached Pan Wali Gali, where Hilal Bhai ki Mutton Nihari awaited. The aroma was unmistakable—deep, meaty and soul-stirring. A slow-cooked stew, the nihari had a thick, glistening gravy clinging to fall-apart chunks of mutton. Every bite was infused with marrow, spice, and time. Scooped up with a soft, fluffy khaamiri roti, it felt like being hugged from the inside. This wasn’t just a dish—it was a prayer answered.
Then came the Achari Biryani from Gali Haveli Azam Khan, courtesy Taufiq Bhai. Vibrant, long-grain basmati rice tossed with chunks of pickled chicken—sharp, tangy, and spiced to perfection. The achari masala tickled the tongue while the mellow burani raita calmed the fire. Crunchy onion slivers added texture, while the aroma alone was enough to stir an appetite even in the most disciplined diner. It was a biryani with character—bold, brash and brilliant.
To end this royal feast, we were graced with the decadent Meetha Shahi Tukda. Thick bread slices, fried till golden and crispy, soaked in luscious rabri and topped with glossy red cherries—it was rich, creamy, and luxurious. Each spoonful melted on the tongue, the rabri’s sweetness rounded by the caramelised bread. It was dessert fit for a king and a sweet memory we wanted to stretch forever.
Throughout the meal, a basket of warm, handcrafted breads graced our table—each one unique. The Bhakarkhani was thick and flaky, slightly sweet with a hint of cardamom. The Reshmi Roti was delicate and stretchy, perfect for mopping up gravies. Biscuit Roti had a crisp, cookie-like texture, while the surprise star—the Pizza Naan—was a fusion twist that somehow worked. Buttery, cheesy, and playful, it added a fun touch to the otherwise heritage-heavy spread.
This festival was beyond just eating. You travel—through flavours, through time, through stories etched into every galli of Delhi-6. It’s a love letter to the city’s culinary soul, written in spices, grilled meats, creamy desserts and warm breads. A feast like this doesn’t end with a burp—it ends with a promise: to come back, again and again.
