On the south side of the Jama Masjid, you can almost smell the kebabs of Karim's restaurant. It lurks down the first narrow alley on the left along Moti Mahal, a busy lane lined with Muslim cafe-restaurants. The alley opens into a courtyard of humming activity, where every surrounding room is a kitchen or dining-room. So loved is Karim's that loyal customers from New Delhi's smartest boulevards will send their chauffeurs to collect nahar (morning lamb curry) for breakfast. And one of India's top artists, Hussain, designed its visiting card, adding the motto 'secret of good mood, taste of Karim's food'.
Karim's is an all-day theatre run by the grandsons and great-grandsons of the founder, Hafiz Karimuddin. Doors open at 7 am for hearty breakfasts, when the alternative to nahar is paye (lamb's trotters) and hhameeri roti, a special bread left to ferment overnight. Vegetarians would be horrified, for this is just the beginning. When the show ends, around midnight, the day's 3,000 customers will have chewed their way through more than 300 kilos (660 pounds) of mutton and 150 chickens.
As business hots up, a portly chef squats on the stage-like stone platform of the courtyard to stir his brews of kidneys, mutton, beans, potatoes and brains, each potion bubbling in a huge bulbous pot. On the other side of the courtyard, a boy kneads spiced and minced meat onto thick kebab sticks and lays them over glowing coals. The five dining-rooms include one overlooking the courtyard and another at the far end decorated with tiles and patronized by locals. They may start with some seehh or shami kebabs before tucking into a plate of firdausi gorma (lamb curry) and sheermal, an unusual leavened bread. Others go for the badam pasanda, a very aromatic lamb dish, and a rogani naan. But for offal lovers, the most succulent dish is the soft sheep's brains curry.
Then there are the breads. Out in the courtyard, a young lad confidently performs his trick of hurling roomali (handkerchief) roti dough into the air, then nimbly lays the transparent skin on a large, circular convex hot griddle, flipping it over after a few seconds and then quickly folding it up ready for delivery. In one dark room behind, strong-armed men knead dough. In another, younger men skilfully flip and stretch pieces into oblongs, slapping each onto the side of a red hot clay tandoor oven built dowri into the ground. In another kitchen a special iron tandoor, found only in Muslim Kitchens and even trickier to control than a clay one, gives the naan and Kulcha breads an extra crispness and dark colour.
Each chef is fascinating to watch. Little has changed since the time of Hafiz Karimuddin. The only sop to the 20th century is the electric paging system for the waiters to give orders and to be notified when the food is ready. And no one minds if you poke your nose into all the rooms before deciding where to sit and what to order.
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