Krishna Nair
August 26, 2025
Old Delhi’s streets are a living archive of taste. Here, centuries of Mughal influence mingle with Punjabi, Jain, and regional cooking traditions from across the subcontinent. The result is a neighbourhood where food is both a daily necessity and a cultural performance—best experienced on foot, in the swirl of spice-scented air and the rhythm of vendors calling to regulars.
The city’s street food scene is not about following a checklist of dishes; it’s about immersion. Narrow lanes open unexpectedly into food-lined courtyards. Generations-old stalls operate with recipes unchanged since independence, while newer carts reinvent classics with a subtle twist. It’s a world of timing and trust: knowing when the kachori vendor is pulling the first batch from the oil, or which lane hides the softest shahi tukda.
The following ten stops, markets, and micro-alleys offer an entry point into Old Delhi’s edible heritage. Each has a distinct character, a signature flavour, and a story woven into the city’s broader history. Together, they form a trail that is best walked slowly, preferably in the company of someone who knows the shortcuts between spice merchants and sweet shops.
The grand bazaar of Old Delhi is less a single street than a network of culinary subplots. From dawn, tea stalls steam beside vendors ladling out chole bhature—fluffy, golden bread served with spiced chickpeas. The pace quickens through the morning, when jalebi makers loop batter into hot ghee, stacking syrup-glossed spirals for passing shoppers.
Chandni Chowk’s food scene works on legacy. Many stalls have been run by the same family for decades, serving dishes that reflect the city’s composite identity. The market’s density demands patience and a good sense of direction; it rewards with the sort of meals that stay in memory long after the spice heat fades.
This narrow by-lane has been the heart of Delhi’s stuffed paratha tradition since the late 19th century. Shops here produce endless variations: spiced potato, paneer, even sweet fillings like dried fruit and pistachio. Dough is rolled, filled, fried in shallow pans, and served with chutneys and pickles on battered steel plates.
Despite its fame, Paranthe Wali Gali remains surprisingly functional, with locals as steady customers. The recipes resist modern shortcuts, and the cooking style—oil-rich, robustly seasoned—harks back to a slower, more generous era of dining.
Steps from Jama Masjid, Karim’s is more than a restaurant—it’s an institution. Established in 1913 by descendants of the Mughal royal cooks, it serves kebabs, nihari, and mutton korma that are both hearty and subtly layered. Smoke from the grills drifts into the street, a beacon for regulars and curious newcomers alike.
Karim’s enduring appeal lies in its balance: the ability to serve hundreds each day without losing the nuance of spice blends or the tenderness of slow-cooked meat. It’s a reminder that street-level dining can carry royal lineage without pretence.
On the western edge of Chandni Chowk, Fatehpuri Market is better known for its wholesale spice trade, but it’s also a hub for mithai (Indian sweets). Counters gleam with barfi, laddoo, and syrupy gulab jamun, their colours as vibrant as the powdered turmeric and chilli sold nearby.
Here, the sensory experience is doubled: the heady scent of cardamom and saffron from the sweet shops mingles with the earthy aromas of whole spices. It’s an ideal stop for a mid-walk sugar lift before diving back into the savoury heart of Old Delhi.
While Khari Baoli is primarily a wholesale spice destination, the small tea stalls and snack vendors tucked between its godowns offer some of the freshest masala chai in the city. Sip a glass while watching porters haul sacks of dried chillies and coriander; the air itself is seasoned.
The market is also a lesson in food’s logistical backbone—where ingredients begin their journey to kitchens across the city. Tasting here is less about specific dishes and more about understanding the flavours at their source.
Evenings around Jama Masjid see the streets transform into an open-air grill house. Vendors fan charcoal fires, skewering seekh kebabs and basting chicken with spiced yoghurt marinades. Smoke curls into the minaret-lit sky, and the air is thick with cumin, ginger, and clove.
While the area is busy during Ramadan, it remains lively year-round, drawing both worshippers and food lovers. The best approach is to pick a stall with a steady local crowd, order a few small plates, and eat standing, chatting between bites.
Though the original shop closed in 2015 after more than 200 years in business, the Ghantewala legacy lives on through sweet makers who trained there. Some operate nearby, producing sohan halwa and pista barfi with the same meticulous methods.
These confections aren’t just desserts; they’re edible archives of Old Delhi’s shifting tastes and loyalties. To find them, ask local shopkeepers—they’ll point you to the stalls still guarding the recipes.
Known for its hardware and brassware, Chawri Bazaar hides pockets of excellent snack vendors. Papdi chaat, aloo tikki, and dahi bhalla are prepared in the open, each element assembled to order. Vendors work quickly, balancing crisp and soft textures, hot and cold temperatures in a single bowl.
The juxtaposition here—between industrial metalwork and delicate street food—is part of the charm. It’s also a less tourist-heavy pocket for tasting Delhi’s vegetarian street staples.
Operating since the early 20th century, Kuremal Mohan Lal specialises in stuffed fruit kulfi: frozen mangoes, guavas, or oranges filled with creamy, flavoured milk and set solid. The result is both refreshing and indulgent, especially in Delhi’s warmer months.
While kulfi is common across India, this version is uniquely tied to Old Delhi’s ingenuity. The shop’s narrow frontage belies the creativity happening in its tiny back kitchen.
Once home to Urdu poet Mirza Ghalib, Ballimaran’s current fame rests equally on its food. Kebab stalls line the lanes, alongside shops selling traditional footwear and optical frames. The kebabs here are more lightly spiced than those near Jama Masjid, relying on the quality of the meat and the precision of the grilling.
Evenings bring a steady hum of conversation, the glow of hanging bulbs, and the scent of smoke that seems to linger in the air long after the fires go out.
Exploring Old Delhi’s street food is less about following a pre-set route and more about giving in to the flow of its lanes. Each turn reveals another layer of history and flavour—meals rooted in place, served without ceremony, and sustained by generations of craft. It’s a city to taste as much as to see, best approached with an open schedule, an open palate, and a willingness to let curiosity set the pace.
