Have you heard of Mutanjan, the dish from the royal court that was once cherished by kings? This happens to be a sweet rice zarda preparation that brings together rice, meat (mostly batair/ quail), sugar, and aromatic spices, that sees their roots in Mughali culinary traditions. This dish is a perfect example of sweet and savoury flavours effortlessly coexisting on royal tables. Don’t be surprised as from meat to eggs and more have long found their way into desserts across India, showcasing a rich and often forgotten culinary legacy.
To dig into their history, we need to understand India’s culinary landscape, which is vast, layered, and deeply rooted in history, with some of the most intriguing traditions having quietly faded with time. Amongst them are a list of non-vegetarian desserts from mutanjan and gosht halwa that challenge modern perceptions of sweetness, indulgence, and comfort. These creations were once the pride of place in royal kitchens but are now rarely seen on contemporary menus.
So why did these dishes disappear—and could they be making a comeback?
A royal legacy of sweet and savoury
Historically, the idea of combining meat with sugar was not unusual. Chef and culinary chronicler Osama Jalali shares that these dishes mostly reflected Persian influences.
“Many of these sweetmeats can be traced back to the Mughal era, where the balance of meat, fat, and sugar reflected the culinary philosophy of the time,” he notes. Dishes like mutanjan—a fragrant rice preparation cooked with meat, sugar, and fruits—were once more common than what we now consider staples like biryani.
Not to miss that this palate was shaped by its time, and with the arrival of ingredients like red chillies through India’s colonial trade, we saw a huge change in how we ate at that time. Indian cuisine evolved into a more spice-forward plate and palate. This resulted in the diminishing of the sweet-meat combinations, leaving these dishes behind.
The decline of these dishes was not just linked to changing tastes but also to knowledge. According to Jalali, one of the biggest reasons for their disappearance has been the lack of documentation and oral history was not passed down correctly.
“It was then khansamas who held all this knowledge, and it just remained with them; no one documented or shared their recipes,” he explains. Moreover, these were complex dishes and time-consuming too. These exotic preparations were mostly guarded as culinary secrets within royal households. Due to a lack of written records or widespread teaching, they never transitioned into everyday cooking. These desserts required hours of preparation and involved intricate techniques. Gosht halwa, for instance, took almost up to eight hours to prepare. And given today’s time, it’s clear why modern diners are more inclined towards quicker, more familiar desserts.
Home Chef Sheeba Iqbal, who runs an Awadhi home-dining restaurant, Naimat Khana in Lucknow, adds another layer to this perspective. “Indian sweets are often tied to festivals and rituals, where vegetarian options dominate,” she says. The cultural association of desserts with purity and celebration further distanced meat-based sweets from the mainstream.
Curious yet cautious modern diner
Despite these sweetmeats not being on every day's plate, they still create a sense of curiosity amongst today’s diners. Author and Chef Sadaf Hussain believes that modern audiences are more open than ever to experimentation.
“Diners today are far more open to experimentation… there’s a growing fatigue around eating the same dishes repeatedly,” he explains. In a world of repetitive menus and predictable flavours, something as unconventional as egg halwa or bone marrow kheer can feel exciting.
However, openness does not always translate into acceptance. “Simply serving such dishes may not always resonate,” he adds. The key lies in storytelling, along with explaining the context, history, and technique behind the dish. It’s only when diners understand what they are eating that they end up appreciating it. One needs to remember that today’s diners are not just looking for food—they are looking for experiences.
Reinterpretation vs preservation
In a culinary world driven by innovation, the question arises—should these dishes be modernised? For Sadaf Hussain, the answer is nuanced. “I don’t believe everything needs to be modernised,” he says. Reinterpretation, if done carelessly, can strip a dish of its identity.
Instead, his approach is to refine rather than reinvent. “If a dish is overly sweet, I would balance the sugar. I might also add a complementary element… to enhance the experience,” he explains. For example, when you are pairing an egg halwa with something like smooth cream can create a more balanced texture without altering the essence of the dish.
It's always blending the old with the new technique as we make subtle adjustments for contemporary palates and avoid the trap of gimmicky presentation.
Chefs as custodians of culinary heritage
At the heart of this revival lies a chef who is not just as a creator, but also a custodian of culinary heritage. “The role of a chef truly comes into play here,” says Sadaf. “It’s us who are custodians of such culinary knowledge, and this responsibility extends much beyond cooking to preserving, sharing, and communicating traditions.”
Sadaf feels that one effective way this could be done is through various cultural pop-ups and curated dining experiences. These showcase the exclusives, unlike the regular menus. Moreover, pop-ups create a sense of occasion and curiosity, encouraging diners to step out of their comfort zones. Equally important is dialogue. Building awareness and intrigue, as Hussain adds, “You need to start talking so that people engage and start wondering… and want to try them,” he explains.
We all see that not just such exquisite recipes but many more traditional recipes have remained confined to some select circles, limiting their reach. “People from the royal household should come forward and promote them, share recipes, and feed them to others,” he emphasises. Without this exchange, these traditions will be at risk of being lost forever.
Redefining dessert
Perhaps the most interesting question is: what defines a dessert? For Sheeba, these dishes challenge conventional definitions. “They’re like that perfect bridge between flavours,” she says, describing them as “sweet bites” rather than strictly desserts. This gives a new perspective, moving ahead of just saying it as sweet or savoury, vegetarian or non-vegetarian, we can begin to appreciate this new spectrum.
Chef Iqbal believes storytelling is a potent tool for reviving these culinary traditions. She imagines a tasting menu themed "Spice Routes & Sweet Traditions," with each course accompanied by tales of commerce, royal banquets, and cultural interactions. This method turns the dining experience into an adventure, helping to familiarise diners with tastes they might not otherwise explore.
A revival waiting to happen
The whole story of non-vegetarian desserts in India is not just about what was lost, but it’s about what can still be rediscovered. In today’s time, diners are looking to be surprised and are increasingly seeking authenticity and narrative as to what is on their plate. These dishes are complex yet intriguing, historical yet adaptable, unfamiliar yet deeply rooted in tradition.
Their revival, however, depends on a delicate balance. It requires chefs to honour authenticity while making thoughtful adaptations. It calls for greater documentation and sharing of knowledge. This perspective requires a fundamental change in how we view food. Instead of seeing it as fixed categories, we should understand it as a constantly changing part of culture.
As chefs, historians, and diners come together to explore these forgotten flavours, one thing becomes clear: India’s culinary heritage still holds many surprises. And perhaps, the future of food lies as much in rediscovering the past as it does in creating something new.