We cook Biryani the way it always was: rice perfumed with saffron and rose, meat marinated for hours, pots sealed and baked slowly, so that every grain tastes like time itself. Whether it’s chicken, lamb, prawns or vegetables, every version carries the weight of tradition.
Our Galouti Kebab, is like a velvet and fire in one bite — a quiet kind of royalty embedded with authentic flavors. Our Dahi ke Kebab, crisp at first, then soft like a story that unfolds slowly.
Our small plates are drawn from pure Lucknow street food energy. Onion Kachoris that flake like memory, Pepper Chicken tossed with curry leaves, Pani Puri that explodes like Holi in your mouth and the Beetroot Cutlet .
At BKC, Chai is not a beverage. It’s the pause between chaos. Karak with bun maska. Pink chai with khari biscuit. Samosas beside steaming mugs.
And you end your journey, if you must, with something sweet. Gajar ka Halwa, slow-cooked with reverence. Malai Kulfi that melts like summer. Gulab Jamun that sighs in syrup and our Baked Mango Yoghurt.
Every dish, every spice, every plate that leaves the kitchen at BKC is carrying something — a memory, a region, a ritual, a home.
We are not reinventing Indian food. We are remembering it loudly.
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