A courtyard, a clay oven, and one stubborn family

Nana Abu started with a single tandoor pressed into the wall of a Gawalmandi haveli, two degs of nihari and a rule he never bent: nothing leaves the kitchen that he wouldn't feed his own children.

Fifty-four years later we still crack whole spices by hand at four in the morning, still simmer the nihari for eight hours, still buy sarson from the same family of growers outside Kasur. The tiles are prettier now. The recipes have not moved an inch.