As Christmas arrives, Abdul sahab’s rum-and-plum cakes are sought after by all of Lucknow. Now the third-generation owner of Bengal Bakery, his traditional baking and tahzīb perfectly embody the city’s syncretism.
It is 8 o’clock in the morning, and a phone call confirms the arrival of the festive month for Arshad Abdul. He has received his first order for a Christmas cake!
Arshad Abdul. Bengal Bakery. Two seemingly unrelated Christmas ‘terms’ bound together by the promise of plush rum-and-plum cakes.
Christmas imagination runs high once winter sets in, and this manifests rather materially in Lucknow. Much has been written and spoken about the city’s Ganga-Jamuni tehzeeb (a synthesis of Hindu-Muslim cultural elements), and Abdul sahab embodies this syncretism perfectly. The owner of and third-generation baker at Bengal Bakery, Abdul sahab is perhaps one of the few remaining bakers who is keeping the spirit of “traditional” Christmas cake-baking alive in the city.
Abdul sahab is a shy man, and his adab and tahzīb (manners) does not betray the Lakhnavi in him. Dressed in a Pathani suit with a black coat, he is eager to talk but I am distracted by the aroma of plum cakes that are in the oven, or “tandoor,” as he calls it. The bakery announces its presence through a small signboard in red with white characters that catalogues its offerings: ‘Famous Milk Bread for Shahi Tukda’—the board leaves out the fact that the indulgent shahi tukda itself is their speciality—and ‘Christmas Baking’. A narrow staircase leads one to the bakery, engulfed in a warm, heady mix of fruity and floral scents. It is as if I were tasting the cakes by just standing at the door—the smell of the rum-soaked dried fruits and the freshly whipped cream awakening and delighting the sensorial within me.
Dressed in a Pathani suit with a black coat, he is eager to talk but I am distracted by the aroma of plum cakes that are in the oven, or “tandoor,” as he calls it.
Located at Forsythe Road in Lalbagh—the heart of one of the oldest Christian settlements in Lucknow—Bengal Bakery has a rich, layered history. Founded in 1940 by Abdul’s grandfather Ahmed Husain, it initially went by the name Cupid Bakery. The nomenclature underwent a change after the family leased out the shop to a Bengali sweetmaker. The lease was short-lived, as Husain’s son took up baking—and, by extension, took over the shop too—thereby resuming the business in 1965. However, the family didn’t change the name again, and thus, Cupid Bakery continued to be known as Bengal Bakery.
Abdul sahab lets out a laugh as he narrates the story about how his bakery often leaves people confused, for two main reasons. His laugh fans my curiosity, and so I ask for more details. “Of course we don’t sell any mishti doi!” This is his response to the most common confusion. ‘Bengal Bakery’ is a misnomer, after all. “So, what’s the second?” He suggests I venture a guess, but I hesitate from offering one. “Most people are surprised when they come to know that the bakery was founded by a Muslim baker, and that it continues to be run by the same family.” Of course, it had to be this—this assigning of religion to who bakes what.
Abdul sahab does not know a lot about his grandfather Ahmed Husain. What he does know is that he was an ordinary man with extraordinary dreams. He had a sweet tooth, taking delight in all sorts of culinary experiments. He found the opportunity to blend his love for both by being an apprentice to a Swiss baker based in Lucknow who catered to the English officials stationed in Nainital and Lucknow in the 1940s. Husain went on to experiment by making macarons, Swiss rolls, meringues, and tarts at various places including Ranikhet, Almora, and Bareilly, before finally moving back to Lucknow to establish Cupid Bakery. “What a perfect way to name the shop after your first love!” exclaims Abdul sahab. “It is our amānat (something that is entrusted to the care of a person) to continue to respect his love in all its forms.”
“And what are these forms?” I ask.
“Liḥāz̤ (respect) for our work, our customers, our traditions, and all our religions.”
Abdul sahab is true to his words. He bakes cakes the traditional way—over fire in ovens made out of sugarcane waste, bricks, and clay. Moreover, since 2000, the bakery has restricted its operations to baking Christmas cakes only.
Husain went on to experiment by making macarons, Swiss rolls, meringues, and tarts at various places including Ranikhet, Almora, and Bareilly, before finally moving back to Lucknow to establish Cupid Bakery. “What a perfect way to name the shop after your first love!” exclaims Abdul sahab.
Sumesh, a regular customer, tells me, “I have no memory of visiting any other bakery [in Lucknow] for my Christmas cakes. I was introduced to Abdul bhai 30 years ago by my wife. My wife is a Catholic, and her family has been regulars at the bakery since its inception.”
The bakery opens for business for a small window of 10 days annually, from the 15th to the 25th of December, and within this time, Abdul sahab and his team of nine workers bake more than 200 kilograms of cakes—a feat, truly. What is also interesting is that the ingredients for the Christmas cakes are mostly supplied by the respective customers in the proportions they like. Sumesh, for example, told me how he prefers to have a lot of dried fruits in his cake. Consequently, he sends a proportionate amount over to the bakery—a kilogram worth of dried fruits for a kilogram worth of cake. He also places a special request for his cake to not contain more than 30 eggs, and this is acceded to as well. Chits bearing the names of the customers are placed in each cake tin so that their special requests aren’t accidentally mixed up.
The bakery opens for business for a small window of 10 days annually, from the 15th to the 25th of December, and within this time, Abdul sahab and his team of nine workers bake more than 200 kilograms of cakes—a feat, truly.
Abdul sahab tells me that while he may not be a very busy man for eleven months (he keeps a low profile, baking keema patties and milk bread), December brings a welcome interruption to his otherwise leisurely routine.
Abdul sahab delights me with shahi tukda—made with their in-house milk bread, topped with a thick layer of malai, and dusted with grated pistachios—and I realise why his bakery delivers milk bread to popular restaurants in Lucknow that use it to prepare their shahi tukdas. As the sweet melts in my mouth, his phone buzzes again. Another order for cake trickles in.
It is certainly beginning to feel like Christmas in Lucknow, again.
Sonakshi Srivastava is a senior writing tutor at Ashoka University, and the Translations Editor at Usawa Literary Review. She is interested in food writing, and has previously been shortlisted for The FoodLab Residency by Serendipity Arts Foundation. Her writings on food have appeared in The Recipes Project, Nivaala, and fillerzine.
