<p>My first evening in Varanasi wasn’t spent at a temple or along the Ganga ghat — it began at a crowded chaat shop, with a swirl of aromas and the restless hum of hungry locals. As I moved past shops perfumed with edible souvenirs, and vendors calling out their GI-tagged treasures, it was clear that the city’s identity lives in the ingredients, recipes, and artisans who have preserved them for generations.</p><p>Chef Monu Singh at a luxury hotel in Varanasi sees this shift first hand. Cultural travellers are seeking authenticity and want to taste hyperlocal dishes. He says, “People don’t just want dal–roti; they want to taste Ramnagar bhanta bharta and thandai because these are flavours they can’t get outside Varanasi. The GI tags have made these ingredients easier to talk about.” </p><p><strong>Winter specials</strong></p><p>As winter chill settles over Varanasi, the city’s ancient lanes thicken with aroma. In the mornings, the slow-cooked sweetness of Lal peda rises from sweet shops where milk is reduced over wood fire, stirred patiently into deep caramel hues. </p>.Odette’s Chef-owner Julien Royer interview: ‘A customer named her baby after our restaurant’.<p>Beside them, trays of Tiranga barfi gleam under fluorescent light — saffron, white and green stripes neatly stacked. Third-generation halwai Ashcharya Yadav of the 100-year-old Shri Krishna Misthan Bhandar says, “A decade ago, hardly anyone asked for Tiranga barfi or red peda by name. Now tourists come in saying they’ve read about them or spotted them online. The GI tag has really boosted awareness — people want the authentic Banarasi version, not imitations from elsewhere.”</p>.Ahead of Durga Puja, Chef Samita Halder brings cuisines of rural Bengal to Bengaluru.<p>Winter also brings out subtler flavours. Markets fill with Ramnagar bhanta, a tender, pale-skinned local brinjal known for its buttery texture. In kitchens, it is slow-roasted into a smoky bharta, its fragrance mingling with mustard oil and garlic. Alongside it arrives the sharp, ruby-red Chiraigaon karonda, whose tartness lends itself naturally to chutneys and pickles. These are the flavours that rarely make it onto commercial menus but remain staples of Banarasi home kitchens.</p>.<p><strong>Spring and the city</strong></p><p>In spring, the city leans into the coolness of thandai, a creamy blend of milk, nuts, saffron and pepper that fuels Holi festivities. </p><p>Post-meal, the iconic Banarasi paan takes over as a fragrant ritual, a blend of betel leaf, gulkand, fennel and spices folded with the precision of an heirloom craft. This is also the season of plump, bright-red Lal bharwa mirch. </p>.<p>Stuffed with spice mixes and submerged in mustard oil, they balance the city’s festive indulgence with fiery intensity. In Thatheri Bazaar, pickle and papad shopowner Kush Bhalla arranges stuffed Lal bharwa mirch jars. His family has been in the business for five decades, but he says the last few years have been the most transformative. He describes how the chilli must be handpicked and sun-dried, then filled with a precise mix of spices and mustard oil. He says, “It’s labour-intensive but the GI tag helps people appreciate that craftsmanship”. </p>.<p><strong>The monsoon fruit</strong></p><p>After peak summer, when the first rains arrive in June-July, Varanasi turns to its beloved Langda mango, one of its most celebrated GI-tagged foods. Juicy, aromatic and slightly tart, the fruit arrives by cartload into the markets. Families eat it plain, chilled or mashed into aam-ras, a tradition that endures no matter how many dessert bars open in the city.</p><p>To make its flavour last well beyond the summer, Gyanchand Murabbewale transforms the mango into pickles, murabba (sweet pickle), and aam papad — turning it into a year-round edible souvenir. </p>
<p>My first evening in Varanasi wasn’t spent at a temple or along the Ganga ghat — it began at a crowded chaat shop, with a swirl of aromas and the restless hum of hungry locals. As I moved past shops perfumed with edible souvenirs, and vendors calling out their GI-tagged treasures, it was clear that the city’s identity lives in the ingredients, recipes, and artisans who have preserved them for generations.</p><p>Chef Monu Singh at a luxury hotel in Varanasi sees this shift first hand. Cultural travellers are seeking authenticity and want to taste hyperlocal dishes. He says, “People don’t just want dal–roti; they want to taste Ramnagar bhanta bharta and thandai because these are flavours they can’t get outside Varanasi. The GI tags have made these ingredients easier to talk about.” </p><p><strong>Winter specials</strong></p><p>As winter chill settles over Varanasi, the city’s ancient lanes thicken with aroma. In the mornings, the slow-cooked sweetness of Lal peda rises from sweet shops where milk is reduced over wood fire, stirred patiently into deep caramel hues. </p>.Odette’s Chef-owner Julien Royer interview: ‘A customer named her baby after our restaurant’.<p>Beside them, trays of Tiranga barfi gleam under fluorescent light — saffron, white and green stripes neatly stacked. Third-generation halwai Ashcharya Yadav of the 100-year-old Shri Krishna Misthan Bhandar says, “A decade ago, hardly anyone asked for Tiranga barfi or red peda by name. Now tourists come in saying they’ve read about them or spotted them online. The GI tag has really boosted awareness — people want the authentic Banarasi version, not imitations from elsewhere.”</p>.Ahead of Durga Puja, Chef Samita Halder brings cuisines of rural Bengal to Bengaluru.<p>Winter also brings out subtler flavours. Markets fill with Ramnagar bhanta, a tender, pale-skinned local brinjal known for its buttery texture. In kitchens, it is slow-roasted into a smoky bharta, its fragrance mingling with mustard oil and garlic. Alongside it arrives the sharp, ruby-red Chiraigaon karonda, whose tartness lends itself naturally to chutneys and pickles. These are the flavours that rarely make it onto commercial menus but remain staples of Banarasi home kitchens.</p>.<p><strong>Spring and the city</strong></p><p>In spring, the city leans into the coolness of thandai, a creamy blend of milk, nuts, saffron and pepper that fuels Holi festivities. </p><p>Post-meal, the iconic Banarasi paan takes over as a fragrant ritual, a blend of betel leaf, gulkand, fennel and spices folded with the precision of an heirloom craft. This is also the season of plump, bright-red Lal bharwa mirch. </p>.<p>Stuffed with spice mixes and submerged in mustard oil, they balance the city’s festive indulgence with fiery intensity. In Thatheri Bazaar, pickle and papad shopowner Kush Bhalla arranges stuffed Lal bharwa mirch jars. His family has been in the business for five decades, but he says the last few years have been the most transformative. He describes how the chilli must be handpicked and sun-dried, then filled with a precise mix of spices and mustard oil. He says, “It’s labour-intensive but the GI tag helps people appreciate that craftsmanship”. </p>.<p><strong>The monsoon fruit</strong></p><p>After peak summer, when the first rains arrive in June-July, Varanasi turns to its beloved Langda mango, one of its most celebrated GI-tagged foods. Juicy, aromatic and slightly tart, the fruit arrives by cartload into the markets. Families eat it plain, chilled or mashed into aam-ras, a tradition that endures no matter how many dessert bars open in the city.</p><p>To make its flavour last well beyond the summer, Gyanchand Murabbewale transforms the mango into pickles, murabba (sweet pickle), and aam papad — turning it into a year-round edible souvenir. </p>