Our Story
Written by the daughter of the Chef
This year my parents celebrated their twenty-third wedding anniversary. A milestone my dad sums up in exactly four words: "Works Like a Million Bucks!"
When my dad first met my mom, ever the romantic, he asked her:
- Can you cook yellow lentils?
- Do you know how to make Chana Dal Halwa?
- Got any questions for me?
That was it.
To me those three questions were never really about cooking. They were about values, with food as the excuse.
Yellow lentils is basically the "are you a fussy eater" question in disguise. Chana Dal Halwa is a whole different test. That halwa takes hours and deserves a medal, so really he was asking if she had the patience for it, and the reverence for it. And "got any questions for me?" was probably him trying to look fair after grilling her about lentils.
She said yes to the first two.
The rest, as they say, is delicious history.
The Heritage
My mother was born in Lucknow, home of the Nawabs, a city that basically runs on manners, hospitality, and a very particular idea of what good food should taste like.
She later moved to Hyderabad, where she lived with her grandmother and aunts.
And these women made everything.
I mean everything.
Kohl for your eyes? Made at home. Vaseline? Made at home. Food? Obviously made at home.
There were no shortcuts, because shortcuts weren't really a thing yet. Everything got soaked, ground, roasted, fried, simmered, for as long as it needed.
That's the kitchen my mother learned in. Under her aunts' watchful and lovingly critical eyes, she didn't just learn recipes, she picked up a whole philosophy: cooking isn't a chore, it's a celebration. It's how you feed people your time, your stories, your heritage.
She inherited more than recipes. She inherited a mindset. And lucky for us, we inherited her.
In our house, my dad plays host. He rallies friends and family for dinner parties, while my mom, never one for the spotlight, just makes it all happen. Not to impress anyone. Just to watch people's faces after the first bite.
She won't promote herself. So I will.
Because here's what I know for sure: my mother is the best cook I've ever known. Period. She'll never say it, so I'm saying it for her.
Her Flavors. Her Legacy. Try it Now.
Introducing Dishlore
Dishlore started with a simple thought: food had a story long before it had a barcode.
Before it came in packages or through apps, food belonged to people. Recipes traveled through families, learned by watching, tasting, trusting a pinch here and a handful there.
Meals still do that. A familiar smell, a shared dish, a recipe from childhood can cross generations and languages without needing to explain itself.
That's what we want Dishlore to hold onto: the recipes, the time, the stories, the way food used to be made before everything had to be fast.
We're just opening our family kitchen a little wider.
Welcome to our table.