Beyond One Label: The Distinct Flavours of Meghalaya’s Khasi, Jaiñtia and Garo Hills
If you ask three chefs from Meghalaya to describe their state’s food, the first response is usually a quiet correction. There is no single Meghalayan cuisine. The question itself, they suggest, misses the point.
The food of the Khasi hills is not the food of the Garo hills. Jaiñtia kitchens follow their own logic of ingredients, techniques and seasonal rhythms. Even dishes that share a name can taste noticeably different from one community to the next. Outside the state, however, these distinctions are routinely flattened into one convenient phrase: Northeastern food. As more travellers reach Meghalaya and its ingredients begin appearing on menus across India, a small group of chefs is working to restore the detail that the label erases.
Three Hills, Three Culinary Languages
James B. Khongsni, a chef at Hotel Polo Towers in Shillong, often begins with Khasi food when introducing newcomers. Pork, black sesame, ginger and black pepper form a recurring foundation. The flavours tend to be gentle rather than aggressive. Heat comes more often from pepper than from chilli. This restrained approach makes Khasi cooking an accessible entry point, yet it represents only one part of the state’s culinary map.
Travel east into the Jaiñtia Hills and the character shifts. Dried fish and fermented ingredients appear with greater frequency. Saltiness and umami deepen. Dishes take on a more savoury weight. In the Garo Hills the landscape changes again. Smoked meats, natural alkali made from banana or bamboo ash, and tropical produce such as jackfruit and banana shape everyday cooking. The use of alkali, known locally in various forms, gives certain preparations a distinctive mineral edge that is rarely found elsewhere in India.
“We all come under one state,” says chef and food entrepreneur Tanisha Phanbuh, “but the food traditions are very different.” Those differences rarely survive the journey outside Meghalaya. Restaurants farther afield often present a single “North-eastern” thali or tasting menu that mixes elements from several communities without explanation. For the traveller who wants to understand the food rather than simply sample it, the starting point is geography: which hills you are standing in determines what arrives on the plate.
A Shared Philosophy Rooted in Place
Despite the regional variations, the chefs describe a common approach. “The philosophy is to let ingredients speak for themselves,” Khongsni says. Fresh produce, careful cooking and minimal intervention allow familiar items to reveal unexpected depth. Over-seasoning is avoided. Oil is used sparingly. The aim is clarity rather than complexity.
Chef Ahmedakia Laloo of A’Origins in Shillong describes the cuisine as “quiet, intentional, and rooted.” Smoke, sourness and fermentation are not modern flourishes added for effect. They are responses to climate and landscape. Meghalaya is one of the wettest regions on earth. For much of the year, sun-drying is impractical. Smoking and fermentation developed as reliable methods of preservation. Over generations they became central to flavour as well as function.
“You eat what the land gives, when it gives,” Laloo notes. That principle explains why certain ingredients appear only in specific seasons and why community feasts still feature recipes that rarely surface on restaurant menus. Winter brings smoked meat, mustard greens and a wider range of fermented preparations. Festival periods reveal dishes prepared only for those occasions.
Smoke often provides the most approachable bridge for diners unfamiliar with the cuisine. Most people already recognise smoky notes from grilled or barbecued food. Once that familiarity is established, ingredients such as bamboo shoot or tungrymbai (fermented soybean) can be introduced more easily. Phanbuh has found that folding fermented soybean into sauces or mayonnaise first allows diners to register its earthy depth before encountering it in its traditional, more assertive form. The goal is not to dilute the food but to open a door that might otherwise remain closed.
Dishes That Carry the Landscape
Jadoh remains the dish most visitors encounter first. Red rice is cooked with pork (chicken and vegetarian versions also exist) until the grains absorb the stock and take on a subtle richness. Khongsni recommends seeking it out at a neighbourhood Kong shop in Shillong rather than a formal restaurant. In those everyday settings the dish remains part of ordinary life rather than a performance for tourists.
Laloo points to dohneiiong as a preparation that captures the character of Khasi cooking. Pork is cooked with roasted black sesame. The sesame lends a nutty richness without heaviness, while black pepper supplies warmth rather than sharp heat. The dish is restrained, balanced and deeply satisfying.
In the Garo Hills, Phanbuh highlights khapa. Vegetables, meat or fish are gently cooked with natural alkali. The technique relies on patience rather than elaborate seasoning. The result is clean and distinctive, shaped more by the alkali and the quality of the produce than by any complex spice mix.
These dishes reward attention to context. Home-cooked meals, local markets and small tea stalls often reveal more than polished restaurant presentations. Markets display the season’s greens, the latest batch of smoked meat, and the fermented products that households rely on throughout the year. Asking questions about where an ingredient comes from or why a recipe changes from one village to the next usually produces more insight than any fixed menu.
The Work of Preservation
Growing interest in Meghalayan food has created opportunities. Pop-ups across India, restaurant collaborations and increased media attention have brought new attention to ingredients once rarely seen outside the Northeast. At the same time, the chefs remain alert to what could be lost.
Khongsni observes that slow-cooked and fermented preparations are becoming less common in everyday kitchens. Convenience and changing lifestyles have pushed some traditional methods to the margins. Laloo notes that certain dishes now survive in only a handful of homes and villages. Pyrsi, the Khasi blood sausage, and sakin gata, a festive sticky rice cake, are among those at risk of fading from regular practice. Phanbuh has watched climate change alter the landscape around her. Fruit trees that once flourished in family gardens now struggle with pests and disease. The ingredients that once arrived reliably with the seasons are no longer guaranteed.
As more chefs across India begin working with Meghalayan produce, the hope is that curiosity will be matched by care. That means respecting regional boundaries rather than blending everything into a generic “Northeast” category. It means understanding where ingredients come from and building relationships with the growers and producers who sustain them. It also means recognising that some techniques and recipes remain fragile even as interest grows.
How Travellers Can Taste with Care
For visitors the same principles apply. Look beyond the most visible restaurant recommendations. Eat in a market before booking the celebrated table. Notice what appears only in winter. Ask why a dish changes from one set of hills to the next. Pay attention to the quiet techniques—the smoking, the fermentation, the restrained use of seasoning—that give the food its character.
Meghalaya’s culinary map is not a single cuisine waiting to be discovered. It is a collection of related but distinct traditions shaped by history, geography and community. The chefs working to keep those traditions visible are not simply promoting regional food. They are insisting on precision: that the differences matter, that the land still shapes the plate, and that the quiet flavours of the hills deserve to be tasted on their own terms.
About The Author
