The city that does butter, fish and faith with equal seriousness. Century-old dhabas, the kulcha counters, the lassi shops, and the langar that feeds anyone who walks in. Where a local would feed you.
Down a narrow lane since 1916. Overnight dal makhani, a ghee-soaked lachha paratha, firni to finish. Legendary.
A Town Hall fixture since 1912. Paneer, dal, the full veg thali, rich and generous. Where Amritsar always ate.
Bharawan's next-door rival, just as old-school. The thali is huge, the kheer's the sleeper hit. Pick a side.
Morning chaos for a reason: chole bhature, kachoris, jalebis, all before 11. Loud, cash, worth every shove.
The crisp, ghee-laden Amritsari kulcha stuffed and slapped in a tandoor, with chole and butter. The city on a plate.
A kulcha cart with a devoted queue. Crisp, blistered, a slab of butter melting on top. Order two, you'll want it.
The Amritsari fried fish benchmark since 1962. Batter-fried, ajwain-spiced, a squeeze of lime. The one.
Late-night tandoori chicken, charred and juicy, in unglamorous glory. The chicken Amritsar drives out for after dark.
The sit-down splurge for meat. The chaamp (mutton chops) and tikka are the order, rich and unapologetic. Come hungry.
A lassi so thick, so heaped with malai, you'll need both hands and a nap. One glass is a meal. The summer fix.
The other lassi the loyalists swear by, plus a paneer bhurji that's quietly perfect. Old city, no signage needed.
Fat Amritsari jalebis and warm gulab jamun, fried through the day. The sweet stop to end a heavy Amritsar crawl.
The world's largest free kitchen, feeding tens of thousands a day, everyone equal on the floor. Dal, roti, kheer. Humbling.