The chops were delicious, as were the tikkas — the former being especially meaty and juicy — but as far as I was concerned, it was the fish that won the honours.

“Gowalmandi. Where’s that?” A visitor to Lahore myself, this was certainly not a question I expected to be asked by a long-term resident.

“You know, Food Street,” I explained, hesitantly, not sure if Gowalmandi and Food Street were indeed one and the same thing.

“Oh that,” replied the native Lahori, “we’ve never been there.”

For a couple of foodies (my friend was my partner in crime) bent on sampling Lahore’s culinary delights, this was daunting news. While we had already made a round of the posh restaurants, Food Street was high on our list. Return home without a visit to Gowalmandi; no way! If it was good enough for a former Prime Minister, it was good enough for us.

The first challenge was to find an escort — someone willing to brave the crowds and low-standard of hygiene we had been warned against. Finally, accompanied by a true zinda dilan-i-Lahore, and armed with a bunch of paper plates, (hey, we were adventurous, not foolhardy) we arrived one night at the famous Gowalmandi, aka Food Street.

The first impression — the first surprise, rather — was that the place was clean. Really! The cobbled street, closed off to traffic, with tables lined along both sides was faintly reminiscent of European outdoor cafes, although the dangling chicken carcasses and legs of lamb did their best to dispel that illusion. Houses on either side were painted turquoise and shocking pink; highly garish by the cruel light of day, no doubt, but quaint and picturesque in the glow of the yellow lamps.

Since we had arrived a bit earlier than rush hour, the entire street was our oyster and we strolled down a fair way, taking in the sights, sounds and most of all, the aroma. The sizzle of the meat as it hit the hot tawa, the smoky scent wafting from barbecue grills and the sight of degs brimming with all kinds of cholesterol heaven, from kunna to nihari and paya… clearly it was time to find a table and order the food.

After much deliberation we decided to play safe and stick to barbecue (after all, there was a lot more to sample in Lahore and we didn’t want anything to jeopardise the Great Culinary Odyssey.) An order of mutton chops, another of chicken tikka and one — in a bid to be at least a little exotic — of the Lebanese Tandoori fish, would (we agreed) be enough for three people. It was far, far more than enough. And then some.

Great platters, holding at least eight chops — and not the skinny ones either —four humongous pieces of chicken tikka and a fish that alone would have been enough for four people, accompanied by piping hot naan, tangy chutni and the requisite salad appeared at our table. Obviously, when Lahore decides to feed you, it makes a good job of it (or of course, it could just be that the smart waiter encouraged us to over-order — future diners beware).

The chops were delicious, as were the tikkas — the former being especially meaty and juicy — but as far as I was concerned, it was the fish that won the honours. Lightly seasoned and sans any revolting batter, it was melt-in-the-mouth tender.

Coastal area dwellers may have more choice in sea-food, but there is a lot to be said for the merits of fresh-water fish as well. To be honest, my friend found it to be a tad undercooked but that is a matter of opinion.

The bill, when it arrived, was extremely reasonable, considering that there was food enough for thrice the number of people present, and of course we had enough leftovers to last a week.

So the next time you’re in Lahore, insist on visiting Gowalmandi, but do take a hefty appetite —and some paper plates.