Conversations about Pakistani food culture are often overshadowed by specific cuisine and dishes that you can count on one hand. But the food of our region tells far deeper stories than a short list of popular meals. It carries traces of ancient trade routes, spiritual traditions, ecological systems, and family histories and oral traditions passed down through generations.

Recently, a chef (Asad Monga), an artist (Areesha Khuwaja), an anthropologist (Iman Habib) and a photographer (Noorulain Ali) got together to embark on a residency in Swat Valley and produced a zine, titled ‘Wild Grains and Sacred Herbs’, which reflects how this team experienced the valley through food, history and memory.

SCARRED BY AND STEEPED IN HISTORY

Swat is an integral part of regional history, as it was part of the ancient Gandhara civilisation, also known as Udyana — Sanskrit for garden or orchard — which was considered sacred in Buddhism. It was a centre of Buddhist learning that attracted monks, scholars and travellers from across Asia.

But when you do a quick Google search for Swat, “Is it safe to travel to Swat, Pakistan?” comes up as the second question people ask about it. For years, the region has been overshadowed by media that represented it as rife with conflict and instability because it used to be a Taliban stronghold, particularly from 2007 to 2009. However, the reality on the ground for this residency team was a different experience, one filled with hospitality and a sense of community.

A chef, an artist, an anthropologist and a photographer travel to Swat Valley and return with a zine — and a case that Pakistani food culture runs far deeper than its most famous dishes…

One of the most powerful aspects of the residency was how food culture in Swat revealed layers of history that travels through timelines. “Systems of both food and healing function here as a living archive — linking timelines, eras, religions and people through cultivation, cooking and care,” says Areesha.

These stories about life in the valley are often generally missing from mainstream conversations about food in Pakistan. “When you’re there, you feel something about that place that goes beyond words,” explains Chef Asad. “You feel the atmosphere of the old sites and the people who have cared for them for generations.”

For anthropologist Iman Habib, even the most basic ingredients can tell stories about migration, trade and cultural exchange. In their research, the team encountered the spice “dambara”, a species of Sichuan pepper that grows in the region. Iman explains that it is believed to have been introduced centuries ago by Buddhist monks travelling from Tibet through the Gandharan civilisation. Its flavour closely resembles “timmur”, a spice used in Nepal, as well as the well-known Sichuan pepper used in Chinese cuisine.

TO THE MARKETPLACE

Through this residency, the team has challenged the idea that food traditions are static or isolated. Instead, they shed light on centuries of exchange, in which ingredients, agricultural practices and cooking techniques moved across mountains and borders before becoming a part of local cuisines that we now love.

Asad believes this deeper understanding of ingredients is essential to understanding food itself. “In Pakistan, we often say someone is a chef,” he says, “but before you can cook well, you need to understand your ingredients.”

That curiosity was part of what drew him to Swat. “My lens is slightly ethnographic. I want to see what grows there, what seasonality looks like and how people use what the land gives them,” explains Asad.

In the markets of Swat Valley, stalls fill with seasonal produce from nearby orchards and farms. Persimmons, peaches and wild herbs appear alongside sacks of locally grown grains. For the residency team, these everyday markets became a starting point for understanding how food in the valley is shaped not just by recipes, but by landscape and climate.

CHANCE DISCOVERIES

History also tells us stories in unexpected ways. For Iman, her favourite insight from her findings was how Swat was considered to have fallen on the “wine belt” of the Gandharan civilisation. Buddhist monks are said to have cultivated grapes in the valley and produced wine as part of devotional and spiritual practice.

“This totally expanded my perspective on Buddhism, otherwise believed to promote austerity and asceticism, as a devotional practice that may or may not have involved inebriation,” Iman explains.

Beyond these historical connections, the research also shows how closely food practices in Swat are tied to ecological patterns. Many ingredients depend on cycles of patience and observation that don’t just take place over seasons but over years.

For Areesha, this became clear during conversations with farmers and local residents. One farmer told the team he had waited seven years for his citrus trees to bloom. Ingredients such as chestnuts require careful processing, while honey harvesting follows seasonal patterns that communities have observed for generations. In this way, food production becomes a practice of long-term attention to the land.

For Areesha, the experience also became unexpectedly personal. Although she grew up in Karachi, her mother’s family originates from Swabi, not far from Swat. When she tasted the food during the residency, she felt a familiar feeling. “The food felt instantly familiar,” she recalls. “It tasted like my mother’s cooking.”

MEMORY AS REPOSITORY

Recipes and flavours move through generations, often preserved in kitchens rather than written archives. Much of this knowledge, Areesha notes, is kept within homes, where women pass down techniques through daily practice. The team included some written recipes in the zine of local meals that left an impact on them.

“Even when we visited Swat, what we saw was just a snapshot in time,” says Asad. “If you experience that place in another season, it will tell you a completely different story.”

Hospitality also plays an important role in this culinary landscape. In Pakhtun culture, the tradition of ‘melmastia’, the welcoming of guests, remains deeply rooted in daily life. For the residency team, shared meals became a way of building relationships with locals and learning about the region beyond formal interviews.

For Asad, the experience also reinforced how little is widely known about Pakistan’s regional food traditions.

“Biryani [rice with meat], karrahi [wok-made curry] and nihari [stew] are the front-line workers of our cuisine,” he says. “But beyond them, there are countless regional foods that most of us still know very little about.”

In some ways, the ‘Wild Grains and Sacred Herbs’ project shows this to us. Rather than presenting food traditions as static heritage, the project captures them as part of a living cultural system shaped by ecology, history and community.

“My favourite part was listening — to the communities, the land, the river and our local collaborators,” says Areesha. “Many of the narratives, recipes and healing practices we weaved together came from informal conversations with them,” she continues. “These exchanges deeply influenced the visual structure of the zine.”

By mixing together culinary knowledge, artistic practice and anthropological research with the archaeological context of Gandharan Swat, the zine reframes the valley not only as an important centre of the ancient Buddhist world, but also as a place of vibrant contemporary culture.

It shows that heritage does not live only in monuments or museums. It also exists in seasonal harvests, family kitchens and the knowledge quietly passed down through generations.

The writer is a freelance multimedia journalist with a decade of experience in newsrooms and the non-profit sector

Published in Dawn, EOS, March 19th, 2026