The real food of a city is a marker of the people. Delhi food is an array of geographically/historically fragmented subcultures, mirroring waves of migrants that came to make it home.

Novelty is an unknown but central part of the biggest subculture: Partition migrants.

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The real food of the older Delhi lives in traditional homes. Sadia Dehlvi (may God rest her soul) has written beautifully, so has Rana Safvi.

Before that, Delhi food has evolved through millennia of inhabitation and the repeated rise of kingdoms and cultures.

But the Delhi of today is known through its most recent migrants, who came in 1947, and in a display of entrepreneurship and gumption, opened up shop all over the city.

There is much to be written of this new Delhi food subculture. An article that I have in mind,

which will perhaps never get out.

It deserves a primer: bedmi aloo in Old Delhi, tawa mutton in Paschim Vihar, the dhabas in CP, and the butter chicken, mutton chaap from Khurana, kormas from Ashok. Everything is the result of this migration, and a big story waits to be written

For now, I will talk about Novelty, a relatively unknown, but dearly loved institution in Jungpura, which is kept a sort of secret by its lovers, in a tacit agreement to let it remain a secret gem.

Rahul Verma, the Bradman and Grace of Delhi food blogging, wrote about it +

in the Hindu long ago. Which is how I got to know of it.

In 2012, long before this was on Google Maps, I went on a hunt armed with just an address, to much incredulity from my family. Going 25 kms for just a sandwich? Crazy, they said.

What can I say? Lovers are often crazy.

My pilgrimage paid off, and has made a temple in my heart ever since. You see, Hawkers House, or Novelty, hidden away unassumingly behind a general storefront, serves the simplest, most delectable sandwiches, with a green chutney to kill for.

Let's dive in to my ode to it:

When the British commissioned the construction of New Delhi with Raisina Hill at its centre, Colonel Young was tasked with rehabilitating the residents of the village of Raisina. He gave them a settlement next to the village of Nizamuddin, which came to be called ‘Youngpura’.

Later, Jangpura swelled to take in refugees from the Partition, now with an enormous Punjabi population.

In the midst of the opulence of Jangpura, Novelty Diary and Stores looks like a run-of-the-mill establishment, stocked with everyday provisions.

A deeper look, however, reveals a vault of gastronomic wonderment hidden inside.

A door at the back leads to another section, a different world, a cross between a pharmacy and a store.

A bar table that was obtained from the Oberoi, with bar stools neatly placed in front, this store doubles up as a sandwich haunt that enchants as much through its unexpected setting as with its fare.

Delhi boasts a myriad of sandwiches: from fruit-filled delicacies in Raghuganj to the legendary club at Machan, and the offerings here are right up there with the titans, through being the very definition of simplicity.

The favourites are the chicken sandwiches, wrapped in cling film, chicken salami with a smattering of mayonnaise between two fresh white slices of bread.

Along with ham, tuna, chicken sandwiches, Novelty offers omelettes , patties, and old-style chicken and mutton burgers, with their buns toasted in butter and deep-fried patties of fine mince. They serve cold coffee in small glass bottles, an essential partner to the grub.

The clincher is the deep green chutney served in accompaniment, a truly divine condiment. To have the sandwich with anything else is blasphemy. In fact, such is the commitment to its quality that they once stopped serving chutney made from cheaper ingredients when prices went up.

The swirl of simple mayo-laced chicken with the strong flavours of the chutney serves as a treat to taste in every bite.

Unknown to most of the city, locals have loved Novelty for decades, set up in 1954 by the late Shanti Sarup, a Partition refugee, and now run by his family.

A kitchen inside sees the construction of stacks of sandwiches, with a bowl of mayonnaise and bread with its edges chopped off tidily. The place itself is eccentric, shelves full of movie and yoga DVDs, chocolate boxes, and a mishmash of out-of-the-place objects,

as a laterally inverted clock stares down from the wall, beside newspaper articles full of high praise.

Regulars place themselves on the high stools and order multiple rounds nonchalantly, while the newcomer might still be taking in the place. Be it breakfast or evening snacking, this hidden hangout is never found empty.

It might just be a sandwich shop, but this secret little joint, hidden away, is still a top spot on every Delhi food lover's list.

Not just a sandwich, its a receptacle of history, a symbol of the grit and survival of one of the city's newest groups of migrants.

The place is still open in the pandemic. If you get the chance, go visit, and give yourself a chance to experience the most beloved sandwiches of Delhi.