They say Lahore lives to eat. I say Lahore dies doing it.
This is a city where breakfast is a blood sport, butter is a currency, and the phrase “he passed peacefully” often means “right after halwa puri.”

While most people return from Lahore with a few extra kilos, I came back with an essay (it had been sitting in my memory bank, forgotten to be posted)—and my arteries still intact. I present to you a culinary chronicle from the Walled City, where I tasted nothing but experienced everything.

Yes, I went.
Yes, I watched.
No, I didn’t eat.

Because this is what happens when a man on statins walks into a food festival disguised as a city.

Enjoy the tale. And remember: in Lahore, every meal could be your last—so make it count.

Lahore: A Feast I Couldn’t Eat—But Fully Enjoyed
Food, Stents, and Sudden Goodbyes — A Cultural Observation

One of the most deliciously dangerous things about Lahore is, well… Lahore.

Let........

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