From Tangra to Thali

Sept 05, 2025

KOLKATA — The air hangs thick with the scent of schezwan sauce, garlic‑fried chilli oil, and the faint sweetness of soy. It’s 7 p.m. on a rain‑slicked Chowringhee evening, and the neon sign of Hakka flickers above a narrow lane in Tangra — once dubbed “Chinapatty,” Kolkata’s historic Chinese quarter. Inside, a dozen families huddle around round tables, clinking porcelain bowls of Hakka noodles while a grandmother ladles steaming Manchurian into a bowl. This isn’t Beijing. This isn’t Shanghai. This is Kolkata, where, for over 150 years, a tiny Chinese diaspora has quietly — yet profoundly — rewoven the city’s culinary DNA.

Welcome to one of India’s most fascinating cultural mash‑ups: Kolkata’s Chinese‑Indian food. A cuisine born not of fusion‑fad chefs, but of resilience, adaptation, and the unshakeable human urge to belong.

A Voyage Across Two Oceans

The first Chinese migrants arrived in Calcutta (as Kolkata was then known) in the late 18th century — not as chefs, but as indentured labourers, tea‑plantation workers, and traders fleeing poverty or political turmoil in Guangdong and Yunnan provinces. By the 1850s, a modest community had taken root in Tangra, a swampy suburb east of the city. They built temples, schools, and — crucially — eateries.

“They didn’t come to conquer,” says 78‑year‑old Mrs. Lily Chuang, whose family has run Chungking restaurant since 1962. “They came to survive. And food became their language.”

Initially, the Chinese served dishes true to their homeland: Congee, Wonton Soup, and Stir‑fried Greens. But Kolkata’s humid climate, local ingredients, and — most importantly — Bengali palates demanded evolution. Mustard oil replaced sesame; panch phoron (Bengali five‑spice) slipped into marinades; and the Indian love of chilli transformed everything.

“The first time we added red chilli powder to chicken… the whole neighbourhood lined up!” Mrs. Chuang laughs, stirring a pot of Chilli Chicken — a dish that doesn’t exist in China.

The Birth of “Indian Chinese” — Kolkata’s Gift to the Nation

Walk into any “Chinese” restaurant from Mumbai to Chennai, and you’ll find a menu that owes its soul to Kolkata. Chilli Chicken, Chicken 65, Schezwan Noodles, Gobi 65, Manchurian — these are not Chinese dishes. They are Kolkata‑born hybrids, forged in the furnaces of Tangra’s kitchens.

Chilli Chicken — now India’s most‑ordered “Chinese” dish — was invented in 1975 by Nelson Wang, a Chinese‑Indian chef at the India Hotel in Kolkata. Wang needed a dish that would satisfy Bengali cravings for heat while keeping the sauce‑rich style of Chinese cooking. His solution? Tender chicken cubes tossed in a fiery, garlicky, soy‑spiked gravy, topped with spring onions. It exploded. Within a decade, it was on menus across India.

“The magic is in the balance,” explains Chef Arnab Ghosh, culinary historian at Kolkata’s Bengal Food Museum. “Indian Chinese isn’t just ‘Chinese with more spice’. It’s a new grammar of flavour — sweet, sour, salty, spicy, and umami — all dancing in one plate.”

Even the ubiquitous Schezwan sauce — a staple in every Indian kitchen — is a Kolkata invention. Named after China’s Sichuan province (Schezwan being the colonial‑era spelling), the sauce blends dried red chillies, garlic, ginger, vinegar, and soy sauce — a far cry from authentic Sichuan peppercorn‑laden oil. “We didn’t have Sichuan pepper,” says Mrs. Chuang. “So we made our own heat.”

Tangra: The Heartbeat of a Vanishing Community

At its peak in the 1950s, Tangra was home to over 20,000 ethnic Chinese — the largest such settlement in India. Today, fewer than 2,000 remain. Exodus began after the 1962 Sino‑Indian war, when anti‑Chinese sentiment forced many to flee to Canada, Australia, or Taiwan. Yet, Tangra’s culinary legacy endures.

Step into Chung Fa, a 70‑year‑old eatery tucked down a lane lined with ageing bamboo‑walled houses. The walls are plastered with faded photographs of Chinese New Year celebrations — dragons, lanterns, and families in qipaos. Owner David Liu (68) points to a handwritten recipe book, its pages yellowed and stained.

“This,” he says, tapping a page, “is the original Hakka Noodles recipe. We used local potatoes, carrots, and capsicum. No bean sprouts! Indians loved the crunch.”

Hakka noodles — stir‑fried with vegetables, soy sauce, and a whisper of chilli oil — became a weekend ritual for Kolkata families. It remains a street‑food staple today, sold from push‑carts near Sealdah Station.

Why Kolkata, Not Mumbai or Delhi?

One might assume India’s financial capital, Mumbai, would be the hub of Chinese culinary influence. Yet Kolkata’s unique social fabric made it fertile ground.

Bengali openness: Bengalis have long embraced external cultures — from Persian poets to Armenian traders. The Chinese were accepted as neighbours, not outsiders.

Ingredient synergy: West Bengal’s abundant vegetables, river fish, and mustard oil blended seamlessly with Chinese techniques.

The “Add‑Spice” Mentality: Bengali cuisine already celebrates layered flavours. Adding chilli, ginger, and garlic to Chinese bases felt natural — not foreign.

“Kolkata didn’t adapt Chinese food,” says food anthropologist Dr. Nupur Ghosh. “It adopted it, then reinvented it. That’s the difference.”

The Modern Plate: From Street Cart to Michelin‑Starred

In 2025, Kolkata’s Chinese‑Indian cuisine enjoys a renaissance. Young chefs are elevating the classics with gourmet twists. At The Red Lantern, a boutique restaurant in Park Street, Chef Riya Menon serves Black Pepper Crab — a nod to Cantonese black‑pepper crab — but finished with a splash of nimbu pani (lemon water) and garnished with micro‑coriander.

“Respect the roots, then innovate,” she insists. “Our Chilli Oil still uses the same Tangra recipe — but we infuse it with Kashmiri chilli for colour, not heat.”

Even global chains now acknowledge Kolkata’s contribution. Mainland China, India’s most famous “Chinese” chain, openly credits Kolkata as the birthplace of its core menu.

Yet the true guardians remain the elders of Tangra. Every Chinese New Year, the community gathers at the Chinese Community Centre for a banquet featuring Yak‑Yak (a Kolkata‑style duck dish) and Chilli Oil‑drenched Tofu — dishes unknown beyond the lane.

A Legacy That Refuses to Fade

As dusk settles over Tangra, Mrs. Chuang hands a steaming bowl of Manchurian to a young Bengali college student. He takes a bite, nods appreciatively, and says, “Maa, eto darun!” (Mom, this is so delicious!) — a phrase heard in Kolkata homes for generations.

The Chinese may have dwindled in number, but their culinary DNA is now woven into the city’s identity. Walk any street in Kolkata tonight, and you’ll smell it: the sizzle of chilli oil, the aroma of garlic, the promise of a plate that tells a 200‑year‑old story of belonging.

In Kolkata, Chinese food isn’t foreign.

It’s family.

📌 Fun Fact: The term “Chinese” is still used across India to describe any dish with soy sauce, chilli, and noodles — even though 95 % of them were born right here in Kolkata.