The brass bells clang jarring notes against the necks of the cattle. That sound is overwhelmed by constant honking. That’s over-taken by yells from hawkers, which is slightly less abrasive than the yells from the rickshaw drivers, who never seem to cease honking. Electrical wires carve crazy black lines against the sky, which is barely visible in places for the overhanging awnings. There’s a thin veil of smoke and dust shrouding everything, including endless lanes sprouting to your right and left. More of the same is offered in every direction.

Old Delhi smells of sweet, bubbling Jalebi one second … of sweet, sticky syrup and fry batter in hot oil. The next, it’s something rotten … maybe a dog, if you had to take a guess. Don’t guess. Take two steps forward. Fresh naan bread emerges from a deep, clay oven. It’s quickly slathered in hot butter and garlic, slipped into a disposable tin plate and handed over. Chicken simmers in large vats of sauce. Cumin, cinnamon, turmeric, fennel, five-spice and saffron create a singular, ever-changing perfume. A few steps further, and it’s masala chai being poured into tin cups by smiling faces. Step over the cow patty and around the cut fruit that’s drawing flies.

Old Delhi is heaven and hell for your appetite. It’s the only real way to describe this place that’s somehow feral and also totally intoxicating … teeming with food; teeming with human life and also intensely unconcerned with it. A man drug himself past us, begging prostrate. He shoved a bowl forward on the dirt. People stepped around him. Some stepped over him. I didn’t have time to stay or even to put change in his bowl. The foot traffic moves too fast here.

Other men were sitting along the side of food stalls, in orderly rows, with their hands out. Fingernails caked in dust, feet bare and calloused, they waited patiently for a free meal. It’s heartwarming to see it given. To notice that all around you, amidst the chaos, people are also taking care of each other.

Trinkets and necessities are hawked with a crazed fervor. Antibiotics and little plastic bracelets. Headphones and hajibs. The women are striking in their saris. It’s a splash of hot pink. Silver thread catches the light. An emerald green silk has a soft snake-like sheen. They wave, exposing bright white teeth. Their brass bracelets slip beneath chiffon sleeves, adding a clatter to the symphony of noise.

If I’d come here, to the Chandni Chowk alone and looking for food, I would have been instantly and irrevocably overwhelmed. The Chandni Chowk is the busiest market in all of Old Delhi. It dates to the 17th century and is still one of the country’s largest wholesale markets.

The food culture in a city like Delhi recognizes (and excels at) dishes in the thousands, and this place is an epicenter for eating local. The second worry here is where to eat. You could possibly get sick choosing the wrong stall. Who knows what your odds are in that regard, but when you travel, it’s often a tough risk to take. As I mentioned before, it’s pretty bonkers around here.

Want a solution? Organize a Food Sherpa Tour, courtesy of ITC Hotels. This chain of luxury properties across India wanted to give guests a way to connect with local dishes and flavors in each region, via a local chef guide.

They launched the tours in 2016 and while I cannot speak for other cities, it was an incredible way for me to explore the food culture of Old Delhi. In fact, this tour was actually the thing that sparked me even going to India in the first place.

We set out around noon with two executive chefs from the ITC Maurya, wandering down the lanes. Most tours last 3 hours or more, but I sadly was cramming in the experience in two, and thus didn’t get to visit the spice market portion with the chefs. It’s a bucket-list rewind moment I plan to have at some point in my life.

A paper sack of ladoos were haggled over and obtained first. Covered in an exterior of lightly charred sesame seeds, the inside is crumbly, with notes of toasted rice, and there’s this stick-in-your-molars sugary moment, too. These the golf-ball-sized sweets are most popular in winter months, but can be found anytime in Old Delhi on the lanes.

We caught our breath entering a small restaurant, under the blessed relief of high-powered fans. We moved to a mezzanine area, with clipped views of the street and the kiss of a weak air-conditioner … as wonderful as any fancy hotel cold towel has ever felt. It’s here I’d have some of the best Indian food of my life.

The naan, patted by hand and perfectly charred, was best when dunked into a chicken korma’s thick gravy––made with heavy cream and a splash of spicy oil, wilted onions, ginger, cardamom, coriander and nutmeg. A mutton stew, with tons of fat, was sprinkled in chopped chilies and slivers of raw ginger, requiring only a spoon to separate the meat from the bone.

Not the prettiest thing I’ve ever been served, but definitely one of the best.

This nondescript restaurant was my first introduction to the beauty of Indian breads beyond Naan, like Puran Poli––a chewy, slightly thicker patty, with light sweetness and made from chana dal––and Paratha, which is finished off in a frying pan, giving it a crispy, golden texture like a savory pancake or crepe on the outside.

After we made our way outside for Jalebi––what I liken to an Asian version of a carnival funnel cake––I was hit with a desire to blow off my other obligations for the day. I just wanted to stay in Old Delhi … taking photos and eating street morsels for hours.

That Jalebi would be my last indulgence here, sadly. A little smoky from the oil and from the incense wafting just to the left of it, it was gooey and earthy. Incredibly decadent, but also too hot. The grease made a painful trail from my lip to my chin, and I leaned over for it to splatter in the dirt. It was too good to stop eating, though. A little pain is sometimes worth it.

Jalebi is a popular Indian street dessert. In this area, there’s an entire section devoted to them.

We made our way back out onto the main road, and I looked back before settling into the taxi.

No one leaves a mark in this place. We certainly hadn’t. Where we’d been mere seconds ago, the crowd of cattle and humans, bikes and beggars had filled in every available gap. No inch of free space has ever existed for more than 10 seconds in Old Delhi. It goes on as it’s always gone on, I assume. Ever colorful. Ever rampant. Ever shocking. Weirdly life affirming. Every facet of human life––the beautiful, the bad, the eternal, the delicious­­––all crushed in together.

If you’d like to book a Food Sherpa Tour of the Chandni Chowk and Spice Markets of Old Delhi, the easiest thing to do is to book a room at one of the ITC hotel properties in the city. The service, style and small touches were unforgettable, and while they did give us a complimentary stay, when I head back, it would be one of my first choices in booking a room––particularly their latest property, which is a heritage hotel in Old Delhi. You can find more on that here.

However, if you give them enough time, they can also arrange the tour for non-guest visitors to the cities where they feature them. This is by no means a standard practice, though. So, if you are interested, prepare to sweet talk a bit and maybe pay a little more and be flexible in your planning.

Here’s a link to the tours and I’m always available by email if you have questions or are planning a trip to Delhi.