Before the first muezzin's call to prayer echoes through the neighborhoods of Srinagar, the city's bakers, known as kandurs, have already ignited their tandoor ovens. Nestled in the snow-clad Himalayas and situated at the northernmost point of India, this contested land between India and Pakistan is a haven of pristine glaciers, azure lakes, pine-clad mountains, and roaring, tempestuous rivers.

The region's beauty is so renowned that the Mughal Emperor Jehangir once proclaimed, "If there is a paradise on Earth, it is this, it is this, it is this." Kashmir's rich tapestry of history encompasses the footprints of Buddhist pilgrims, Islamic rulers, Sikh dynasties, and the traders of the Central Asian Silk Road, who introduced their crafts, arts, and customs to this cherished land. Despite being one of the world's most heavily militarized zones and scarred by decades of conflict, the culinary artisans of Kashmir, who work with flour, water, and ghee (clarified butter), are seldom discussed beyond its borders.

The region's vibrant bread culture is a tapestry woven from the legacy of the Silk Road, an ancient trade route that linked Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. While rice is the staple food prepared in Kashmiri homes, it is bread that fuels the local community and economy. Local bakeries produce around ten varieties of bread daily, each with its unique ritual and time for consumption. With such a wealth of traditional knowledge safeguarded and passed down through generations, Kashmir's bread culture could potentially be inscribed on UNESCO's Intangible Cultural Heritage list, rivaling France's boulangerie tradition.

Yet, why is this gastronomic legacy often overlooked? Mehvish Altaf Rather, a documentary filmmaker based in Kashmir, sought to change this narrative with her 2019 film "Kandurwan: Baking History." The film offers a glimpse into the valley's life, with the kandurwan (bakery) playing a central role. "I aimed to capture the daily life of Kashmiris and discuss the one thing that everyone can relate to—a love for food," she tells.

Frustrated by the singular narrative of violence and politics surrounding Kashmir, Mehvish turned to another facet of local culture to convey a broader story. "The identity of Kashmiris is under constant threat, so bread is part of a culture that we cherish deeply," she explains, highlighting how the kandurwan serves as a gathering place and cultural hub in Kashmiri society.

Kandurs, the traditional bakers of Kashmir, utilize clay tandoor ovens to prepare a variety of breads. This baking tradition is akin to those found across Central Asia. The term "tandoor" is derived from the Persian word "tanur," signifying an oven. Despite its ancient roots, the method of using clay ovens for bread-making has remained largely unaltered, deeply embedded in Kashmiri culture. As locals return from the mosque, they collect freshly baked, crisp-outside and soft-inside, round girdas and crunchy, thin lavasas for their families. While waiting for the shop assistants to wrap their warm bread in yesterday's newspapers, locals exchange daily news, essential information, and often, gossip.

"These kandurs are adept at extracting information from you! The conversation might start with a simple 'Did you hear the news?' and, with some raised eyebrows, it leads to the customer revealing the most intriguing bits of news," says food writer and author Marryam H. Reshii, who divides her time between Srinagar and New Delhi. "Sometimes when my husband takes more than 30 minutes for what is actually a five-minute task of fetching the morning bread, I know he's catching up on all the local news at the kandurwan." Raised Catholic in Goa, a former Portuguese colony now known as India's sunshine state, Reshii was intrigued by her Kashmiri husband's bread traditions, which were vastly different from those in Goa, where Portuguese bread-making techniques blended with local ingredients and flavors.

"India boasts a very diverse bread culture, but Kashmir's is entirely unique," she notes. For instance, most breads in Kashmir are cooked in an underground tandoor at a kandurwan, while across India, they are typically cooked on a pan or baked in an oven. In addition to girda and lavasa, Kashmir's bread repertoire includes the croissant-like katlam, kulcha, the bagel-like, sesame-dusted tschowor, the festive sheermal, the flaky bakarkhani and roth, among others. "There's a very intricate ritual surrounding what one should eat with which bread and at what time of the day. But it's undocumented, and no one tells you.

You simply have to learn by observation," says Reshii. In the morning, girda and lavasa are enjoyed with noon chai, a savory tea made with milk, butter, and salt. The breads are also paired with eggs or butter and jam. In the afternoon, one might indulge in a tschowor, often introduced to outsiders as equivalent to a bagel. Then there's bakarkhani, served on special occasions. The layered bread can be quite large, with a diameter reaching up to 36 inches. It pairs well with mutton dishes like lamb rogan josh.

Roth, which is sweet, spongy, and sometimes adorned with dry fruits, is a celebratory food and a favorite among Hindu and Muslim families in the region. "Every Kashmiri has their favorite bread and is partial to their family kandur," explains Jasleen Marwah, the chef-founder of Folk, a regional Indian cuisine café in Mumbai. Her father was from Kashmir, so for her, summertime means Kashmir, and Kashmir means a warm, soft girda. "Our family's morning order of girda was seven. I'd always buy eight so that I could savor a freshly baked one on my way home from the kandurwan," says Marwah. While she relished the breads of Kashmir as a child, it was only when she became a professional chef that she realized the significant weight and importance of this culinary legacy.

"All these breads are as technique-driven as a croissant, bagel, or sourdough. For many of them, the process is very similar to making a sourdough," she says. Marwah believes that since much of this tradition is passed down orally and has not been officially documented, few outside the region can truly appreciate it.

Now, she and several other chefs across India are striving to change that. On Marwah's menu at Folk, she offers a few Kashmiri breads, adjusted in recipe and size, for an office-going lunch crowd in Mumbai. Prateek Sadhu, one of India's most celebrated chefs, grew up in Kashmir but was compelled to leave his home in the early 1990s when violence escalated. "As immigrants, the only thing we could carry with us was food and language," he explains as he presents a 14-course meal at his fine dining restaurant Naar, located in the foothills of the Himalayas in India's Himachal Pradesh. One of the courses he offers is the bakarkhani, served with five condiments from the Himalayan belt along with smoked pork.

In Mumbai, at Masque, (#23 on Asia's 50 Best Restaurants List), chef Varun Totlani has served a variety of breads from Kashmir, including tschowor, katlam, and tzir tzcot, which is similar to a rice pancake. On the latest menu, he offers a sheermal-inspired bread and a lamb floss kebab with a gravy of yogurt and cardamom. At The Bombay Canteen, in Mumbai's business neighborhood of Lower Parel, Hussain Shahzad has served girda with a Kashmiri-style gucchi or morel preparation. "While our tradition needs to be preserved, it also needs to be interpreted for today's diner. That's the only way it will evolve," says Vanika Chaudhury, the chef-founder of the recently-closed and critically acclaimed Noon in Mumbai.

Vanika grew up in Kashmir and left home to pursue a career. When she returned years later to learn more about Kashmir's bread culture from her neighborhood baker, she was promptly reprimanded. "I told him that I was in town for a week and that I'd come every morning to watch and observe. He scoffed and told me that it would take me a minimum of three years to understand them," says Chaudhury. In a collaboration with Silo, London, chef Douglas McMaster and Chaudhury curated a one-of-its-kind 10-course menu that featured an instant hit: bakarkhani layered with shavings of a dried local lemon called gondhoraj.

It was served with a koji butter. "Bread is really sacred in Kashmir, and that relationship that a family has with their local kandurwan is really special. Having recently moved back home, she is now dedicating her time to researching local food rituals for an upcoming cookbook. "If we don't shout from the rooftops about our own food culture, who will?"