Chandni Chowk's labyrinth was laid out in 1650 by Shah Jahan's daughter, Jahanara Begum, as the Mughal empire's chief marketplace. The avenue stretched a kilometre from Lahori Gate to the edge of a reflective canal that gave the district its name — moonlight bazaar. That waterway vanished in the nineteenth century, paved over by the British, but the food economy it anchored never stopped. Today more than fifteen hundred shops and stalls press into the alleys radiating from the central artery, many occupying the same plots their founders claimed three centuries ago. Paranthe Wali Gali alone shelters six shops frying stuffed flatbreads in cast-iron kadhais, each claiming descent from a single family that arrived in the 1870s. Vendors fold potato, cauliflower, mint, and paneer into wheat dough, then submerge the discs in ghee until they blister and bronze. A few minutes south, halwais ladle batter into spirals of jalebi, the syrup still scented with saffron threads imported from Kashmir. The recipes are oral, handed down without measurement, adjusted by touch and colour rather than thermometer. This continuity makes an old delhi street food tour less a tasting menu than a living archive. The district's culinary density reflects its historical role as a convergence point for Persian, Central Asian, and North Indian trade routes. Kebab makers inherited Mughal court techniques — marinating meat in raw papaya and yoghurt, slow-cooking over charcoal pits dug beneath the pavement. Sweet shops still prepare kulfi in terracotta cones packed with ice hauled from cold storage depots built in the colonial period. Nihari, a dawn stew of slow-braised shank, simmers overnight in copper degs, served only between five and nine in the morning when the broth reaches its correct viscosity. Walking these lanes during the optimal arrival window between eleven and seven in the evening allows access to the full spectrum — morning stalls finishing their runs, afternoon chaatwalas setting up their carts, evening haleem vendors lighting their coal beds. The absence of an entrance fee reflects the public nature of the streets themselves; the cost is embedded in the food, typically ten to sixty rupees per item. Tour operators provide narrative context and navigate the sensory overload, guiding visitors past imitations toward the vendors whose techniques and lineage are verified by decades of neighbourhood reputation.