A Broth That Starts Before the Rice Even Moves

The moment the server lifts the lid, something different happens. With most biryanis, the steam carries saffron and rose water, warm and floral, a fragrance you recognize. But the Ulavacharu Biryani at Golconda Chimney in Jersey City, NJ releases something earthier, more ancient, a deep savory current that settles low and lingers. It is the smell of horse gram broth, slow-cooked and reduced, layered into long-grain rice until every grain carries the memory of the pot. Before you taste a single bite, the dish has already told you where it comes from. And where it comes from is one of the most distinctive culinary traditions in all of Andhra Pradesh.

This is not a biryani that announces itself with color alone. The rice here is a shade of amber, the proteins nestled in between glistening with a dark, concentrated sauce. There are no bright orange strands of saffron-soaked grains competing for visual drama. The drama of Ulavacharu Biryani, the dish that has made India Square on Newark Avenue a destination for Andhra food lovers across Hudson County, is entirely a matter of depth, and depth starts with a legume most Americans have never encountered.

Horse Gram, the Unsung Legume of Andhra

Ulavacharu gets its name from two Telugu words: ulava, meaning horse gram, and charu, meaning a thin, pungent broth. Horse gram, known botanically as Macrotyloma uniflorum, is a small, lens-shaped legume that has been cultivated on the Indian subcontinent for more than four thousand years. Its name in English comes from its historical use as feed for horses and livestock, but that agricultural classification has always obscured how important it is to the humans who cook with it. In Andhra Pradesh and Telangana, horse gram is a food of deep significance, associated with labor, nutrition, and regional pride. It is dense with protein and iron, it survives in thin soils and dry climates, and when simmered long and slow with tamarind, chili, and aromatics, it produces a broth of extraordinary complexity, sour, spicy, nutty, and warming all at once.

Ulavacharu, the broth itself, is made by boiling horse gram until it is tender, then straining the liquid and simmering it down with tamarind paste, green chilies, dried red chilies, curry leaves, garlic, and a tempering of mustard seeds in oil. The result is nothing like the thin, transparent broths of European cooking. It is thick, assertive, and unmistakably Southern Indian. For generations, families in the Krishna and Godavari delta regions served it alongside rice as a daily meal, a practical and delicious way to use every last drop of nutrition from a humble legume. The idea of pairing it with dum-cooked rice, the refinement that turns it into a biryani, belongs to a later chapter in the dish’s story, and it is a remarkable one.

The Dum Technique Applied to Something Wild

Biryani in its classical form, the dum method practiced for centuries in the royal kitchens of Hyderabad, Lucknow, and Murshidabad, is built on a principle of sealed, slow cooking. The rice and protein are partially cooked separately, then layered in a heavy-bottomed pot, sealed with dough or foil, and set over low heat. Inside the sealed vessel, steam circulates and each grain absorbs the flavors of the layer below it and above it, creating a dish that is simultaneously unified and varied, one where a spoonful from the center tastes different from a spoonful near the crust.

Applying this technique to Ulavacharu biryani required a creative leap. The broth, acidic with tamarind and pungent with dried chili, is not a neutral cooking medium. It changes the rice chemically during the dum process, preventing the grains from going soft by tightening their starches slightly, which is exactly what you want. The result is rice that holds its shape, carries its color, and delivers a concentrated flavor in each grain, far more than you get when rice is cooked in plain water or even a standard stock. The tamarind and chili slowly penetrate upward through the layers as steam rises and condenses, and the proteins, often bone-in chicken or goat cooked directly in the ulavacharu masala, give off their own juices into the rice above. Everything migrates. Everything infuses. What lifts off the pot when the seal is broken is a unified, layered, and deeply Andhra expression of biryani.

How Golconda Chimney Builds It

At Golconda Chimney, the team approaches the Ulavacharu Biryani as they approach all their dum preparations: with patience as the primary ingredient. The horse gram broth is prepared from scratch in-house, simmered with fresh tamarind, whole dried chilies, curry leaves pulled from living plants, and a careful balance of garlic and ginger that keeps the savory notes grounded while the tamarind lifts. The protein, rich and slow-braised in this masala before it ever meets the rice, develops a deep coating of flavor that survives the dum process without losing moisture.

The basmati rice, long-grained and aged, is parboiled in salted water just until it is seventy percent cooked, then layered over the masala-braised protein. The pot is sealed, and the final cooking happens entirely on internal steam. The kitchen at 806 Newark Avenue does not rush this step. The result, when the pot arrives at your table and the seal is broken tableside, is rice that separates grain by grain and falls from the spoon with a clean, dry looseness, every strand tinted amber, every bite carrying the sour-spicy depth of the broth. It is unlike any other biryani on the menu, and deliberately so. This is a dish that represents a specific region of the Deccan plateau, and the kitchen at India Square serves it with that regional identity intact.

Sharing the Table: What Pairs with Ulavacharu Biryani

Because the biryani carries so much internal seasoning, the best accompaniments at the table are cooling rather than competing. A side of plain raita, thick yogurt stirred with a pinch of salt and cumin, works beautifully here, softening the tamarind heat and giving the palate a moment to recover between bites. A small bowl of mirchi ka salan, the classic Hyderabadi chili and peanut gravy served alongside many of the biryanis at Golconda Chimney, is a natural companion as well, adding a nutty, slow-burning warmth that echoes the broth’s character without duplicating it.

For tables with mixed dietary preferences, the kitchen can prepare a vegetarian variant of the Ulavacharu Biryani with seasonal vegetables braised in the same horse gram masala. The broth itself is entirely plant-based, so the flavors carry without any adaptation in the cooking method. Guests who are new to this dish often find that sharing it family-style with one of the lentil dishes, the Dal Tadka or the Dal Makhani, gives a pleasing contrast between the bold acidity of the biryani and the gentle, buttery warmth of a slower-cooked lentil preparation. The table becomes a study in how differently the subcontinent treats the same humble ingredient.

Catering This Taste of Andhra Across New Jersey

For events across Hudson County and beyond, Golconda Chimney brings this biryani to the table at scale. The catering team has prepared the Ulavacharu Biryani for corporate events, family celebrations, and community gatherings throughout Jersey City, Hoboken, Bayonne, Union City, Secaucus, and the wider NJ metropolitan area. For guests who have never encountered this dish, it tends to become the most memorable item on the spread, the one that prompts questions, the one that people photograph and describe later. Horse gram broth in a biryani is not something most guests have experienced, and experiencing it once rarely satisfies. Catering inquiries can be directed through the website, where the full menu is also available for advance review.

Golconda Chimney is at 806 Newark Avenue, Jersey City, NJ, in India Square on Indian Square, steps from the Journal Square PATH station. Lunch and dinner seven days a week. Full menu at golcondachimney.com.