Hill stations like Nathiagali were first built during British colonial rule as a way for India’s foreign rulers to escape the excruciating heat of the plains during the summer months. With timber churches, mock Tudor public offices, and homes with sloping roofs that clung to the tree studded hills, the officials of the Raj made every effort to recreate a corner of Britain in this alien land. Today, however, due to poor urban planning, cowboy real estate developers, and an overload of visitors, these settlements are no longer the idyllic summer getaways they once were, but rather heaving concrete jungles akin to any other town in the rest of Pakistan. Nathiagali is no exception, having failed to grapple with the double-edged blessing and curse of tourism while also maintaining its original essence. What it does have, however, is a signature dish, a small piece of its history that’s become synonymous with the place itself.