Momo: More Than Food, My Lifelong Companion

Momo is not just about filling the stomach, it’s about warming the soul.

For me, momo has never been ordinary food. It is a companion that has walked alongside my life, quietly witnessing my childhood, my journeys, and my memories of home.

I still remember the small eatery my neighbor sister ran out of her kitchen when I was a child. The aroma of steaming momo would drift through the alley, teasing every passerby. As a Brahmin boy, I couldn’t eat buffalo or beef momo, so I would stand there, mouth watering, watching friends gather and brag, “We had momo today!” The aroma of fried fennel seeds lingered in the air, and even though I couldn’t join them, just hearing their stories made me feel part of it.

From Pokhara to Kathmandu

Around 1992, my cousin Tulsi Ram Marahatta opened Hilltop Highway Restaurant in Malekhu. That’s where I first discovered momo on another level. I'm honest with you, It didn’t scent exactly like the ones back home in Pokhara, but the experience was unforgettable. Ten pieces would vanish before I even realized it.

After finishing my SLC exams, I relocate to Kathmandu. Momo became even closer to me there. My first plate at Taleju Restaurant in Patan with Ramji Marahatta Dai is still etched in my memory. Today, he runs Hamlet Restaurant in Galchhi, but back then, it was the first momo in Kathmandu that felt truly mine.

Hilltop, I believe, was the first highway restaurant to popularize made-to-order momo along the Prithvi Highway. Back then, momo and Chowmein were the breakfast dishes everyone craved.

Walking through Kathmandu’s narrow alleys, the scent of steaming momo would spill from the shops around Ason and Bhedasingh. Near Dharahara, momo joints brimmed with people. Sitting in those crowded corners, sharing momo with friends, laughing, chatting, and filling both stomach and heart, it felt like being part of Kathmandu’s very pulse.

Finding Home Abroad

Like thousands of other Nepalese youth , I eventually left for foreign lands. Momo, however, never left me.

The beginning of days abroad were challenging, strange faces, strange soil, strange food. One day, we decided, “Let’s make momo today.”

Someone kneaded the dough, another chopped the meat even though minced meat was easily available at stores, someone prepared the spices. For some, it was their first time folding momo by hand, yet the excitement was universal.

As the momo steamed, the aroma carried us back to Kathmandu’s streets. When the first plate was served, it felt like a festival. Far from home, we found our house again, our family again, our Nepal again. Momo became a bridge, shrinking thousands of miles into a single steaming bite.

The Dream of a National Dish

Today, the world calls momo the King of Dumplings.

But for me, momo will always be the first plate I had in Kathmandu, the food that carried the identity of the Newar people, and eventually became a shared identity for all Nepalis. Abroad, it is the plate we prepared together, laughing, fumbling, kneading dough with our bare hands.

My dream is for Nepal to one day officially declare momo its national dish. Because momo is not just taste, it is identity. It is the sweat of our farmers, the love of Nepali mothers, and the memory of sons and daughters abroad.

Just as we celebrate Yomari Punhi, I believe the day will come when we celebrate National Momo Day and International Momo Day in my lifetime.

For me, momo has been a lifelong companion. It is my childhood memory. It is my city’s story. It is my foreign night. And above all, it is Nepal’s signature on plate.

MOMASTÉ. MOMOSTE. MOMASKAR.