A History of Momo, the Dumpling That Defines Nepali Cuisine

Though its exact origins are unknown, the staple is widely traced back to trade with Tibet

Kunjal Bastola | Editorial Intern

March 24, 2026

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Walking along the streets of Kathmandu, you’re almost certain to come across a shop selling the country’s beloved dish, momo. A staple in Nepalese cuisine, momo is a type of dumpling typically made by filling a thin wrapper of dough with minced meat and an assortment of vegetables and spices. Usually steamed, they can also be pan-fried or deep-fried, and they are commonly served with a spicy, tomato-based dip called achaar.

As a child, I savored the smells of momo night at home. Aromas of spices such as cumin, coriander and garlic wafting up the stairs would be my cue to run down and help with wrapping.

Also known as momo-cha, the origin of these bite-size dumplings is relatively unknown. The dish was initially popular with the Newar community, who are the Indigenous inhabitants of the Kathmandu Valley. The Lhasa Newar people were merchants who primarily traded with Tibet, spurring the exchange of goods and cultures across the Himalayan region.

“The traders from Nepal went to Tibet, came back [and] made their version,” says Doma Wang, a momo chef in India focused on sharing Tibetan culinary culture. “The Nepali momo has some spices in it, whereas the Tibetan ones, we just flavor it with ginger.”

Binti Gurung, a food historian focused on researching and archiving Nepal’s food history, notes that multiple origin stories persist. Many believe that it was these Newari traders that brought the dish back from their travels to Tibet. Others credit Tibetan settlers who moved to the mountains of Nepal. The migration of Himalayan communities throughout the centuries drove the spread and adaptation of food and spices.

Gurung says she embarked on her quest to chronicle Nepal’s food history after working in the New Zealand government archive and seeing the way documents were treated as precious material. It was the kind of thing she diddn’t see in Nepal, she says.

Nepal is a landlocked country in South Asia, bordered by Tibet to the north and India on all other sides. The country bears a rich diversity of landscapes and is home to eight of the world’s ten highest mountains, most notably Mount Everest.

Though few records describe how momo spread throughout the Himalayas, Nepal-Tibet trade dates to the Licchavi dynasty. From roughly 400 to 750 C.E., this period of time marked by strong trade ties with both India and Tibet is known as Nepal’s Golden Age. Trade between Nepal and its northern neighbor flourished until the 1960s, when China’s annexation of Tibet resulted in the closure of the border and the expulsion of Nepali traders from the country. This drastically altered the trade landscape, as many routes that had been used for centuries were abandoned, but not before momo made its way across the Himalayas.

“There is no written document that says, ‘This is the day momo entered a Newar kitchen,” chef Binod Baral, a momo lover who works to introduce the dish and Nepali cuisine to the rest of the world, writes in his blog, Food Diplomacy. “What we have is oral history, trade memory and social clues.”

Baral’s career is defined by his love for Nepal’s most treasured dish. Born and raised in Nepal, Baral opened a restaurant there as a teenager before moving to London to study hotel management. It was in London that his culinary career really took off. Now an internationally renowned chef, Baral has led catering for major global events, like FIFA World Cups and Formula 1 races, and serves as a global ambassador for momo.

“Momo is so versatile,” he says. Baral loves to experiment with different flavors, shapes and recipes, such as vegan momo anda lobster-filled version. If anyone asks about his favorite, he says a simple steamed chicken momo is the way to go.

The process of making momo

While there are many versions of the dumpling, the method to make momo generally follows the same steps: In one hand, hold a wrapper, which is a very thinly rolled piece of dough, made of flour and water, that is usually cut in a circular shape. With the other hand, place one spoon of filling—an assortment of vegetables and spices, plus your choice of meat, if using—in the center of the wrapper.

Wang recommends using a fatty meat. And it’s important to get the ratio of minced meat to onion right, she adds. “I would say 60 or 70 [percent] of the meat mince and 30 or 40 of the onion mince. Mix it with ginger, ginger paste, salt a little. I like to add cilantro, and mix it properly,” Wang says. For a veggie version, the chef suggests adding butter so the dumplings aren’t too dry.

Now it’s time to wrap. The result varies depending on the technique used for wrapping. The momo may turn out to be circular with a fold in the center, like a little bundle, or more of an elongated crescent shape with folds across the edges. Wang steams them for 15 minutes.

Momo is an everyday dish, eaten as a full meal for lunch or dinner, or as a quick, casual snack or appetizer. In Nepal, you can find momo almost anywhere, from street-side stalls to fine-dining restaurants, and a plate of momo typically consists of 8 to 12 pieces. The dish is so popular that momo festivals are often held in Kathmandu and other cities to celebrate Himalayan cuisine.

Hailed as the Momo Queen of Kolkata, India, Wang brings her Tibetan heritage to the city’s culinary scene. Making momo since the age of 6, Wang says her fondest memories of the dish involve the connection they inspire.

“Every Sunday, sitting with family, friends and making momo together,” she remembers, “some would roll the sheets, some of us would make the momo, some would prepare the dough. And while we’re at it, we would share stories, talk about our lives, maybe some gossip.”

Momo is a social food. Whether it’s the process of making momo or the shared experience of eating and enjoying it, momo brings people together through a shared tradition.

Growing up in a Nepali household in Chicago, I remember momo always being a part of my life. We would enjoy bowls of steaming momo on cold nights. My earliest memories are of playing with the dough, watching my dad wrap each momo and wondering how he was able to do it so quickly. As a kid, I always added too much filling, and my parents would tell me to use just a spoonful; not too much or it wouldn’t close. Everyone has their own way of making the achaar too, but my grandma’s recipe was my favorite. I would get so excited when I found out she was making it.

Gurung notes that helping one another is deeply ingrained in Himalayan culture, and that making of momo is an example.

“It’s never a solitary activity,” she says.

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Kunjal Bastola is an editorial intern with Smithsonian magazine.