In a new series, Place at the Table, we look at diasporic enclaves around the world through their cuisines—and the people who, in trying to recreate a taste of home, have forged exciting food scenes that invite others in.
Take a stroll along Green Lanes. This seemingly unremarkable stretch of road cuts through the northeast. LondonIt is a smoky aroma that quickly becomes addictive. It unfurls from within the many ocakbaşıs (grill houses) and kebab shops This street has small, brightly illuminated storefronts where giant hulks on skewers spin majestically and freshly-made pide slides in and out of the ovens. This strip might look like an unorganized mess of takeout places that are best suited to late-night drinkers. But any Londoner well versed in their city’s cultural fabric knows that the burning of the mangal grills here is a piece of living, edible, history—and one linked to decades of Turkish and Kurdish migration to the capital.
I first experienced this side of London at age 13, on New Year’s Eve—an evening marked by the rich flavors of a lamb kebab my parents ordered and a rambunctious waiter who drank so much that he attempted to lift a table up with his teeth. The waiter is still a topic of conversation for us, but other than that, it was just another Turkish-British household in London saying goodbye to one year, and raising glasses to the new. Like many children who are diasporas, I took a long time before I became curious about the part of me that didn’t feel like home. On recent visits to IstanbulThe Turkish community in London extends far beyond Green Lanes, down into Dalston, and now, a variety of new flavors have emerged, thanks to a proliferation of contemporary Turkish restaurants. The Turkish community in London extends far beyond Green Lanes, too, down into Dalston—and now, a breadth of new flavors have emerged, thanks to a proliferation of contemporary Turkish restaurants in recent years.
Ferhat Dirik runs Mangal II in Dalston, is another second-generation immigrant who has only recently begun forging a path to understand his own heritage—although his journey has been more pre-determined than mine. The son of Ali Dirik, a chef who moved from Anatolia in the 1980s and opened Mangal Ocakbaşı (named after the traditional charcoal cooking method) followed by Mangal II in 1994, Ferhat took over the operations of the latter in 2021 and began to enmesh himself with Turkish cuisine in a deeper way. He says, “I’ve been travelling the world except for Turkey.” It could have been an age or identity issue. Istanbul was the best-known city in the entire world. Many Turks who live there share the same ideals and values as Londoners. The more I realized this, the more connected and comfortable I felt.
A storyline straight out of The Bear, he and his chef brother, Sertaç, took on the challenge of reinventing a family-run restaurant cherished by locals for its consistency (artists Gilbert & George famously had dinner there every night, only switching to the original, now named Mangal 1The menu still retains plenty of familiarity (pickles and smoked hummus in a pool of olive oil; red pepper dolma and yogurt) but tradition is now served with a pinch of innovation: cured mackerel, caught in British waters, is doused with peppery Anatolian flavors; mutton kofte sits atop grilled apple; cornish chicken stuffed with garlic and Aleppo-spiced sausage. The menu still retains plenty of familiarity (pickles and smoked hummus in a pool of olive oil; red pepper dolma and yogurt) but tradition is now served with a pinch of innovation: cured mackerel, caught in British waters, is doused with peppery Anatolian flavors; mutton koftë sits atop grilled apple; cornish chicken is stuffed with garlic and Aleppo-spiced sausage.
“I believe the Turkish population has become more open to showing aspects of our food that go beyond [kebabs]—which is a great thing when done right—because there is a lot more to Turkish culture,” says Ferhat. After decades of Turkish restaurants not being granted the same weight as other more Euro-centric counterparts—often considered more of a cheap eat than an elevated dining experience—Ferhat says, there is less of a need to prove their worth. It’s possible that the British palate, for one, has become more open minded. He said that it’s a great time for Turkish cuisine, because perceptions have changed. “We don’t have to undersell ourselves by charging less for being hospitable, accommodating and that is part of our dignity and culture, but it is also expected from us. Spanish restaurants do not offer free wine or bread. “We have to be confident in our food.”
