I believe every neighbourhood should have a plant-based community kitchen. We didn’t have one here, so I built one.

Let’s Meet: Emel Ernalbant

I was born in Istanbul. After going to university in Edirne, a place that reminds me a bit of Manchester, where I live now, I returned to Istanbul and started doing photo shoots for magazines. Back then, travel was my main priority. I was a travel photographer. One day, I was assigned a shoot in Mardin, which ended up being one of the first turning points in my life, though I didn’t know it at the time. I was 30 years old when I met my current partner and decided to settle there. Mardin is a multicultural city right on the Syrian border, where Armenians, Kurds, Arabs, and Syriacs—many different religions, languages, races, and cuisines—live together. In Mardin, I had a vegan friend named Efrin, who taught architecture at Artuklu University. You should talk to her too. Efrin made us question everything we ate, drank, and read. I’ve always been someone who chose leek or chard over meat and had a problem with drinking fresh cow’s milk during summers spent in Tirebolu. So, we weren’t cooking much meat at home anyway, but thanks to her, we started having deeper conversations. When she explained how dairy products and cheese are made, and how cows are inseminated and separated from their babies, the argument “You don’t kill animals, but you’re still violating them” really struck me.

Emel, cooking something as usual

Very quickly, we became a vegan household. In Mardin, this wasn’t a common thing, so we started making our own lahmacun and pide with green lentils instead of meat and sending them to the bakeries with stone ovens, like the locals did. People thought we were Syriacs, who traditionally fast for a month and eat vegan food. Everywhere we went outside, we were on a mission to find out whether they used butter or bone broth in their soup. If you didn’t ask, you’d be in trouble because it was definitely in. Around this time, we were fostering a child, Fehet. We’d send him off to school after making sure he brought back the banana peels from the lunch so we could use them for compost. I was also teaching darkroom classes at Sirkhane. After I became vegan, I had to quit because film contains gelatin, a protein derived from animal parts. These were the kinds of actions I was taking because veganism doesn’t just make you question what’s on your plate; it makes you question everything in life, one by one.

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If I connected with my community through food, I wouldn’t feel alone or sad.

I became pregnant, and at the same time the lifestyle and the fauna around us in Turkey were slowly changing. The idea of moving to London, where I had worked as an au pair during my university years, quickly turned into a decision. My son, Aki, was born in London. After his birth, I was feeling isolated, I wanted to get back into my rhythm and start creating again. So, I began searching online for things I could do with food and photography in the area where I was living. That's when I came accross Made in Hackney, the vegan community cookery school. I started volunteering there as a photographer, eventually began helping in the kitchen. As my personal history unfolded—my childhood in Tirebolu, picking hazelnuts, and my memories from Mardin—In addition to taking photos, I began teaching masterclasses. That’s what I had been looking for and missed—a community, a sense of togetherness. It didn’t matter who was at the table. We were surrounded by a lovely group of people from all around the world, cooking, exchanging ideas, dancing, laughing, and sharing a meal together at the end of each event. In my mind, I felt far from my blood relatives, but I realized that if I connected with my community through food, I wouldn’t feel alone or sad.

Emel, at the kitchen duty

Meanwhile, Aki grew up, and relocating every five years seems to be in my DNA. We had friends living in Manchester who kept urging us to come, so here we are again, packing up and moving. I believe that the further north you go on this island, the warmer the people become. Even though it’s incredibly cold, they’re so warm-hearted. When I moved to Manchester, I started working at a cooperative called Unicorn two days a week. I think it’s really important to work at places like this. You get to see how products come in and learn what goes on behind the scenes in markets, shops, and restaurants. Of course, I’m one of the few vegans there. But being vegan is a good conversation starter. Can we be environmentally friendly without being vegan?

At the same time, Made in Hackney announced they were setting up Global Plant Kitchens, a platform to offer workshops for anyone who wanted to start a community cooking school. I joined and learned how to structure the workplace and how to apply for funding, which is a fundamental challenge when creating sustainable social platforms. Pretty quickly, with the funds I was granted, Greens & Others was set up. We call it a "plant-based" cookery school because, unfortunately, there are still big stigmas surrounding veganism. At Greens & Others, we teach people how to make mayo from aquafaba, how to make omelets with chickpea flour and fresh herbs, and of course, how to make lentil köfte and even vegan baklava, homage to my roots. Right now, we’re holding our courses in school cafeterias, but we really need a proper space—a vegan kitchen. Just like how I can’t stand the smell of cigarettes after eight years of not smoking, I’m also immediately disturbed by the smell of eggs in cups or meat products that have been cooked in the kitchen before our arrival.

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Even sourdough bread contains protein. You get all the nutrition you need from healthy foods, not from processed supermarket 'food-like' junk

I think every neighborhood needs a school like this, and my goal is to expand and localize it. As I watch Aki grow up, I realize how Americanized some habits have become in schools and families. At kids' birthday parties, there are chicken nuggets and chips; sugar is becoming a common consumption item. Aki's friends, when they come over, ask for toast, but they don't want it to be vegan. This is a concrete example of the negativity surrounding veganism. But they love the toast I make with Flora and Marmite. Sometimes they eat vegan sausage, sometimes they don’t. But I enjoy what I cook and start thinking about how I cook. Once you start thinking differently about dishes—how you can veganize things you used to enjoy—you become more connected to the world. You’re no longer just a consumer; you’re a thinker. You care about your plate, yourself, animals, and the environment. You begin thinking more deeply, rather than just filling your stomach with anything.

Greens& Others Community Events

The 'V' word is very strong, and people often shut down immediately. I’m trying to engage with the community. Anyone who excites me, whether they’re vegan or not, is welcome in our kitchen. I live in my dream bubble here in Chorlton, and I believe every neighborhood should have a plant-based community kitchen. We didn’t have one here, so I built it and have been delighted to run free cooking classes for the Manchester community. Hopefully, we’ll secure a permanent space soon to establish our community food hub in Chorlton. At Greens & Others, we firmly believe that everyone deserves access to quality food as a basic human right, not merely a privilege. We aim to host free community cooking classes, paid masterclasses, pay-as-you-can lunches, and free meal services. We don’t need to spend a lot of money to feel good—many people simply can’t afford that. Instead, we need each other to truly thrive.

Discover more of Emel’s journey here.

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