Lately I have been exposed to a few comments about my fair lady – Mangal II. It might be at a pub garden, a comment on Instagram, or a review. But some have alluded that my establishment has “gentrified” Dalston, and honestly, this has irked me. Not only do I find these lazy observations seeped in subconscious racism with the irony that it is often white, middle-class types who make such bold claims, but it also detracts from my own identity and upbringing as a born-and-raised North-East Londoner (from Clapton, then Chingford).
I saw Dalston change. I was there, during my most formative years. Where in the past this strip of land was deemed a crime epicentre where no respectable person would dare venture unless born out of poverty and circumstance, it became an artistic, and then nightlife, hub of East London. When bars were popping up here on Kingsland/Stoke Newington Road in the early 2000s, every Turkish restaurant had 70% of the same menu – ours included. During this time, it seemed like everyone wanted to hang out in Dalston, eat kebaps, and soak up its array of hedonistic night spots until the early hours. I initially found it bemusing that hipsters were owning Dalston and its identity, but then as I reached adulthood, I became a part of them. I went out everywhere and basked in the selection of venues with my friends, my staff, and even sometimes, with just my stupid, horny self.
Not many complained when these majority white-owned bars and clubs popped up and accused them of bastardising the area and stripping it off its values. Everyone seemed to enjoy the benefit of the local economy multiplying overnight. Businesses were busier. Homeowners saw their investments grow exponentially. The local council raised its tax. Studios received more interest and visitors and jobseekers. The only way was up – again, unless you were already marginalised financially and suddenly found existence in this area untenable. Did those who recently moved to Dalston because of its hype suddenly light their pitchforks and try and attack these venues for driving the working class out of their own home? Did they fuck.
Meanwhile Mangal II revelled in being a traditional kebap house with a new, wealthier client base. We didn’t jack up our prices outside of regular inflation and cost rises, we were just busier and henceforth, happier and healthier. We “stayed in our lane”, and as I got increasingly got more involved with the restaurant in my mid-to-late 20s (from 2012-2018) all I tried to do was preserve the identity and culture and menu my father had created, albeit with some add-ons like falafel, helloumi, lunch menus, etc, that I felt were relevant to developing trends.
The issue was, I wasn’t my father. He was born and raised in Anatolia. I was born and raised in London. He exclusively ate Turkish/Kurdish food, the odd Chinese takeaway, and KFC. A brilliant chef and visionary and inspiration. My London palate was more global, my dining experiences more varied, and I was very much a product of my city first and foremost. Not only that, but I was born local to Dalston. I went to school on Amhurst Road right across Hackney Downs Station. I was raised in a council flat by Ridley Road Market for the first 8 years of my life. I was anything but a gentrifier. Just a local kid. One who loved food and restaurants.
Over time, I grew to resent our menu as it felt too cheap, too generous, too traditional, and too simplistic to my own tastes and palate. Lots of people bringing in their own booze when we were fully licensed irked me. We sold Efes beer and people would go to the shop to bring their own Efes beer because the mark-up sold there compared to how much we tried to make a profit off ours in-house was lower. I felt my Turkish identity was being taken advantage of. Turks are renowned to be generous and hospitable, and this extends into our cuisine and our restaurants. Equally, I don’t want to be a hypocrite. To this day, my favourite type of place to eat is at a typical, traditional kebap house in North London whereby I spend £30 and have grilled meats, bread, salad, rice, chilli & garlic sauce, and a can of Coke, plus service covered. It just wasn’t a viable business model for me. And it wasn’t in keeping with my own identity as a Londoner.
There are no two-ways about it: I am Mangal II. For better or worse, this restaurant is an extension of me, my palate, my upbringing, my values, and my identity. When my brother and I changed Mangal II during lockdown, it was because we felt it represented more of the dining experience that exemplified our story. I have been working here since I was 11-years-old, that’s 26 years. Could anyone call me, a person who considers himself an ordinary Londoner who loves the arts, the culture, the very fabric of this city, a gentrifier, just because I don’t conform to North London Turkish/Kurdish roadman stereotypes?
Equally, when Mangal II changed course, did we make the area lose its identity that was already an amalgamation of trendy, newly opened bars and clubs and small plates of non-descript cuisine restaurants, and traditional Turkish and Kurdish and Caribbean eateries? Did anyone scream “EVIL GENTRIFIER” at Hector’s, a locally beloved wine bar? Or at Casa Fofo, a Michelin-starred Italian-leaning spot? Or at Batch Baby, a celeb-laden coffeeshop with pastries? Did they fuck. But when a Turkish restaurant that has already been around for 32 years dares to find new roots, tread new paths and express itself culinarily against the traditional grain, suddenly WE’RE the gentrifiers?! I’m sorry, did we just fucking move into the area? Did we raise rents whilst struggling to this day to pay our own? Did we try and shut out other Turkish restaurants, when in reality all of our older customers left us after our changes and started frequenting our historic “rivals” more, thus driving more business their way?
I get it. A lot of you love Mangal 1. Look, if there wasn’t a historical rivalry and bad blood (though not today) there, I’d probably love it too. I love good, simple, delicious, affordable food where I can bring my own wine and feast with a group of mates. But doing something different, honest to my identity, I feel, enrichens an area where there are practically 5 other Mangal 1’s. Same menus. Same pricing. And similar standards of cooking. So, get off my dick and rewire your brains when you try and insult my restaurant and its impact in the area. My dad created Mangal 1. It got a lot of buzz and received a lot of affluent clientele back in the day, thus gentrifying the area. I’d argue, for the better. Don’t get me wrong, the area was still dodgy. Our council flat got broken into TWICE, our home turned upside down and our possessions stolen. That’s why we moved to Chingford. It seemed safer, greener, and more family-friendly (in the late 90s). When someone with no bones, no connection to this area ignorantly insults my restaurant, my heritage, and my identity, I feel that idiot is essentially saying to me “Don’t try and be white and middle-class like me, you ethnic dickhead. I want Turkish places to be Turkish.” Well guess what? I’m a Londoner. And Mangal II is a London restaurant. It can be anything it wants to be, because that’s the beauty of this inclusive, welcoming, behemoth of a city. We don’t boast that we’re traditional, and we don’t claim to be authentically “Turkish”. We just exist, in an area full of upscale and downscale and humble and proud. Of rich and poor. Of mans, and gals, and theys, and thems. We just exist.