Reflections from the Kitchen: A Meal, A Moment, A Memory

This experience was deeply emotional for me on a personal level. It began as a community mission, but due to a delay, I arrived late — and coincidentally, I was the only one from GoodGym to show up. Still, I was warmly welcomed at One Church Brighton.

As a Muslim, I’ve always felt safe and embraced in churches, and this was no different. I was introduced to John — the chef and, frankly, the unsung hero of this story. He’s been cooking for the homeless for years, always with a smile, patience, and an open heart.

I quickly jumped into action: whipping cream, mashing potatoes, searing onions, and boiling milk. There was a lot going on in that kitchen, but John answered every one of my (sometimes silly) questions with kindness and encouragement.

After the service, more beautiful souls arrived to help get the meal prepared and served — ready to welcome our fellow brothers and sisters whom life, in its randomness, had not given the security of a roof over their heads. And yet here we were — the lucky ones — with the opportunity to give something small, but meaningful.

I’ll admit, I had a personal struggle preparing the pork sausages — something I don’t eat. But I reminded myself: I was cooking them, not eating them. Still, I suddenly understood how Superman feels around kryptonite.

Once the meal started, I saw something simple but powerful: smiles. Each time I brought out a new dish or refilled a tray, there was a sense of gratitude in the room. I insisted on serving dessert — a delicious fruit pie with cream — until John gently suggested I try a piece myself and maybe sit down to eat with our guests.

So I did.

I sat next to N. He was born and raised here, British accent and all — unlike me. “I struggle with mental health,” he told me. “That’s why I’m homeless.” But instead of crying, he laughed — a loud, echoing laugh that filled the church hall and shook something deep in me.

You see, I lost my job six months ago, because I decided to stand up for my people in Palestine and talk about the Genocide and starvation in Gaza. I’ve been living off my savings. I’m not at risk of homelessness yet, but I am struggling. One extra blow, and I might be in their place.

But that’s why this moment mattered so much.

Because now I know — I can count on GoodGym, and on the kind, generous people at One Church Brighton, to restore dignity and offer more than just a warm meal.

They offer connection. A seat at the table. And a reminder: none of us are alone.