Takeaways Are a Safe Space for Bradford’s Young Muslims

It's Saturday night and Oak Lane, one of Bradford's many takeaway-crammed streets, is open for business. Available to order are towering "King Kong" cheeseburgers from Mahmood's, tandoori chicken pizzas and cheesy samosas from Raja's, and classic cod and chips from Lister Fisheries. Over on nearby Great Horton Road, a modest-looking chicken shop called Salah's serves what many consider to be the city's best fried chicken. For those with less adventurous tastes, KFC and Nando's also outposts around the corner.

Presented with this Netflix of fast food, it's easy to feel paralysed by choice. I eventually decide on chippy-stroke-kebab-shop Park Fisheries and order a lamb donner. The man behind the counter stands with the erect poise of a dancer, a neatly trimmed moustache and full beard nestled under his nose, his hair slicked to the side like a businessman. Behind him, a glistening mound of donner rotates on a metal axis, luring customers in with its own gravitational force. He moves his hand demurely down the donner meat, skilfully trimming long, thin pieces that spiral onto a fresh naan. The air is buzzing with expectancy as a queue starts to build and hungry Bradfordians flock to the neon-lit menu, like moths to a flame.

It's a scene that gets replayed every night here, because if there's one thing Bradford is big on, it's takeaways. In the last three years, the number of takeaway food outlets in the city has increased by 21 percent. Despite planning restrictions introduced by Bradford Council in 2014 to limit the growth of fast food businesses, that number is still set to rise. The most obvious reason for this is money. According to the British Takeaway Campaign, takeaways contributed £9.4 billion to the UK's economy last year, eclipsing the tourism and air travel industries. In Yorkshire and the Humber alone, takeaways added £364 million to the economy. Bradford is one of the UK's takeaway hubs, with 1.40 takeaways per 1,000 residents—a figure significantly higher than the national average.

The consequences of living life in the fast food lane are Bradford's rising obesity rate and the prevalence of diabetes. The added entanglement of class only muddies the waters. Cambridge University's Centre for Diet and Activity Research (CEDAR) found that the poorest areas of the country, especially in the north, have a disproportionately higher number of takeaways. Bradford is one of the most deprived cities in the country. Battered by austerity cuts, fast food is a cheap solution for families living on the breadline and students paying high tuition fees.

Twenty-two-year-old Faiz Ilyas, student union affairs officer at the University of Bradford, knows the allure of the takeaway for hard-up students. "When I was in sixth form, I was a poor student getting 10 quid a week for lunch, so I used to go to this one place on Oak Lane called Park Fisheries," he says. "These guys were doing cheeseburger and chips for 99p! The sauces they'd put on it were crazy. I gave the burger a little nickname, 'The Dirty Burger.' You knew you were going to clog your arteries but damn it tasted good and it was cheap."

Fast food joints may not be as refined as restaurants or nutritious as home cooking, but the appetite for them goes beyond bagging a bargain. Over the last few years, local takeaways have catapulted into mainstream consciousness, thanks to the likes of YouTube star Elijah Quashie, a.k.a. the "Chicken Connoisseur," and grime artist Stormzy. In London, the cultural capital of local takeaways has found its way into youth vernacular with the emergence of the "bossman," a chicken shop owner who doles out orders with lightning speed and superior customer service. In Bradford, the bossman is known by more fraternal names such as "uncle," "bro," or " yarrah"—the Urdu equivalent for "mate." The golden status of the chicken shop in the capital has risen out of a resistance to gentrification; symbolising your ends and becoming a sanctuary for working class and brown and black youth. But in Bradford, the takeaway serves as a stand-in youth club, community centre, and after-school hangout. The city is projected to have the youngest population in Europe by 2020, and yet there has been a 36 percent cut to youth services. Takeaways are one of the only safe spaces for Bradford's young people to spend time in.

"In Bradford, everyone is like family," says Ilyas. "If you're ever short a quid, someone is always there to cover it, no complaints. It's happened to me in the past where the card machine wasn't working and the guy behind the counter will be like, 'Just pay me next time you're in.'"

Samayya, a local activist, thinks that the halal offerings of Bradford's takeaways help crystallise their reputation as an alternative social space for young Muslims.

"Halal food is always going to bring young Muslims and POC together because it's an alternative social space in Britain, where drinking alcohol is the norm," she says. "I know as a student, whenever we did any political organising, it would usually be over food. Takeaways cut across class within communities, because taxi drivers who work nights or university students who need to grab a quick lunch are making use of them. In Bradford, the cross-generational experience counts too. These places have been set up to be social and safe spaces, certainly for our grandparents and parents' generation."

For local nurse Sumerah, who has just completed a 12-hour shift when we speak, halal fast food signals convenience. "I don't get time to grab lunch sometimes, so when I'm craving food, I go for fast food," she says. "The hint is in the title—it's fast and it's cheap. When Muslim kids look at McDonald's advertisements, there aren't really any halal options. So second from McDonald's is Mahmood's—that's what Bradford is known for."

The mention of McDonald's points to a common dilemma faced by British Muslims. Eating at Maccy's means foregoing non-halal Big Macs for a bland Fillet-o-Fish or veggie burger—hardly an appetising prospect.

Which is where Mahmood's comes in. One of Bradford's most popular halal burger franchises, it opened its first branch in 2001 and now has three locations across the city, as well as two in nearby Leeds. The menu includes halal quarter pounders, chicken fillet burgers, and chicken nuggets. "We started off trying to give customers the option of a 'halal McDonald's,'" explains Azmat Khan, a partner of the Mahmood's franchise for the last six years. "People who aren't Muslim might go to a pub for a drink or clubbing to socialise. For practicing Muslims who don't drink alcohol, it's about going out and getting a nice meal, taking their family out. Now we've created our own identity, an environment where kids and families will come here to grab a bite to eat, have a natter. We get a lot of regular customers, especially with families coming in every weekend, and even people who aren't Muslim who have the option of going to McDonald's but come to Mahmood's instead. Councils are cutting back on youth centres so there aren't many places for young people to hang out either. We offer free Wi-Fi and we don't kick people out. There is no time limit, unlike some of the bigger restaurants."

Khan tells me that the branch of Mahmood's we're sitting in is built where a BMW garage used to be, until it was burned down during the Bradford riots in 2001. As we speak, I spot two girls—one in a Hello Kitty onesie, the other in a pink rabbit-print outfit—pester their father for ice cream. It's hard to imagine that this place was once the scene of a violent racial disturbance that saw white youths attack Asian-owned businesses and cars.

Khan tells me more about Bradford's food history—back when the first wave of migrants arrived from India, Bangladesh, and Pakistan after the Second World War.

"In the 60s and 70s, the first generation South Asians who came to Bradford to work in the mills wouldn't really go out to eat," he explains. "They were more worried about putting bread on the table. Now these first generation communities are more established, and we're able to spend what disposable income we have. The dingy little takeaway that used to be hidden in the corners selling just kebabs and curries, you can't do that anymore. Now the standards are so high, if you want to get into the fast food business, you've really got to be at the top of your game."

Growing up in Shepherd's Bush, West London, one of the best things about a visit to relatives in Bradford was the takeaway feast: deep-fried hedonism packaged in a yellow polystyrene box. I can still remember feasting on chicken nuggets and chips one bitter Christmas in Bradford when I was about ten. My brother and I sat outside our aunt's house, our noses sniffling, steam curling up from our chips as we gorged with Bruce Bogtrotter-esque zeal. Takeaways were a novelty we rarely got in London, where they were deemed too expensive. But in Bradford, a kebab was cheap and chips came in generous portions that eclipsed the Scrooge-like servings of the south. I get the same rush when I bite into my lamb donner today. Even as the world spins precariously towards darker, more challenging times, it's a comfort to know that sometimes, happiness can be bought. Not only that, but it comes deep-fried, coated in spiced breadcrumbs, and served with a smile by your friendly South Asian uncle.