The Welcome – An Edible Archive of Belonging
Written by Sonia Sandhu
As an artist working with food, memory, and community, The Bradford Selection has been one of the most moving projects I’ve had the privilege to lead. We delivered series of baking workshops at The Millside Centre with migrants, and sanctuary seekers finding a home in Bradford. Through these sessions, we explored what it means to belong, to feel welcome, and to create new memories while holding onto old ones. What emerged was a living, breathing archive—built not in books or galleries, but through flour-dusted hands and warm ovens.
Bradford is often called a City of Sanctuary—and for good reason. Again and again, participants spoke of it as a place where they were met with warmth, kindness, and a powerful sense of welcome. In our sessions, butter and sugar weren’t just ingredients, they became metaphors. As one woman said, “[we should include] sugar, because people here are kind and sweet... and butter, because my heart is melting with the goodness around me.” These moments were shared while kneading dough side-by-side, in a kitchen filled with laughter and stories.
Many spoke of their first experiences here as ones of fear and disorientation. But then someone would offer a cup of tea, and then safety and reassurance could begin to take root. Others recalled Lister Park as a place where their children first played with others, where they met fellow parents and slowly began to build a life. Or they spoke of the mosque, a spiritual and social anchor, “like going to my family home”. Bradford’s mosaic of places, mosques, parks, cafés, community spaces, reveal how welcome can take many shapes.
Our conversations often turned to food as a bridge between past and present. One participant shared how she bakes scones with her daughter, "a new memory,” she said, “something that belongs here, and to us.” Another recalled making gingerbread in the cold months: "The smell... it's delicious. Especially when it's raining and you feel sad. It’s comfort." These recipes tell stories—of survival, adaptation, joy—and of how culture, like dough, can stretch, fold, and rise into something nourishing and new.
Bradford, as many reminded me, is deeply multicultural. “You walk outside and see apne lok—your own people,” one participant said. And not just from one background—every workshop echoed this sentiment of shared difference. “You can use different colours to make a nice biscuit—because here we have every colour, every culture.”
If we were to create a biscuit that represented Bradford? It would be spicy, colourful, layered with stories. A little sweet. A little surprising.
And above all, it would say: Welcome.
Because that’s what Bradford is, for so many—it’s not just a place to arrive, but a place to grow roots, to make memories, to miss when you’re away. In our workshops, I witnessed baking as an act of resistance, resilience, and remembrance. And in every conversation, every shared cup of tea, I saw that food can do more than feed—it can build home.
