The idea started in a workshop months ago: what if the cooking was the gathering, not just the eating?

So Hassan coordinated a group of men, one outdoor kitchen, and a lot of opinions. They made mansaf - Jordan's national dish. "Jordan has become like a second home for many of us after Syria," Abdullah explains. "Cooking mansaf feels like a way to say thank you."

The lamb stewed for hours. The yoghurt turned the broth a soft yellow. When Abdullah lifted the lid to smell it, it was time. Rice piled high, meat falling apart, broth poured over everything. Syrian and Jordanian flavours on one platter. A taste of childhood on the side, in the form of Halawet Al-Jibn - sweet cheese rolls soaked in syrup.

“Fatimetou, what’s that you’re cooking?” 

She’s been cooking since morning. Thirty people are coming for iftar, and she doesn't do things halfway: Mishwi with fries, meat-stuffed pancakes, a cool millet porridge to balance it all. The men roll out the rugs outside and everyone sits around the food, ready to reach for the pancakes wrapped in meat.

Once they’ve all digested, the football comes out. Fifteen teams, host and refugee community mixed together, play deep into the evening. "It's a match between brothers," says Abdoul Hamid, one of the coaches. You can tell: fair play above all. Bonding over their shared values of Ramadan: faith, patience, solidarity.

At 3pm, Laila moves fast through the supermarket aisles, with a long list in hand and volunteers at her side - Saliso from Mauritania, Alexandra from Scotland, Ali and Mai from Syria. In the kitchen, onions hit hot oil, spices bloom, and the menu takes shape: fattoush, bulgur with chickpeas, fried potatoes. For Laila, cooking for a crowd comes naturally. "In Syria, we used to cook for family and friends of family. It's in our culture."

Not everyone around the table celebrates Ramadan - and that's exactly the point. Jasmin does not observe it herself, but when the dates come out, something stirs up in her. Her roots lay in Iran, and the taste pulls her somewhere familiar. A sweet memory of home, away from home.

Lyne from Lebanon, does celebrate Ramadan, but in Amsterdam she has not found a big Muslim community to mark it with yet. So she comes to KLABU. "Who better to break fast with than a community like this?" she says. Inclusive, warm, genuinely curious about each other - it's the Amsterdam Spirit she is looking for. People with different backgrounds, different relationships to the occasion, but all  around this one colourful table. 

After dinner, someone brings out a cake. Momo didn't see it coming. Candles, singing, high-pitched cheers bouncing around the room.