The history of self-organized, solidarity-based community kitchens is marked by struggles over the social role of reproductive labor, which becomes invisible and devalued under capitalism. In this sense, community kitchens have always been more than just ‘charity events for the poor.’ They are an expression of the political and social changes brought about by the fight for feminist and anti-capitalist causes. Anna Verwey explores this often-forgotten political space.
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The kitchen is the inconspicuous center of the home – it is where we cook, eat, discuss, and take care of ourselves. To this day, kitchens have feminine connotations as places of invisiblized work, everyday management, and care. Whether cooking for the family, making school lunches, or making tea for sick friends, kitchen work is about maintaining relationships, being organized, and taking responsibility. This is precisely why it is so often overlooked.
For decades, feminist perspectives have addressed these issues. They have demonstrated the strong link between food-related labor and gender roles, from architectural design and cultural associations to the devaluation of the activity itself. Those who care for others usually do so quietly and without pay – and all too often without recognition.
But what happens when the kitchen leaves the private sphere? What happens when cooking and caring are organized collectively, are publicly visible, and are understood politically?
In this text, I discuss self-organized, solidarity-based community kitchens, particularly the so-called ‘people’s kitchen’ (KüfA) and ‘Volxküchen’ (VoKü). These are spaces where people cook to care for one another and to transform dominant power structures. These spaces contradict the idea that care is solely a private family matter. They make provision a shared task. They demonstrate that cooking is not only a daily necessity but also a means of resisting isolation, exclusion, and capitalist food systems.
I present three perspectives on community kitchens. The first focuses on the diverse roles they play and the social practices that take place there. The second perspective views them as places for collective reproductive work in the context of the care crisis. The third perspective highlights their importance for political organization, ranging from providing food at protest camps to serving as the backbone of political movements and creating collective free spaces.
Where care comes to the table
Community kitchens are about more than ‘just’ cooking. They serve various functions in cities. They create spaces where people can meet, exchange ideas, and learn together. They provide free or affordable meals and care in the form of ‘little things,’ such as listening, offering advice, and providing support in everyday life. Through these offerings, community kitchens are committed to fighting food waste, raising awareness of precariousness and social inequalities, and criticizing the neoliberal logic that reduces food to efficiency and personal responsibility, declaring it a private matter.
Community kitchens should not be confused with charitable initiatives where giving and receiving are deliberately kept separate. In these initiatives, people who cook are not expected to eat and people who eat are not expected to cook. The principle in community kitchens, however, is different. Everyone is invited, and everyone can contribute according to their abilities. When you chop vegetables together, you share the work – and the care – and stand up against neoliberal appropriation. There are many different tasks, and people have different resources and needs, which is taken into account. Those not standing at the stove can contribute to the communal meal’s success by engaging in conversation, lending an ear, tidying the kitchen or dining area, or suggesting a good recipe.
However, as inviting as the image of a long communal table may be, it deserves a critical look. Here, too, questions of participation and exclusion arise: Are really ‘all’ invited? Who comes, and who feels welcome? Whose eating habits are accommodated? Who takes on which tasks, and who doesn’t? How can we negotiate different needs so that no one is overlooked? It’s not enough to just set the table. We also need to talk about who sets up and cleans the kitchen.
From dishcloths to systemic criticism
Social reproduction encompasses all activities necessary to sustain ourselves and future generations, including cooking, cleaning, and raising children. These tasks are often considered mere household chores and are thus structurally devalued. They usually take place in private households and are predominantly performed by unpaid or underpaid women, rendering them invisible.
For decades, feminist scholars and activists such as Silvia Federici have emphasized that unpaid care and reproductive work is not merely the ‘counterpart’ to paid labor; it is equally important to our society. As paradoxical as it may sound, Nancy Fraser argues that without unpaid care and reproductive work, the capitalist system could not function.
In this context, there is talk of a ‘care crisis’ or ‘crisis of social reproduction.’ This means that care work is being privatized, made invisible, and devalued by society. Meanwhile, the demands of care, child-rearing, and everyday organization are increasing, while state support and infrastructure are shrinking. This pushes many people into precarious circumstances. Added to this are the physical and psychological overloads experienced by caregivers and the inadequate care received by those who depend on support. Thus, social reproduction is increasingly privatized: those who can afford it, outsource these tasks to delivery services, cleaning staff, or care services.
In response to this crisis, feminist voices are calling for a fair social distribution of reproductive work. This means moving out of the private sphere and into communally organized spaces, such as community kitchens, KüfA, and other solidarity kitchens. When care is no longer provided behind closed doors, but rather organized collectively and made visible, its character changes. Cooking and caring become political and demonstrate that care is not a ready-made meal, but rather requires many hands, patience, and a collectively designed space.
When care work is done in public, it disrupts the familiar social and gender-specific order – and, in doing so, unleashes political power. There is something provocative about women taking their pots and pans out onto the streets to cook together, either out of necessity or as an act of resistance. Silvia Federici illustrates this point using the example of Chile. After the 1973 military coup, women in poor neighborhoods organized in response to fear, hunger, and state repression. They founded ollas comunes, or collective street kitchens, where they cooked for their neighborhoods. This survival strategy became a form of resistance. This collective reproductive work broke through isolation, strengthened solidarity, enabled the exchange of information, and boosted women’s self-confidence. Housework was taken out of the private sphere and brought into the public sphere – visible, communal, and resistant. The state reacted repressively; the police destroyed kitchen equipment and arrested organizers. However, the kitchens remained as places of survival and political practice. Federici demonstrates how reproductive work can become political when it fosters collective structures and challenges existing socio-spatial orders.
Of course, reproductive work cannot be completely and fairly socialized overnight. Routines and role patterns are too deeply rooted. For example, consider dishcloths. Many communal kitchens, neighborhood centers, and cooking collectives lack washing machines. One person takes the used rags home, washes them, and brings them back. This invisible task is usually taken on by people who are already doing this kind of work. Often, it goes unmentioned for years. The clean rags are simply available. Some people don’t even notice that someone is doing it.
However, communal kitchens demonstrate that it is possible to temporarily share responsibility and make reproductive work visible and discussable.
Rebellion from the kitchen
KüfA contribute to the supply of affordable food and create free spaces that enable political participation. Nothing works without food, whether at conferences, workshops, demonstrations, or protest camps. In other words, without reproductive labor, people lack the energy for political discussions or long demonstrations.
The organization itself demonstrates how essential these ‘peripheral’ tasks are. Yet, how often are they underestimated! Who cooks while others discuss? Who ensures there are enough plates, knives, and ingredients? How much program space can be ‘sacrificed’ for reproductive work? For people who already do a lot of care work in their everyday lives, a conference can also provide a break from the stresses of daily life – a central topic in planning discussions that can also cause conflict.
Cooking together is accessible, but also challenging. As previously mentioned, a variety of cooking styles, diets, needs, resources, and experiences converge here. Even in self-organized spaces, structure is necessary. Instructions are helpful, especially for including new or uncertain people. Preparation and follow-up are necessary, and this work extends beyond the time spent together in the kitchen. Organizing a Küfa requires a lot of planning. Where will the materials and food come from? What is the budget? Who will cook, and who is committed to participating? What infrastructure is available? What will be cooked? Who can drive the vehicle with the materials, and who will stay until everything is cleaned up? How can we ensure that no one in the kitchen is overworked and that everyone is taken care of?
Another often overlooked problem is finding suitable premises. Few neighborhood or cultural centers have kitchens designed for large groups. People often have to improvise: common rooms and backyards become kitchens, dining tables become work surfaces, and people bring their own knives and aprons. Often, no one knows in advance what food will be donated for cooking. The ‘classic’ KüfA curry is usually a pragmatic solution.
These examples demonstrate two things. First, organizing food is complex, no matter how ‘simple’ the menu may be. Second, they demonstrate that this work is political.
At protest camps, the Küfa takes on the reproductive work so that others can demonstrate, block traffic, or lead workshops. The motto, ‘No food, no fight,’ sums it up. It’s not just about satiety; it’s also about regeneration, community, and connection. A warm meal after a day in the mud and rain, a fresh waffle, or a hot tea strengthens the body, mind, and stamina. Some collectives travel with a pizza oven or a waffle iron. They do this not only to provide physical sustenance but also to create moments of care, joy, and connection. Cooking and caring for each other is more enjoyable and demonstrates that solidarity cannot be pre-packaged; it must be created through action, sharing, and constantly trying new things.
How we want to live together and care for each other
Last but not least, cooking is also a political entry point. A KüfA meal is a great way to attract people who want to check things out first. Those who are new to protests or feel unsure can approach the action in the kitchen without feeling pressured to immediately join the crowd or ‘get in the thick of things.’ Spending the whole day chopping potatoes is an equally important contribution to the success of a protest. At the same time, it is possible to retreat there and focus on washing vegetables for eight hours. The kitchen is usually centrally located and the first port of call. In addition to cooking, there is space to socialize, chat, offer comfort, have discussions, provide encouragement, and relax.
Communal kitchens remind us that care does not have to be given in silence. When people cook, eat, and argue together publicly and in solidarity, something emerges that goes far beyond the meal itself. These spaces are uncomfortable, provisional, and sometimes chaotic – and that is precisely why they are political. They take social reproduction out of private isolation and make it visible and negotiable by all. Communal kitchens demonstrate that reproductive labor is not merely background noise but a fundamental aspect of living together. Shared cooking and caregiving practices act as resistance against the neoliberal privatization of everyday provision and the structural invisibility of care work. Ultimately, it’s not just about putting a plate on the table; it’s about how we want to live together and care for one another.