How Phil Juma Put Iraq on London’s Culinary Map

After walking away from a career in finance, Phil Juma set out to rebuild his connection to Iraq through food. His mission is to reclaim the country’s rich cuisine and give it the respect it deserves

At 1pm sharp, the clang of a bell rings across London’s Borough Market, capturing the attention of hungry shoppers. “Iraqi lamb dolma, we only do it on Sundays!” Phil Juma calls out, his voice carrying over the bustling market.

The aroma of spiced meat and rice drifts through the air as he flips the heavy pot to reveal the mouthwatering dish inside.

It’s a weekly ritual for regulars like Faisal, originally from Baghdad. When I ask him if he cooks dolma, he laughs. “I know how to eat!” he says, recalling the many times he’s lined up for Phil’s signature dishes. “The kubba and dolma are both fantastic here. But I’m always the last in the queue.”

For 41-year-old Phil, the food is about more than just flavor; it’s about culture and identity. “It was my calling. And not to mention championing my heritage that’s somewhat lost and under-represented in London. I want to fly that flag and say our food is bangin’!”

Born in south London to a mother of Irish and English heritage and a Christian father from Mosul, Phil grew up with Iraqi cuisine at the heart of family celebrations. “Dad was the main one who cooked these dishes at home. People are really surprised to hear that. During Christmas or Easter, it would be big, banquet dishes, and it would be exciting.” Then there’s the memories of the Arab aunties who would “be in the kitchen for days” preparing a feast. Phil admits now that he wishes he’d stood there “with a pen and paper learning every last detail and trick.”

Phil’s journey into cooking was far from straightforward. Initially, he studied economics for business in Leeds, before entering wealth management, a world he soon found disheartening. “It led to a lot of unhappiness. I didn’t like it; I became disillusioned.”

When he decided to leave the job in the City to pursue a career in cooking, telling his Middle Eastern father was probably the hardest part. “Dad wasn’t having it!” Phil smiles. “He literally said, ‘You’re leaving finance to become a dishwasher. ’”

Phil started small, running supper clubs, learning recipes from cookbooks, and reaching out to chefs abroad. Some of them refused because they deemed him a threat.

Furthermore, he was entering an arena in which he was a complete novice and was expected to represent an entire cuisine and nation. “I wasn’t ready to be that guy,” says Phil. “I wasn’t ready for that responsibility.”

But Phil persevered and created the Juma brand in 2013. In 2019, he finally got his stall at the historic Borough Market, a short walk away from the Shard.

His specialties are fried kubba, or kibbe in some dialects—minced rice and meat patties, served with amba, a pickled mango sauce—and Dolma, vegetables and vine leaves stuffed with tender lamb mince and rice, marinated in his special blend of spices and pomegranate molasses.

After sampling some of these dishes, I can say confidently that they live up to the hype.

There may be a steady crowd now, but the early days were a “baptism of fire”. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit in 2020, Phil had to close the stall. He continued cooking and donated the meals to NHS workers on the frontline instead.

Then there were the fussy Iraqis who’d critique his recipes. “Even to this day, they tell me, ‘This isn’t how we make it! Why don’t you put raisins in the kubba? Why don’t you do the dolma with tomatoes?’ I have to tell them, this is not your dolma.”

Just like the region itself, Iraqi food is complex and rarely straightforward. Each area and community has its own version. “The people themselves don’t know how vast and rich our cuisine is. Jews do kubba their way, Christians in another. We have a saffron chicken dish that only the Christians know about.” He quickly learned to get a thick skin, “because they’re a tough bunch to please, the Iraqis!” he laughs.

Through sheer determination and persistence, Phil grew the brand into a respected culinary destination. The stall brings together Iraqi diaspora and curious Londoners alike.

He has a team of seven people, as well as three “amazing” Iraqi aunties (every older woman is an “auntie” in the Middle East!) who make the kubba behind the scenes. “Even they tell me, ‘this is not how we make it at home’!” Phil laughs.

Regulars like Faisal attest to the magic—for him, it brings back memories of his own mother spending hours in the kitchen. “Nowadays, you can buy these dishes frozen. Some of them are actually nice. But of course, nothing beats fresh food!”

He met Phil in Baghdad a few years ago and is now a familiar face at the market. In fact, he even came to Juma the week before for his 70th birthday.

Phil’s platform has extended beyond London. Over the years, he’s trained chefs on royal super yachts in Saudi Arabia, served the Qatari royal family during the World Cup, and recently cooked for the Iraqi Prime Minister—always ensuring his team, including the “aunties”, accompanied him. “We did ourselves proud, but it was very hard.”

Of course, the main person he had to impress was his father. He got that approval in 2021, when Phil cooked dolma live on the BBC’s flagship cooking program, Saturday Kitchen. “It was special, I still get emotional when I think about it,” says Phil. The local Iraqi community, he adds, felt they were finally represented in a positive way on mainstream television.

Yet Phil remains humble. “I’m only human. Juma is just an organic, homemade business I built from nothing. No partners or investors. If I stop, it can stop.”

But there are challenges—from Brexit, the COVID-19 pandemic, the high cost of living, and an uncertain economic climate. “It’s a difficult time for the hospitality industry,” says Phil. “People need to support local businesses. When people show care and love with what they do, support them. If you don’t, it’ll just be fast food chains everywhere.”

Being a visible face of Iraq means he has access to hear some incredible stories from the diaspora. “One Christian family was visiting from the US, and the wife said she wanted to go back to Mosul to find her mother’s old home, when it was still under ISIS rule,” Phil tells me. “She knocked on the door only for an ‘ISIS bride’ to answer. They ended up sitting inside, and drinking coffee, while her fighter husband was out.”

Another young woman, he recalls, was reduced to tears after tasting Phil’s kubba, as it reminded her of her late grandmother’s cooking. “That’s what food does,” he smiles.

His father’s Christian heritage ties him to a community that has suffered tremendously over the past two decades. The remaining Christian population now numbers fewer than 250,000, down from as many as 1.5 million before the 2003 invasion, with families fleeing war, persecution, and extremist violence. Fortunately, Phil’s family moved to Baghdad before the worst of the conflict.

In June 2014, ISIS overran Mosul, the city where his family's roots lie. Entire neighborhoods were reshaped, and many Christians who had lived there for centuries were forced to flee.

What, then, does that mean for the country’s heritage, particularly for the food? “We’ve all got a responsibility to keep our family recipes alive,” says Phil.

Last week, Iraqis were voting in the election, in which Prime Minister Mohammed Shia al-Sudani is seeking a second term. Although his bloc emerged with the most seats, it cannot form a government without additional party support. But young voters, in particular, remain disillusioned.

Having travelled to the country several times, Phil believes people are “short-sighted” and fail to think about the country’s long-term future. Though Phil finds it “frustrating,” he can “understand why, when you’ve been treated a certain way by the world.”

This London chef hopes his work not only showcases the richness of Iraqi cuisine but also amplifies the voices of communities who have historically been underrepresented, especially Christians and other minorities such as Jews and Assyrians.

The more he cooks, the more he has leaned into his Arab identity. “Before, I used to think, am I Iraqi, am I a Londoner, can I be both? Now I think yes, you can be unapologetically Iraqi and a Londoner. It’s okay to be both.”

Phil’s cooking reflects that philosophy: dishes spiced with cloves, cardamom, black pepper, pimento, rose, and nutmeg. Familiar yet unique combinations that warm the heart and speak to generations of Iraqi culinary history.

At Borough Market, as the kebab skewers are threaded and the dolma plated fresh to order, Phil’s smile broadens as he surveys the crowd, the aromas mingling with the chatter. For him, food should not only satisfy the stomach but also the heart.

“I love feeding people,” he smiles. “There’s something so pure and authentic about giving people a plate of food.”

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