Doha, Qatar – To say Shams al-Qassabi is an effusive character is to hit the nail on the (pleasant) head.
“Good day, good day, good day. Welcome!” is what you hear as you stroll into her restaurant. When you ponder whether this petite lady someway is aware of who you’re, she doesn’t – however she’s going to greet you want long-lost household anyway.
Shams, who’s in her 60s, is the proprietor and drive behind Shay al-Shomous, a bustling breakfast spot in Doha’s Souq Waqif (the Standing Market).
We had been led into the restaurant, in the direction of a basic buzz of dialog accompanied by the tinkling of tiny spoons towards tea glasses as households and teams of pals enjoyable on a Friday morning, anticipating the weekend forward.
Eman, Shams’s daughter who helps out on the restaurant on the weekends, confirmed us to a desk that appeared a lot too huge for 2. “For all of the meals,” she chuckled, gesturing that we didn’t want to fret, she knew precisely how huge the desk wanted to be.
“Tea?” she requested briskly, already gesturing to one of many waiters.
“Sure, please.”
“Milk or no milk?”
“Milk.”
“OK, tea with saffron or cardamom?”
So many selections. Saffron gained for the day.
Quickly, Shams – whose identify means Solar – got here to see us, a bustling determine, adjusting the black shayla snugged round her face. She welcomed us once more and regarded round her ethereal restaurant with its inexperienced tables and easy chairs at folks coming in or leaving. Everybody needed to say “good day” or “see you quickly”, and he or she spoke to everybody. Some conversations had been hotter and extra acquainted, indicating that these had been previous clients or pals, whereas others launched themselves and thanked her for an incredible meal.
“All proper, now you eat, OK?” she mentioned, the look on her open, smiling face telling us there was just one potential reply. Waving away the suggestion that we’d select one thing from the menu, she walked off, adjusting the shoulders of her black abaya and assuring us that we’d eat what she served.
Plate after plate of meals got here out of the kitchen, bringing with them a tantalising scent of cardamom and saffron that rose from the desk like a reassuring hug. There have been bowls of boiled fava beans and chickpeas, cones and folds of impossibly skinny wafer-like breads with delectable fillings, two totally different sorts of scrambled eggs, and a dish of vermicelli with egg on prime. A breakfast unfold that introduced: “It’s the weekend now.”
Extra tea was introduced and poured, and the consuming commenced.