Our story
We started in a warehouse. We are still there.
How we started
We opened Bayt Layali on a Thursday in November 2024, in a warehouse in Al Quoz that used to store carpets. The walls still smelled like wool. We kept that. We added a brass machine, a travertine counter, and two long benches covered in sheepskin. On the first day we served eleven people. Mariam made the qahwa. Saif pulled the espressos. We closed at midnight because nobody wanted to leave, and neither did we.
We had both worked in coffee — Saif at a roastery in Melbourne, Mariam at a specialty shop in Amman — but what we missed was not specialty. What we missed was the kind of café our grandparents sat in. Somewhere between a living room and a public square. Somewhere the coffee was good but secondary to the company.
The beans
Three origins, rotated seasonally. Yemeni Mocha from the terraces above Sana'a — heavy, fruity, older than any of us. Saudi Khawlani from the farms south of Abha — bright, clean, cardamom already in its DNA. Ethiopian Yirgacheffe from a washing station in Gedeo — floral, bergamot, the first coffee that made Saif cry.
We buy green, ship cold, and roast weekly at a shared facility in Al Quoz. On Saturdays the roastery is open. Come smell the first crack.
The roastery
A Probat 12kg, secondhand, shipped from Hamburg. It arrived with a dent in the drum that we decided to keep. We roast light-to-medium — enough to honour the bean, not enough to taste the roaster's ego.
Roast day is Tuesday. By Wednesday morning, the Al Quoz location smells like caramel and toast. We rest every batch 10 days before serving.
The room
Sheepskin. Brass. Travertine. Palm. These four materials account for most of what you see.
We wanted a room that felt like it had been here longer than it has. The benches are low because majlis seating is low. The tables are knee-height because conversation flows differently when you are looking slightly down. The light comes from the east window in the morning and from brass pendants after four.
There are no screens. The wifi password is on a card at the counter, but we will not be offended if you don't ask for it.
The kitchen
Our bread comes from a bakery in Sharjah, delivered warm at six in the morning by a man named Khalid who has been baking since 1987. Our dates are from Liwa. Our labneh is made by a family dairy three exits down Sheikh Zayed Road. Our eggs are free-range, from Al Ain.
We do not have a head chef. We have Noura, who cooks the way her mother taught her, and Ahmad, who trained in Istanbul and makes the best shakshuka you will have this year.
What we are not
We are not a concept.
We are not a "third place."
We are not Instagrammable on purpose.
We are not trying to disrupt anything.
We are not a franchise.
We are a café. Come sit.
Our Origins
The origins of our flavors from their native soils to your cup. We work directly with farmers.