By Jordann Saliba Sullivan

Ali Mama Café: a Silver Lake hole-in-the-wallSince being back in the USA after spending two years in the sun-drenched, chaotic city of Cairo, I've searched high and low for an establishment that will satiate my nostalgia for the simplicity of Egypt's cafés. Finally, in Los Angeles, I found what I had been looking for. Ali Mama's Café in Silver Lake skips the pretention of lounges and is completely devoted to creating an authentically Middle Eastern hookah experience.

I miss many things about Egyptian life. However, I'm most nostalgic not for the majesty of the Giza pyramids, nor the humbling grandeur of Karnak Temple. It's the simple tradition of smoking hookah that I miss the most. Hookah (also called shisha or nargeileh) cafés are as ubiquitous in Egypt as Starbucks are in LA. An integral part of the very fabric of Egyptian life, enjoying a hookah is not simply about inhaling cool, flavored tobacco, but also carries with it a sense of unapologetic relaxation.

The atmosphere of a hookah café in Egypt-the soft sounds of water gurgling in the glass bases of the water pipes, the scent of fruit-flavored smoke filling one's nostrils-is comfortable, communal, and deeply satisfying. It is also in sharp contrast to the hookah "lounges" we so often see in the U.S., with chic Moroccan embellishments, dim lighting, plush sofas, and trendy music playing softly in the background. In an Egyptian hookah café, instead of gentle mood music, you've got the latest soccer match blasting over a small TV in the corner. The attractive waitress that serves your hookah is replaced by a man whose hands are dusted with charcoal and grime, and instead of sipping an expensive cocktail as you smoke, he shoves a glass of (murky) water at you while he asks if you prefer tea or Turkish coffee. Cars honking, sirens blaring, people shouting, the cacophony of the city surrounds you as you breathe in the heavy smoke.

The author in one of her favorite Cairo hookah cafésIt's impossible to finish a hookah quickly. By its very nature, smoking a hookah invites friends to linger over conversation as smoke slowly unfurls from their lips. Locals lean back in their wooden chairs as they loiter over their never-ending games of backgammon and dominoes, discussing their hopes, dreams, and plans for the future. They talk about their children, their city, and of course, politics. It's easy to see why Egypt's revolution was planned and plotted in such cafes. With flies buzzing overhead and street cats darting under your feet, the Egyptian hookah experience is not glamorous, but its spirit of relaxation and close conversation is certainly seductive.

Walking into Ali Mama's is, admittedly, a bit intimidating.

Walking into Ali Mama's is, admittedly, a bit intimidating. It's rough around the edges, and at first glance, it doesn't seem like a place where you'd feel welcome. The older Middle Eastern gentlemen who are regular patrons of the café stop their games of backgammon and cards to stare at the stranger in their midst. Don't fear though, because a member of the jovial staff will quickly come to your rescue and escort you upstairs, where a more diverse crowd gathers. Staying true to the Egyptian model of hookah cafes, the floor is unfinished, backgammon boards are generously stacked against the concrete walls, and a big screen TV sits in the corner, usually playing Arabic music videos.

Although alcohol is not served, guests are free to bring their own, or they can choose from the long list of Middle Eastern refreshments available on the menu. Besides the usual staples of tea, juices, and soft drinks, Ali Mama's also serves sahlab, a tasty Egyptian milk-pudding served warm with honey and nuts. Their Turkish coffee is not the type that is made for the unassuming Westerner, either. It's the real deal: thick as mud and almost menacingly black, with the unfiltered grounds resting on the bottom of the tiny cups. When it comes time to select tobacco for your water pipe, Mustafa, the Egyptian server who seems to always be working, is ready to help even the most inexperienced smoker find their perfect flavor.

Friendly and knowledgeable, Mustafa is, without a doubt, the best part of Ali Mama's. A true embodiment of Egyptian hospitality, not only does he remember your name after your first visit, but he also remembers your last order, something I can't say of any restaurant I've ever visited in LA. If you don't come into the café for a few weeks, he notices and asks where you've been, saying that he missed you. Eventually, the older clientele downstairs starts to recognize you and welcomes you back. More than their long list of tobacco flavors, it's the incredible sense of community and belonging that keeps me coming back to Ali Mama's.

Egyptians, more than any other people I've encountered, have a very skewed sense of time. Much to the chagrin of many foreigners I met in Cairo, Egyptians find it very difficult to be punctual. One might come to assume that Egyptians are inconsiderate or easily distracted, but the longer I lived in Cairo, the more I found that this wasn't the case. Egyptians, above anything else, appreciate the value of human connections. To them, no professional obligation could be important enough to cut a conversation with a friend short. Five minutes easily becomes an hour, and no one gives it a second thought. Nearly everything in Egypt is done slowly (driving being one of the few exceptions), because time is irrelevant. In America, and especially in a place like Los Angeles, I believe that sometimes we forget the importance of slowing down. Maybe, every once in a while, we should turn off our Blackberrys, cancel that dinner meeting, and give a nod to the Egyptian way of life. It may not be the most fashionable place in Los Angeles, but Ali Mama's has succeeded in capturing the hearts of those who don't mind taking a few hours out of their evening to relax and enjoy the company of close friends.

 Jordann Saliba Sullivan is a writer-at-large who recently served as the Public Policy & Community Coordinator at Levantine Cultural Center.