A mafraj on San Pablo Avenue.

Yemen Cafe began as a love letter to the kitchens we grew up in — narrow rooms thick with the smell of toasting cardamom, hot saj bread slapping the side of a clay oven, and pots of saltah roaring up to a green crown of fenugreek.

Every dish on our menu is rooted in family. The mandi spice is our grandmother's. The honey for our Bint Al-Sahn is imported from Sidr trees in Hadramaut. The bread is shaped by hand, every morning, the same way it has been for centuries.

We built our dining room to feel like a real Yemeni mafraj — low cushions, brass lanterns, mashrabiya screens filtering the afternoon light. Sit, share a platter, pour the karak. You're home.